[cw: mention of structural violence, public outing, dating while trans, mention of a past suicide attempt; don’t worry it gets better, therapy]

Charlotte ‘Sprite’ Merriweather sat at a picnic table with her head in her hands, trying not to cry. It was hard. She had come here to think, but it turns out thinking isn’t all that great. She wanted to change the world, but every time she tried to change herself she got smacked down by life. She sniffled, and reached into the pocket of her skirt to pull out a pack of Cloves.

Charlotte ‘Sprite’ Merriweather stood under a tree and looked at the girl sitting at the picnic table, fingers in her particolored hair. She was sobbing, but it didn’t look like it from here. Sprite knew she was anyway. You’d cry too, if it happened to you. She trundled over and walked up the seat of the bench, plopping her ass down on the table. “Hey there, Charlie!” she said cheerfully, plucking the cigarette from her lips and crushing it.

“Hey!” the younger woman said, “what’re you…!”

Sprite stuck the pieces of the cigarette into her pocket. The cherry did hurt, but it didn’t matter. “Nasty habit, but hey, you’ll change. We always do.”

Charlie was a little slow on the uptake this time around. She wiped here eyes as inconspicuously as someone with running mascara could. “You’re not one of the parents, are you? Didn’t you hear, I got fired. You don’t need to complain to me.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when a dumb Arrow jock—who probably can’t even read Where the Wild Things are, much less the Lex Magica—arrests you for breaking a silver law you didn’t.” Dropping so much jargon was completely extra, but it would help get the point across. She added, “and outs you to the whole consilium. God, he didn’t even let us shave before parading us out to a trial where he embarrassed himself. Can’t exactly tell the school board about that.”

“Oh,” Charlie said, her brow furrowing and her tone dropping to something sullen and hostile. “You’re another mage. Are you the probation officer or something? Can’t I get a few more days before the consilium is on my ass again?”

She leaned forward on the picnic table, looking around Charlie to a casually stylish looking man. And that was very strongly the impression that the man gave. Casually stylish. It was certainly by choice and not a matter of actual fashion sense. He was seated at a bench, leisurely watching the woman from several yards away. She gave him a flat look. Was this his doing?

Prince chuckled, and blew her a kiss. “Oh, this is all you, sweetness.”

Sprite should have known how dumb she was.

“Huh?” Charlie said, turning to follow Sprite’s gaze.

“Not important,” Sprite said, putting one finger gently to Charlie’s chin and bringing her face back to the conversation. It was kind of thrilling to do, even if Charlie wasn’t exactly melting for her. Well, she’d certainly come to love it soon. “Let’s talk about you, kid.”

“Hey!” She pushed the hand away, though Sprite did notice a little hesitation. “Don’t do th—woah, you have my tattoo.”

Charlie looked down at her sleeve. It was a wild riot of green leaves, tendriling vines, and vibrant red and yellow flowers growing out of a skull. The stalks and vines twined over a silver ankh that lay among the greenery. This wasn’t some off the shelf, this was personal. She’d designed it herself.

Sprite looked down at her sleeve. It was a wild riot of green leaves, tendriling vines, and vibrant red and yellow flowers growing out of a skull. The stalks and vines twined over a silver ankh that lay among the greenery. It was the exact same one, down to the petals on the greenery. The only difference was a thin silver circlet laying against the ankh. She’d tattooed it herself. Turning off her pain receptors was the easy part. Getting the proprioception precise enough to work at the angle wasn’t just magic, it was art.

“Yup,” Sprite said, showing it off. “Not the only thing of yours I’ve got.” She touches her own chin in thought, “not the face, though. That one you’ll put a lot of work into. Won’t ever have to worry about duration again. No more spells you’ll be forced to drop when some dipshit cop thinks you’re breaking the Lex by getting in the way of his fight.”

“You’re me?” Charlie finally caught on, giving herself a second look.

Sprite’s younger self smelled briefly of scientific chemicals, and a non-native bird seemed to cry out in the distance. Sprite could tell when she was being given the once over mystically. No spells on her body except to give her hair the pigment of tropical birds and moths. She looked at her own chest, and thighs. And her stomach beneath that crop top. The fact that it was the very same shirt Charlie was wearing—the vintage soda logo now faded even more, and stretched—should really have given the game away before the tattoo did.

That face really was a beauty. Charlie gingerly reached a hand out to it, and Sprite It looked familiar, but it took a moment to place it. “Wow, I get hot. Wait, is that L’ange du mal?”