MY GOVERNESS HAD always said that I had a knack for getting myself into needless trouble with my short temper and loose tongue. That I would amount to little, in comparison to my reserved and behaved competition, Magenta. The governess had taught us that way too; pinning us against one another in a battle of survival of the fittest. Everyone had always thought that Magenta was the fittest —but I knew it.

I had not taken any of my governess' words seriously.

Until now.

Georgia ducked behind the counter. Though it meant I would fight alone, it was the best course of action for her to take. The first burst of flame was a direct hit —I felt the pain of burning and the heat, but nothing beyond that. They could torch me for as long as they wished —I could not die in this state.

My clothes singed and slowly burned away, leaving my skin exposed. It then reddened and blistered in the most concentrated areas. I hissed and made more of an effort to  avoid the flames, turning and whirling this way and that so that my feet barely touched the floor, but I did not cover myself up. I felt no shame for my nakedness. There was nothing to hide.

And they saw —the smoothness in places where there should not be on a human, and a lack of other things. I had no bellybutton —I had never been in a womb. I had no reproductive organs. This form was for self-protection purposes only.

I resembled a doll if anything.

Dreamcatchers are made, not born. Hand-stitched by family units to the utmost perfection. Some met that standard. Others did not.

Most of the skin on my forearms was blackening from using them as pathetic attempts at shields. I still made no show of the pain; made no sound to indicate that what I felt made me want to scream and thrash.

I had not been taught in the way of actual fighting. Dreamcatchers such as myself were raised to be docile and pacifistic. However, from the time I had spent on Earth, I had learned a few things of self-defence.

I lunged for the debris I had not yet swept up.

I began hurling broken bottles and shards of glass at the soldiers. Some hit, some missed. And blood began to drip. To their credit, they did not outright scream or turn off their flames. The fire burned hotter, more intense. And then I ran out of things to throw.

I glanced at the pools of dreams.

I could not exactly throw them. But a strange force was compelling me to do something else.

I ducked below the line of fire and slammed my hands down on the floor, causing the pools to splash. My arms quivered violently as the muscles in them shrieked. Nothing happened at first. Everyone seemed to pause to assess my actions as well...until I winced and felt a jolt of magic run down my spine.

Out of my palms, and into the dreams. Tendrils of power; of mist, circling my arms and mixing with the dreams beneath me. And then I was consumed —

My vision was replaced with the furthest corner of the Beta plane. Jungles and forests thick with giant trees and bustling with fairies and Elves and Wanderers, teaming with life. Vivid unearthly shades of cyan and jade and violet. I saw the magic in the air; in everything and everyone. In purple and pink and blue.

I absorbed it, into my hands.

I saw...the stories, engraved in the bark and carried on the winds. Whispered between the beat of wings, and sang by the rainbow-jewelled hummingbirds. I captured those tales; of adventure and tragedy and love.

I had never seen anything like it. I took them, twisted them and transformed them into stories of my own —of a multitude of narratives and endings. They spun into one singular thread or thing, the form of it a liquid and a cloud in different places.

And then I expelled it, outwards in front of me.

The burning stopped.

My vision returned, the Cotton Candy returning in all of its blazing and unsightly glory —but my attention was on the soldiers. Or rather, where they had once stood. Now they were on their knees, eyes rolled back; the flamethrowers having clattered at their feet.

They convulsed initially, before they slumped over. Soft snoring then filled the still air.

For a moment, I was stunned. Frozen, and unable to move. Nothing processed for a good amount of seconds, before I gave a sharp cry and fell to my knees. I could no longer feel the pain in them. I was numb.

Georgia poked her head around the corner, her skin sickeningly pale. Colour slowly seeped back into her cheeks as she assessed the situation. "...What in the world?" she rasped.

I looked at the soldiers.

"They are...asleep," I said quietly. So quietly, that I barely heard it myself.

"You put them to sleep?"

"No," I denied. "No —I could not...I did not even...That is impossible. No Dreamcatcher can —"

But I had.

I had put four grown humans to sleep.

When I had smouldered the fires and destroyed the flamethrowers, I picked out pieces of glass from my skin and wiped myself down, before changing into a fresh set of female attire. I tried to ignore the spindles of black thread already stitching at the wounds.

I re-emerged while wrapping bandages around my quite unsightly and tender arms and hands.

Georgia could not help staring at me as I worked. Not in an obvious and outright manner but in little glances. With a perplexed, bemused expression.

I looked at her expectantly.

"I know that you're not human," she murmured. "But...why do you not completely look like one even though...this is your human form?"

I knew what she meant.

"Dreamcatchers do not have genders," I explained. "Our true forms are merely animate objects. Our human appearances are always a choice."

And having 'children' was a luxury that only nobles and the desperate could afford.

"You mean," she said slowly, "that what you look like is totally whatever you want to?"

I smiled slightly. "Yes."

"Even...a man?"

"Yes."

"You've done that before?" she whispered.

I nodded. "My preference does not side with one identity for very long periods of time. I switch between them every now and again. But I think that I gravitate more towards the female form."

Georgia said nothing.

I had learned during my stay that there were a few humans —especially of the adult and religious variety —who found that part about me unsettling. Offensive, even. It was for that reason that I started changing between appearances far less frequently.

I wondered what Georgia thought.

"Does it make you think differently of me?" I asked.

She hesitated. "...No." She frowned and fiddled with a lock of hair. "No —I mean it. It's fine. I had two Dads for parents. It's not that weird to me."

I tilted my head to the side and nodded.

"Do you have many of those where you come from?" she then whispered. "...Same gender couples? Relatively speaking, of course."

"Admittedly," I sighed, "Our modern civilisation was modelled after your world. We too call them mother and father; brother and sister. We do not have actual blood relation. There are some who drift from that, and no one thinks much of it, but that specific model of mother and father has stuck."

"I see," said Georgia, mumbling into her jeans as she sat primly with her knees up. "...You know, your world seems kind of wonderful."

I stiffened and recalled the instances when my parents had regarded me with annoyance for my indecisiveness on appearance. All of the red lines that had branded my palms for my over-enthusiasm.

"So it does seem," I responded flatly.

Before she could question my tone, I moved on to kneel beside the still sleeping soldiers. "I wonder what really happened here," I mused.

"One minute, I could see you throwing bottles," Georgia chimed. "The next, you had your hands on the floor and there was...magic."

The Beta Plane.

I flexed my burnt and bandaged fingers, and my breath hitched at the foreign spark that crackled through my damaged, singed veins.

There was magic there, where there should not be.

"Dreamcatchers are meant to be conduits," I said fairly evenly, though I could feel the unsteadiness in my voice. "They are not made for this."

"For what?"

I looked down at the soldiers; at their uniform and badges. At their momentarily peaceful expressions and docility. It repulsed me, to think of the other damage they may have inflicted in the name of their leaders.

"For wielding magic for their own," I said.

That was what I had done. I now had magic within me, and I did not how. I did not know why. I did not know how to get rid of it. I did not even know if I could.

For now, though, I had to protect my livelihood.

I grabbed onto one of the soldier's ankles and began to drag his body towards the door. Georgia took a moment to realise what I wanted to do, and hurried to the door to open it for me. Human bodies were heavy. Somehow I managed to move him to the pavement, a few feet away from Cotton Candy. Ideally I should have put him further away, but I could not lift him far enough.

Georgia had the ingenious idea of locking the soldiers in the battered shop at the end of the street. If they woke up with any recollection of the incident, then we would remain safe. I was not so sure. With what could we really barricade a building that was falling apart?

And if we succeeded, and should they wake to find themselves trapped with no explanation, would they not crave answers, and then possibly vengeance?

There was the risk of them returning to settle a score.

"We should report them," I suggested. "For unlawful use of weapons and child endangerment."

"Um, who the fuck is going to care?" she deadpanned. "We're in a very precarious situation. The war is barely over; human soldiers are considered heroes, and anyone with magic is the enemy."

"I understand that," I said tightly. "But the law has always looked kindly upon Dreamcatchers. We did not participate in the war. That is all the more reason for any authority figure to realise that this attack was unprovoked and a violation of our rights."

Georgia huffed as though she still did not believe me, but she let me do as I pleased.

I went into the back room and pressed one of the three buttons by the doorframe. It flashed fluorescent yellow in a sequence of one, two, one, two two.

The response was almost immediate.

All vulnerable citizens had had SOS alarms installed into their residences and places of work when the fighting had began. A red one for in-action reports; a yellow one for post-action reports; and a blue one for prior-warning-action reports. It was a measure to ensure our safety, and for misbehaving soldiers of either side to be apprehended for unlawful acts against innocents.

A drone knocked on the front door. We opened the door for it, before giving my personal details and going through the questions required for a post-action report. Sentencing varied due to factors such as the innocent's response, the extent of damage, and any provocation.

I could not lie.

I had to mention that Georgia was the one who had led the soldiers to my store. I did however, report that I did not know to where the supposed Wytch had escaped. It had little impact on the case, since there had not been one in the first place.

And that seemed sufficient.

The drone examined my afflictions and the fresh burn marks in Cotton Candy before deciding on a verdict. It charged the sleeping soldiers with breaking and entering, destruction of private property charges, as well as two counts of attempted murder.

Satisfied, Georgia and I watched the drone and its back-up unit cage transport the soldiers into a white and blue Law Enforcement van before it drove off, leaving great clouds of dust in its wake.

"Fine," Georgia snapped. "Someone still gives a shit."

"The law," I quipped.

"I still don't trust them," she hissed.

"Why?"

She suddenly became very quiet, and clutched at her backpack even tighter. Then it clicked. How could I have not seen the signs earlier?

She is running away.

I still gave her the benefit of the doubt.

"...Come," I sighed, turning back to go inside. "Let me dress your wound."