After a week of being a puppet, Cypur was released from Venée. He spent all day in his room sleeping or drawing in his sketchbook to rewind and gather his energy back. Wegginfaezerie City Carnival began at midnight. Strings of sparkling lights appeared on the sides of buildings. Sorcerers in charge went around to infuse the lights with magick to make it last the whole week of Carnival. No one knew anymore what they were celebrating though. The meaning had long been lost.

Posters of the carnival dance during the opening ceremony had started to appear on the trees around his house last night. This year, Arius had been planning to participate and Cypur had watched a few of his dance steps and helped him get the tempo right. It would be rude not to go and watch the performance.

This would be the first time for Cypur and Arius to be at Carnival on the same day. Often, they would miss each other and laugh about it later. Cypur didn't know if he could keep his emotions to himself even with the police patrolling the area.

He also dreaded Carnival this year because Gallen and Rachelle wanted to take him to his first torture performance. It was something he had been avoiding seeing.

Torture, if done right and with little injuries, was considered beautiful in the eyes of aesthetic ethics that Sorcerers so religiously followed. Gallen and Rachelle loved the stuff especially since Rachelle's mother was a top performer in the art. Gallen had given him a poster of a show to initiate Cypur into the art and now it sat on his desk, glowing because Carnival was upon them.

'Professor Malgorithum's Greatest Slice of Life' it said with a picture of the red-haired, red-mustached, green-eyed lizard-like Professor Malgorithum holding a knife against the throat of a real lion dressed up in clothes. Cypur wasn't sure if someone like Mrs. Kelplind would particularly appreciate someone borderline making fun of her sub-species Leovra. There was no killing involved, no blood, and it was considered a 'kiddy show'.

"We'll initiate you with this. And then you'll come to Rachelle's mother's show. Next time we have debate, we can have a live torture session. You know the professor Missus loves that." Gallen had seemed confident he could get Cypur into the art, but Cypur was not sure at all. He had said yes to the plan, but come the first day of Carnival, now he wasn't sure.

As the sun began to set beyond his curtains, yellow deepening to orange, Cypur lay in his bed still not over being with handsy Venée and her opening ceremony runway show. She had been especially handsy this time getting her hands too close to places he didn't want touched. More than once did she give him a 'thank you' kiss on the cheek that he had to pull away from because it lasted a tad too long to be normal.

Still, her designs were impressive, and he saw how much she had grown under his mother's mentorship. No more clashing colors with crazy designs of squares and circles inside star shapes. No more bright reds with neon greens claiming it represented a flower bouquet. Venée had turned her fashion colors from crazy to subdued. Dark oranges mixed with floral yellow stitching throughout a cape meant for a Missus. Cypur refused, at first, to wear a female's cape, but he was reminded of commission and aesthetic ethics.

"Besides, you're androgynous. It works, sweetie." Venée's cooing voice had sent a shiver up his spine. Cypur knew he was more feminine than the average male Sorcerer, but he didn't like to wear female clothes. He was still a male, last he checked down there.

No wonder all those designers were mad. He recalled the moment he had to be out in the reception party in female attire of a long-sleeved flowing dress made of red silk with little golden flowers embroidered on the waist like a belt. He had to wear white leggings and a thin silver tiara because the dress' name had been 'Lady Red of Goldenrod'.

Some designers, friends or acquaintances of Venée, had come to talk to him. "Little Missus, are you one of the models?" one of the females had said.

"I am no Missus, Missus. Are you blind?" he had snapped. The group had gasped, turned their noses up in the air, and stalked away.

Cypur grimaced at the memory, knowing he should have chosen nicer words. Prior to this incident, he had numerous citizens approach him thinking he was female, and he was absolutely fed up. It didn't make the attitude okay though. The rest of the day he had caught many designers giving him dagger eyes, but it didn't hurt because he didn't care what they thought. He was never going to see them again.

"Am I that female looking though?" Cypur wondered out loud as he lay in his bed. He reached over to his dresser and pulled out his mirror. Of course, he had seen himself so many times there was no way he found any female attributes about his face.

"Bastard," he said to himself in the mirror and decided to take another nap.

Just shy of eleven-thirty, he heaved out of bed to catch Arius rehearsing the dance for the opening ceremony. Gallen and Rachelle had said they would meet him there anyway. He grabbed his savings to spend on knick-knacks and old spell books as well as some extra omnias to pay Gallen and Rachelle. They hadn't asked for anything yet but there was a good chance.

Before heading out, he decided to take the brooch with him in case he had the chance to slip off to Rauvuren Trude. Maybe he could find Wescherlie and get this off his person. He had enough problems to deal with himself.

Outside in the slight chilly weather, he could already hear the faraway sound of drummers practicing for the dance. It was a wonderful starry night magical and marvelous—or marvical—and the glow of golden light from Carnival illuminated the night.

Turning the corner, he came to Bennit Street and a string of sparkling lanterns emerged along the sides of the houses as if following him. There were fewer people about and his boots sounded loud on the hardstone ground.

A dense, white fog rolled in out of the blue and the scene before him rippled. Cypur stopped. He was being transported somewhere. The hardstone ground turned to dirt. The moisture in the air thickened as if it had just rained. A breeze flew from behind whipping his hair into his face. For a brief moment, he caught sight of a grassy field before him and knew where he was—Vrebrinfeld Lowlands.

A fist jumped out of the fog, meeting his nose with a crunch. Cypur was hurled backwards and fell on the ground. Pain shot through his body but before his nose could fully heal, a foot stepped on his stomach. Gasping for breath, Cypur tried to squirm away when another fist infused with some kind of magick pounded into his head and made him reel. Another magick-infused punch to his stomach broke his bladder.

"The baby needs to change his diaper!" came Gallen's mocking voice and somewhere nearby, Rachelle was laughing.

Confused, hot with shame, and boiling with anger, Cypur's vision blurred. He reached for something to pull him up, but his fingers only grazed the damp dirt. Nausea crept up his stomach and he tried to prevent Gallen from punching when magick controlled his arms, holding them over his head.

"Why are you doing this?" He said, but there were no listening ears. One final punch sent a splurge of vomit up in the air and back down on his face. His lunch in another form reentered his mouth. Tears welled in his eyes, and he rolled over, coughing on his own vomit and spitting it out.

"I saw you." Gallen's sharp, cold voice was like a dagger into his heart. "I saw you having sinful emotions towards Mister Arius col Barondium. I saw you blushing when he smiled. I kept it to myself for a long time, but I don't think I can hold it in anymore. You make one false move against us and you're going to jail, Little Princess. Shame on you," He spat.

They knew. Now nowhere was safe for him. He could never be himself in front of anyone.

"I can't believe you, darling," Rachelle said, her voice deepening as she growled, "How shameful! Vile thoughts! Disgusting."

Cypur sobbed into the ground but tried hold his composure. He hiccoughed and lifted his head. "Don't tell anyone." He knew he was meeting deaf ears. "I'll pay you higher amounts."

"I got his money." Gallen urged, jingling the bag. "We're still on for Carnival as friends, so be grateful we're not throwing you away. A friend of society's garbage because no one else would. How gracious of us!"

Society's garbage? No one wants me. The thoughts clouded Cypur's mind, pulling him deep into ground. He wanted to sink into the soil. Fade away. Be forgotten. No one would miss him.

"One last chance, Crimelight," Gallen stepped on Cypur's stomach, "Come watch a tortuous treat. If you fail that, you'll be our toy like you are now. If you refuse, I'll report to the police."

Cypur listened to their footsteps until they faded. He made a fist and heaved himself up. Vomit fell from his clothes and onto the ground. The coldness from his wet pants made him shiver. He hated himself. Why wasn't he more careful? And why couldn't he fight back? He let them beat him up.

"But they're right," He bit his lip, holding in a sob that shot up his throat, "I'm pathetic. Weak, a shame." He stood on shaky legs and hobbled towards the direction of home to get cleaned up.

He was at least lucky going home. No one saw him and he was able to teleport himself to the shower without anyone questioning his appearance or smell.

In the shower he stripped off all his clothes. With a sigh, he let the soothing warm water run down him. His throat tightened. All that made him Cypur was not fit for this world. He liked males and it was illegal. He didn't have a Faud and he might be exiled. He didn't have any friends except the ones he paid for and soon he wouldn't even have that. And his parents only cared about his high achieving brother. He couldn't even be a proper Sorcerer when he tried.

Don't, don't, don't be weak! He scolded himself, pinching his cheeks and pounding his head, but his eyes and nose burnt. He couldn't hold it in any longer. Cypur sobbed ugly tears and hit the floor with weak punches. A wail escaped his lips, and his body shook.

Garbage. Garbage. The words chanted in his mind. Failure.

"Bastard, bastard!" If Sorcerers didn't heal so fast, Cypur knew he would have ended it here because what point was there for him to live on? He was imperfect. Never meant to be a Sorcerer. He was wrong.

Why wasn't I born Human? But I probably would have failed that, too. He watched as the water flowed down the drain, wishing he could melt and flow down with it. No one would care. No one would miss him. He hung his head. Exhaustion weighed on his shoulders, holding him down, so he couldn't stand. He didn't want to go to Carnival, but if he didn't show up, Gallen was going to report him to the police.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a purple glow coming from his pile of clothes, half drenched in the shower. Cypur lifted his weary head and grabbed the thing that glowed. It was the brooch, and the keyhole was showing again. He touched the keyhole, feeling the magick within. Without thinking much, he probed it, trying to find the magick-made hinges and pins that set the lock in place. He worked like that for what felt like hours before the lock opened with a soft click. The top of the brooch fell off onto the floor. He quickly rescued it before it slipped down the drain.

Inside the brooch was a small rose gold stone. He sniffled and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. The beauty of the stone struck him, and his tears dried.

"How beautiful," he whispered, and his voice cracked. When he touched the stone, he was filled with an immediate sense of peace and the magick cocooned him in a warm caressing hug. Cypur closed his eyes and leaned into the magick. New tears stung because he had not felt a comforting touch like this in a long time. But the magick soon vanished. He blinked open his eyes.

"Lady Wescherlie," he whispered and closed the brooch back up. "I should give this to her." He decided as one last act of being Cypur, he would go give the brooch to Lady Wescherlie and help the Rauvuren that died—for nothing in return, of course.

"After that, no more Cypur the Softy Sorcerer. I'll just, I guess," He gave a sigh and his tears threatened to return, "I guess I'll just throw myself away." He pushed the words out with effort, feeling the bitterness on his tongue. The only way he thought he could survive being a Sorcerer with or without a Faud was if he just stopped being himself. Because true Cypur was not meant to be a Sorcerer.

Quickly, he washed off and got dressed in new clothes, then he washed his cape and shoved it in the dryer. He went into his room and took out his diary. In there were his romantic feelings towards Arius and all the memories with him detailed in loving words. Without thinking twice, Cypur said a fire spell and burned the diary. No more feelings for Arius.

Next, he took out his sketchbook and ripped out all the pages where he drew Arius only to realize that almost his entire sketchbook was filled with drawings that made him Cypur. The silly ones of teachers as different animals had to go. Sorcerers never told stupid jokes. The practice sketches of male-male couples or female-male couples holding hands or hugging, and the imagined sketches of what his biological parents might look like based on his own features. All of it, burnt.

"So long, Cypur the Softy Sorcerer," he said and with a hint of pain in his heart.

Once he was done, he checked the time. It was already ten minutes before opening ceremony at Carnival and his cape wasn't dry yet and neither was his hair. Although he would miss Arius dancing, he could still go and ask how it went. Then it would be time for the torture show. He would stay through the whole thing.

Then I'll go give this to Wescherlie and say goodbye to me. Cypur thought in his heart that was the best course of action. He wouldn't just act like a Sorcerer. He would become the act. Otherwise, he would crumble again, and he didn't want to do that anymore.