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Amariah appears in the Belltower, throws herself into a chair, and tries to read postcards, but her eyes won't focus on them. She tries the Bellbook, and scarcely has better luck, although her eyes do catch on a certain word.

"Jane."

"Yep?"

"I want to talk to Aether."

"I'll let her know!"
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Aether has a tagalong.

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"Hi, Amariah," says Aether, when she and her tagalong have arrived. "Wow, you're - what's wrong?"

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"Went home," says Amariah in clipped tones. "Saw Kas napping on the floor. Curled up, napped a bit too, woke up, there was hugging and crying, I've been gone sixty-six years, he wrote me a lot of postcards, I started reading them - and then who should appear - but his thirteen year old daughter who looks just like Yseult or Damaris."

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...Celo blinks. (His aura, previously expressing that he is a friendly minor deity, now also announces him to be sympathetic. The low-key rendition of his name remains constant.)

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"I'm. I'm really not a qualified therapist."

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"I'll take suggestions for other people to vent to besides Kas or the innocent thirteen-year-old girl with half my genes running around in Alethia."

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"You can vent to me," Celo offers. "I'm not a qualified therapist either, but I can care with the best of 'em."

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Ama glances at him with vague wariness. "You're also a Joker, though, I - don't know to what extent the thing Kas did is a Joker thing."

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"Juliet also acquired a spontaneous teenage relative! She recommends ranting to a Tony. Do you want me to ask some Tonies?"

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"Juliet acquired a - what? She didn't get stranded."

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"Nope, she has a magically constructed sister and her opacity prevented the memory implant from working."

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The conversation seems to have temporarily moved on from Celo; he waits.

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"What happened after she ranted to her Tony?"
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"She deliberately forked and merged with a copy of herself who did have the sister-related memories. After addressing the problem that precipitated the magic sister, that is."

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"Yeah, that's -" Amariah shakes her head. "That's not going to work for me."

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"What exactly did Kas do?" says Celo.

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"It was an accident, I guess," says Amariah, hugging her knees. "He got lonely. He wanted a kid. He turned female and wished himself pregnant and didn't - think - it - through - and the wish filled me in for the other parent."

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"...I want to hug you," says Celo, "you look like you need a hug."

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Path fluffs up on her shoulder and huddles close to her neck under some of her hair. "I need to figure out how to solve the approximately twelve problems I have now," she says. "And I don't want to put Path down while I'm upset." (She lets her aura out. Path is Not To Be Touched.)

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"Okay," says Celo, "then I want to help you solve your problems. And then maybe hug you."

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"I don't want a kid. I wasn't ready. I'm not even old enough to have a kid her age, I'm subjectively twenty. We never talked about having kids. Witches don't - can't - conceive accidentally, not the first time at least, we're sterile till we first want to get pregnant and I still am. Hell, Golden was older than I am when her half-vampire child looked thirteen. I have no idea how he's been bringing her up or what she thinks of me or anything. And maybe this shouldn't even be my business, maybe I should go back and ignore her, but one, I can't ignore her, because she's Kas's kid and she'd be relevant even if she weren't mine - and two I can't because she is mine, even if I wasn't there, even if I didn't decide to have her, because she's the firstborn Bell-and-Joker-kid template, she is the kid I would've had if I had ever wanted one, if we ever have one together now she'll be a - a Griffin, they call themselves - instead - my firstborn child has been stolen from me by the person I love most of anyone -"

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Celo's aura tells Amariah that he is a friendly god who cares about her and wants her to be happy.

Celo hugs himself.

"Wow, that sucks," he says. "I'm sorry. Does it make it better, that it was an accident?"
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"It means he wasn't setting out to hurt me. That he was just careless. It's different. It means I can't just scream at him, stab him somewhere squishy, and dump him and have done with it. It doesn't hurt less, it just means the hurt is - undirected."

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"...Is stabbing a usual method of expressing displeasure in your, er, culture?"

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"Hm? Yes, actually, I mean I wouldn't do it under normal circumstances but I'm pretty sure if I wanted to dump him he'd rather I get a good hit in first than not. Or maybe he wouldn't. It's been sixty-six years, what do I know."

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