The conversation in Krainian continues for three hours. Roxolane has a lot to tell, and all of her family wants to talk to her, apparently. Thankfully, my participation was no longer required, because I'd feel awkweird having to hover around for the whole talk. So instead, I finally pull out the prototype TV and set it up. Girls are curious, but allow me to deflect the questions for now, while me and Bridgit cook up more treats and Moon Unit and Lily-Anne prepare the bed for all of us to snuggle and snack and watch. Roxolane is nowhere near done talking by the time all is set up, so I make an executive tentacle and deposit her on the bed along with the phone. The rest of the girls pile on, leaving me in front to set things up.

Thankfully, I've been fond of cartoons through the whole of my previous life and tended to watch them often and a lot. So there is no shortage in memories. I start with ye olde black and white skits. Good grief, I keep forgetting just how outstandingly weird they really were. Betty Boop really started off as a dog and all that. Weird. I think my girls are all very much of the same opinion, because their opinions range from "what is this" to "what nonsense" to "how do you even come up with something so weird". The newer stuff is less out there, strangely enough. Classic cartoons go over pretty good. I wonder if my memories of Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck also fall under the copyright clauses. Wouldn't it be something? Then again, Disney transcending the dimensional boundaries to slap a copyright lawsuit on parallel reality is just the sort of weird shit that I... Naaah, even my tentacley self is not THAT serendipitous.

In the end, I keep showing cartoons until late night. Some of the questions girls give me are... Well. One of them being, can I project more memories like this? The answer being "yes, but I don't really want to", so I prevaricate and explain that the memories of something that was intended to be shown are easier to handle than memories of other things. Thankfully, they buy it and don't press further, because some of the memories are not what I want to be shared. Simply out of consideration that none of the girls NEEDS the first person view to me killing or/and eating someone.

___

This is the first time in hell knows how long that I'm in... roughly one piece asleep. I mean, there are odds and bits of me all over the place, but all of those bits are dormant right now. Not doing anything. The only active instance is this here me now. On the bed. With my wives. Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeping................

.... .....

..... ..

..... ..

.... ...............

..... ..

.. .

A̸A͞ĄÁA͟A̧A͜AA͜Á͞A̧A̕A͢Á̢̡A̷̴A̵̴͜A͊A̶̠̳͇A̵̟̱͕̭̜̯Ǟ͆̌͐A̙̲̲̝ͥͣĄ͓̃ͦ́͆͗͗̇A̦͍̫̗ͣͨ̇ͧ̚̚ͅA̲̱̔̈͘͜͞Ả̸̶͔̹̜͚͍͍͖̏͐Ä̶̧̭̫̜̠̰̜ͫ̊̇̎̎ͦ̋ͪ͘Á̶̧̱̯̤͖̪̠͍̎͗̇A͈̩̦̳̩̬ͪ͆ͤ̽ͅA͔ͦͦͦ̅ͯͧͥͨ́Ȁ̷̟̋̋̂͆ͬA̷̸̫̝̤̗̻̥̾̾ͬ͗Á̜̼̟̪̻̰̌̍ͫͭ͂A̢̰̠̦̗̰͚̤ͥͯA̸͖̭̻̪͖ͩ͋ͮ͢ͅA̵̟̪̮̣̮̞̘̺͒̅ͤ̍̆ͥ̀A̡̟͈̦̬̤̣̳̜ͩ̓͑͗ͣ̀A̸͔̼ͦͥ̆̓̂ͮͤ͑Aͫ̌̎͋̓͌҉̷̳̱̬͡A̸̮̺̘̦ͧͬͭͮͬ̽ͭ͡A̶͇͕̳̺͎̗̙̽͋̑A̦̘̩̰ͥÄ̶̹̟͖̭̠̫́̽͋͋A̴̵̧̛̯̼͇̻̜̜͓̜͎͖̙ͬ̏ͧ̈́ͧ͗̇̈̒͆̚͠ͅA̶̠̯̦̩̘̦͔̹ͬͭ̓͛͆ͦͪ̾̌ͥ͌͗̑̆̑͞A̙̰͓͎̔ͩ̀̍̉ͣͦ̃̍̀̍̋͌̓́͡Ă̴̭̫͈̖̹̖̩͚̱̞̘̦̱̜̱͎̱̩̯͋̓͋̇͗̔ͫ͂̂̂̄̍̒ͪ̾̅̈̓̀A͈̲̫̱͉̻̯̬̪̞̠̤̯̼̰͔ͫͨ̂̓ͬ̋ͮ̊̾͗̌͆̿̇̔̓͢͡͞A̯̮͚̯̟̖̜̭̱̬̯̰̠͂̐ͣ̋ͬͤ̐͌̐́ͮͯ̃̿ͭ̊͒ͩ̇͘͜Ȃ̷̧͇̘͓̘̪̱̟̥͉̻̺̭̤ͣ̊̔ͩͯ͢͝À̢̡̤͈̺̟̰̙̠͍̤̰̺̣̻́̍͑ͮ͂̑ͪ̐̔̑́̚͡ͅA͆̉̽̐̄͊̾͌̈̈́ͧ̅͝҉̺̫̦̙̠͓̕A̵̢̛͔͖̜͇̙̙͍̝̤̠̲̱̪̹ͫͩ̉̎ͪͮͤ͆̓̀͜!̧̞̜̯̣͐̃̂̈ͮ̆̓ͦͮ͊ͫ̄ͤ̂ͮͅ!̷͎̻͖̖̗͆̀̉̀̃̓͢͞͡!̴̡̢̃̌ͬ̽̈̿̾͐̊҉͓̱̮̙̠͎̱!̵̸͙̫̬͉͉̥̤̤̯̗̱̙̫͙̠̬̱ͫͯͤ͗ͨ͂̓ͥ̒̇̊ͫͥ̔́!̥̻͍̱̙͐ͮͫ̀̕͠!͌̑͊̾͑ͨ̒͐ͯ̉͌͏̢̡̡̥̝̲̩͕̝͓͇̹̺̱͍̺̜̥̩̰

....just a dream.....

..̷.̧..j̷ųst͘ ̶a͟ ́dr͝e͡am͝.

.̛҉͞.̛.̷̢͜.͢.̀̕͟ju̸̡͢ś̸t ̛҉ą̸̀ ́d̡͡r̕ęa͞m.̧͏.̸

.̶̲̜̠͎̟͕́ͮ̈́̇͑̆̚̚.̸͓̼̰̼̰̻ͫ̈́̚.̣̙̦ͪ͌̿̄͋͂̈̃͞.̵̵͍͓̹̟̋̑ͭj̴̣̖ͣ̅̂͂ͥ̑̋͗̈́u̻͈̞͍̗͔̇͆̇͗̾̈̑͑͟͢s̪͓̳͖̰͖͔̠ͬ̈̀͝t̸͇̜̞̜͈͆̒̓ ̱̣̻̬̜̾̈́̍͒͂ͩ͘͘à̳̲̙̒͗ͣ̆ͭ͘ ̗͙̣̝̫̲̙ͨ̄ͫ̓d̫͙̲͇̓̾ͮ͒͐ͤ͜ṟ̩̩̟͉ͪͣ͌ͨ̈́͝e̵̼ͫ̍͛̉͗ͨ̅ͬ͘͠a̢̗̬͎̐̓ͫ͑͗m̵͓̖̤ͥ̀.̛͔̗̳͋̋̒.̴̣͔̟̍̐̾̍̽ͣ͟͠.̨͙̭̼̦̘̝͈͉ͬ͋̂͊͐͐̀̑͘͠.̖͎̬̂ͭͬͣͤ͋.̙͖̾̌ͤ̽̔͟.̻̹̠̝̐͂̀͝.̡̣̹̭̟̖͔̱̪̮̎ͥ̈͘.̜̳͎̭̖̿ͣ̂̓.͈͔̪̹̩̮́̌̓́̈͗͊̀͜͠ͅ.̶̰͚͕ͯͦ̓̃̈̃̔̀̕.̧͕̘̣̹̹̓́.̷̗̝̣̰̫̏̄.̵̲̜͙͇͍̾ͥͯ̐ͮͥ̑͋.̷̧͂̓҉̣̦̼͇͔͇͖.̵ͯ̂ͬͫ̈́͞҉̟̞̺̹͓͙̭ͅ

.̷̫̩̭̯̭̖̱̙̹͓͚̖͍̖͖̦̰̥̯̎͌̌ͧ̅͒̎̋ͪͭ̆͆ͥ̓̂͑̊ͥ̎͡͡.̴̛̻͙͇̦̤̞̪͕̠̤͕̫̟̠̺ͣͪͨ̃̃̐͑ͬ̔̃̀͐̈́ͬͅ.͇̰̯̖͇̠͐͆̔͂ͨ̍͢͡.̸̇͛ͭ̓̒̀ͥͦ̾ͨ̇ͧ̒̋̈́͠҉̹̤̩͚͉̻̲̬̱̘͔͇͎̜̖̪͝.̨̛̤̠̗͉̖͓͔̤̠̭͕̼̘̀̑̀̀̒̾̿̃͗ͤ̓̿̈ͦͯ̔̉͢j̳̤͚̦̟̙̲͔̯̮̘͚̳̜͈̥̄ͫͯ͊̿͐̇̾ͦ͑͒̍̏́͘͟u̶̡͈̟͂ͮ̓͌ͫͩ̓̇̏͆͜͠ͅs͇̜͙͇̣̝͙͙̟͓̪̫̟̃͆̃̑̋̋ͣ̌ͦ̀͜͜͡͝t̢̻̯̠ͧ͒ͯ͆͊ͨͪ̾̑ͥ͌ͯ̉̋ͮͫ̀̚ ̶̩̩̙̝̲̲̜̺̤̗̟̗̦̭̰̠͔̟̹͆̎̋͗ͩ̑͐͒ͭͥͦͥ̉́̕ą̷̼̙̲̮͑ͧ̓̽̅͊̒̃͌̂̊̔͛̌̎̚͡ͅ ̢̟̱͙̫̜̤͎̲̳͎̺̪̹͊ͫ͆̊̌̉͋ͪ̓͠d̎̀̍ͧͩͬ̈́̄́ͦ̈̎̈́̅̚͘҉̸̴̲̱̞̳͚͕͎̬͓̭̟̟ȓ̸̞̗̣͚̠̞̩̳͕̀̂̌̎ͧͫ̏͒̔̚̚͡e̸̖̙̠͈̳͓̭̲̭̯̗͐͛̐ͪ̇̈͋͂̊ͦͤͧ́͘ă̸̜͉̦̺ͧ̑ͪ̇̌̈́̐̇̄͟͞͠m̨͈̻͈̩̤͙̳̲͓̗̭̫̆̆ͤͣͬ͒̋͌ͭ̌̚̚.̘̟̰͍̻̠̘͔̝̼̮̟͖̲͋̿̈́ͮ͋ͧͭ͌ͯ͂̋̏͗̉͌̉ͦ́͜͝.̴̸̢̟̜͉̜̫̺̭͉̰̩̰̞̤̖͓͍̹̭͊̂̈́̎ͪͨ̄̈̔̋͝

.̷ͧ̆ͭ͊ͪ̒̄̌̏̈̂ͩ͌̽͋̑҉̯̲͖͍̰͖̖̱͈̦̼.̴̧͚͚̘̹̰̞̰̹̭̬̝̦̱̲̫͇̗͚̄ͮ̍̒̀̈́ͩ͋̍̋͗͘͠J̵̨̨̱̰̩͚̻͔̳̩̭̗̙͖͎̪̬̞͋̽̉̔̾ͯ͟͠ͅǗ̵̎̅ͨ̚҉̲̲͚͇͉͡S̶̴̨̹̝̩̤̞͔̯̯͔̮͇͎̲̥͉̬͖̙ͣͩ̎̉̉ͮ̏ͯ́͒̄͌͞ͅT̏͒͂ͫͯ̒ͩ̓̾̊́̆͊ͣ̓̚҉̗͓̖̱̤͕̦̥͉͙̬̙͎͢ ̺͚͚͔̘̺͛̆̾̀́̇ͨͩ̈́͋̌̀͜͟͝Ạ̣̺̬͇̼̱̠ͪͧ̇̀̂̐̅ͫ͂́̚̕͢͠͝ ̴̲͔͙͕͙̫̥͍̠͍̺̼̪͎͖̪̞͇ͥͨͧ̽́͋ͥͫ̔̃̾͂̅̒̄͢ͅD̨̢̻͙͔̫̫̖̝̬͋̉̽̍ͦ̿̏̎͞R̷̡̪̰̖̘̤̝̽̄ͩ̂͡E̘͚̤̖̩̼͕̩͈͖̘͚ͪͯ̔̔ͧͮͥ̅̈́ͥ̿̐̏͘Ä̹̻̖̣́̂̔ͫͬ͢͠M̷̵̵̠̰͉̪̫̺͎̜̯͕̹͔͂͒̐̆ͩͦ͑̇̂́̋͛̐͂ͣͧ̌̃̑.̡̡̺̖̰̣̦͑̌̎̐͌̐

I would pant if I could remember how. I would shiver if I remembered it is a thing. I... REMEMBER MY SHAPE. I am shaped like this. I am coherent. I... have someone squirming against me.

Girls. Are. Here. Spooked. Scared. Pushed to the edges of the bed. But. Here. Alive, well and whole. Good. I... have something else wiggling against me. Against my belly. I lift the blanket and peer in. I blink. I lower the blanket and pat the wiggling bump.

"I... think I just had Wizard's Nightmare." - I croak.

___

That... turns out to be a show and a cat. No, really, I get it. Wizard's Nightmare is serious business. Really serious. Especially if the wizard in question is me, because... yeah. The things I have the power to dream into existence are... case in point. My newest creation is making short work of bread and ham sandwich. I was about to offer a tomato to start with, but given the dentition... She looks up to me and I have to ruffle her hair. I am so fucked.

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"So. No ill effects?" - I quip.

"Nuh-huh." - she confirms, still busy with the sandwich. It's pretty damn early in the morning, but after my wakeup call, I daresay no one is going to sleep in the academy till next night. I hope I didn't defile anyone by accident, there was enough oomph in that shout to get all over the campus.

So... To sum it up. I am, will, determined to assume a role of early mother. Because, technically speaking, it fits. I have, lack of intention notwithstanding, created a living sapient being. Who is remarkably similar to a human child of about eight years old. If we do not take in account alarming dentition, a couple spikes here and there and a fuck-huge wheel that just hovers serenely behind my newest greatest creation. I think it is the symbol of Chaos Undivided, and I am completely utterly terrified this lapse in control had just invited the whole of Warhammer setting into my little bucolic isekai.

I guess the expression I have is... more than a little telling, because my little horror shrugs at me, and pulls out a genuine letter from somewhere. I have no idea how she hid it before, and I have no idea if she even was hiding it, and not just extracted it out of some kind of dimensional gate. The letter... Hm. Might as well read it. This day is off to a really weird start.

"...yada-yada... one count of arcanochtonic event..." - that must be the whole "immaculate birth of eldritch abomination" thing I just pulled... "... stabilization of plegmagnosis balance..." - not sure about this bit, something to do with me and local noosphere being balanced? Where does Cultist-chan come from in that case? "...No intersection..." - PHEW. There is no cross-reality contamination, I don't have to worry about suddenly finding myself in the middle of WAAGH or dealing with spaceborne assholes of all sorts. Still... Why... Oh. Oh. Oh FUCKBISQUITS WHY. Of all the things I could possibly materia... Oh. Well... Shit. I suppose Cultist-chan DOES sum up my hopes and fears pretty well. Who'd think? "...Keep up the good work, cordially yours, Memiri..." - ookay. If the goddess of dreams writes you a personal letter to tell you to keep up the good work, you must be doing something right with your life.

FUUUUUUUUCK.

I smile and lean over to pet the head of my... well, daughter, I suppose. "Let's name you." - I suggest - "I know you self-refer as Cultist-chan, but we'd go bonkers trying to explain that. How about just shortening it to Cy for now? You can think on a different name later, if you want to."

"Hokay!" - she retorts cheerfully. Just when we are about to continue the conversation, the room becomes much fuller, as everyone gets in almost at once. Roxolane went to fetch dame Apricotte, Lily-Anne went to call her dad, Moon Unit went to fetch prelate Iohann and Bridgit is putting the bed back into presentable shape. And now, all of them come back almost at once. King Abe brings sirs Malachi and Pasteur with himself, dame Apricotte comes in with a trail of students after her, though only Lemand and Alistair come in. Oh, nevermind, here's Selene and Ed, too. Prelate, thankfully, arrives by himself. All of my wives are here too. And now I need to explain things...

"Prelate." - I begin, drawing a number of surprised glances - "Is there any special procedure temple suggests for personal correspondence from one of the gods?"

Iohann blinks a lot. Then blinks a whole lot more when I hand him the letter. Half-hour later, after a whole lot of spells and rituals that he enacts with the help of Malachi, the letter is unequivocally confirmed to be the real deal. Which is when he finally answers my question.

"This is mostly unprecedented, lady Gillespie." - Iohann proffers, dabbing his forehead as he fortifies himself with a cup of coffee - "While the temple is aware of a number of things awarded by gods to assorted heroes, this is the first time that I know of someone gets a personal letter. Though, I suppose, the real present is sitting next to you." He smiles at my little abomination, twitches as she smiles right back and continues - "Still, if I may remark upon it - if a goddess of dreams herself takes time to write to you and tell you that you're doing good, I daresay it strongly implies you've been making right decisions in your life."

I sigh. Ruffle her hair. "I suppose there's nothing for it." - I offer - "It is good everyone's here. I didn't exactly plan on it, but..." I lean to her and nuzzle her briefly, as I pull her on the lap. "Everyone, this is Cy Gillespie. She's going to be my daughter from now on. Fair warning - she is already a prodigy in chaos magic, so watch your things around her, lest they become something else while you were not looking. Cats can be bats can be rats can be gnats can be thises can be thats."

I think it is very fair to say no one expected this. Least of all, me. But I'm going to roll with it. First thing on agenda? Verify just how much of an eldritch abomination Cy truly is. And properly play with her, of course. She should know mommy's tentacles by sight, after all.

Cytotoxin Early Betty Boop is really, really, REALLY weird.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M3_KbMd-xQU

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