Diary of a Teenaged Mimic

Dear Diary,

Life just will not let me have a solid week of wins, because it's bitchier than me, apparently.

Yesterday I got a little bit of shit from Doc for being late to Remedial Mana Shaping, but I could tell his heart wasn't in it. Lunch was roast pork, then I spent the afternoon fussing with my dress, getting it hung so it looked like a dress instead of a swath of silk. Dinner was, surprise surprise, more roast pork. Not awful, but someone in this damn place needed to learn how to make barbeque sauce. Pernil was just too much to ask for. Not that I'd say no, but despite a sort of general Brownness about the folks with lots of Bag in them, they didn't strike me as much in the way of Hispanic.

Okay, maybe Bill did a little, but not so much our Maids and cooks.

At any rate, while kind of bland, the pork still fell off the bone with no prompting, so I'm not complaining about the cooking, just the lack of spice. Maybe I'm a little homesick. I dunno.

So I went to bed with a full stomach at least.

I barely kept myself from losing it all when I woke up screaming.

I hadn't managed to get back to sleep at all by the time Saffron knocked on the door, I lay there wondering if she'd go away. The fourth time she knocked, I almost heard something like shouting that barely made it through the door; I dragged myself out of bed and to the door; it swung open the moment I lay my hand on the handle.

"Tabitha! Wake the fu..." she cut herself off mid-'fuck' the moment she got a good look at me. "Shit. Nightmares again?"

"Nightmare. Yeah." I couldn't force anything else out.

Without a word she hefted me up and half-carried me back to the bed, where she sat me down on the edge before even turning the light on. She mostly closed the door, very deliberately keeping it a hand-width open before going to my armoire for a uniform.

She took one look inside and froze, mumbling, "Holy Shit," before carefully reaching in to the side of the armoire opposite The Dress, pulling out a uniform and ever so carefully closing the door.

As she dressed me, she argued with herself a little before asking, "Okay, I've gotta know. Where the hell did you get that?"

I was too strung out from fear and lack of sleep to dissemble. "Loki."

She pulled back and just stared at me. "Loki."

"Yes."

"Your Patron."

I nodded carefully, trying my best to keep my head from falling off. "Yes."

"Gave you a dress."

I pushed myself to form something resembling a coherent sentence. "Had it made for me."

She just stared.

Before she could ask anything else, I remembered and mumbled, "Boots too."

She didn't say anything, just shook her head and hauled me out of bed. She hauled me around most of the day, really, as I drifted aimlessly through class, eating on automatic when the Maids dropped trays of food in front of me.

When she finally dropped me off at my room, she helped me peel off my uniform, lay me back on the bed, then sat there next to me while I fell asleep.

She didn't spend the night.

I know, because I woke, screaming, alone in the dark.