In Which Severin Gets the Narrative

April 30, 1202

"See? I knew you'd figure it out. You humans do tend to be smarter than you look, about four times out of five."

"I'd feel smarter if what I supposedly 'figured out' didn't leave me with more questions than answers." Frankly, the most shocking thing Severin had 'figured out' was that he hadn't lost his mind. The pieces of the puzzle had formed a picture he couldn't explain and didn't know what to do with. More than a small part of him had expected Ylwa to smack him across the head and tell him to come back when he had the real solution. "I need a narrative here."

"All right. I'm sure you've read a few autopsy accounts that mentioned... unexpected arrangements of the reproductive organs? Your brother sought me out over a particular medical issue some years back." Ylwa smirked. Severin couldn't tell if it was fond remembrance or present amusement. Both, maybe. "Turns out, your little brother was always supposed to be your little sister. I said I could make some alterations in either direction, but that they wouldn't be necessary, and then I dismissed the kid before any rash decisions could be made; it's not a decision to made lightly, especially when the idea that there could be a decision in the first place is more or less alien to you."

"So then, Teodrin thought it over, and then you went along with the informed decision." And informed nobody else. Not even Dora. "What about the memories?"

"I thought it only fair to offer the option. You humans aren't exactly known to react well to people daring to take control of their own bodies, what with all those poor people you insist on stuffing away in your godless god-houses for the crime of daring to use their own genitals. Dora chose the fabricated past over the pain of having to hide the truth, and living with the consequences of the hiding. You can't really blame her, can you?"

"No, I guess not." 'Blame' wasn't the right word. Yes, the family had been hurt, was still hurt... but 'blame' didn't capture it. He'd talk to Dora later, when she remembered.

If she remembered.

"Look, that fake past you made up for her isn't holding up any more. At first she started feeling it wasn't real, then she just forgot, and then she--"

"Oh. She's ill, isn't she?"

Severin nodded. Ylwa sighed--not expecting, exactly, but aware that something had been possible. "Of course. Well, this isn't common, but clearly she spends a lot of time among people she knew before--so it's not impossible that her brain has rejected the constructed memories. That tends to result in it wreaking havoc on the body for lack of knowing what to do with itself."

"Can you save her?"

"Naturally. I just need to get into her head and restore her original memories. I have mixtures that allow me to do that." As if that ought to have been common knowledge. And as if it were an ethical dilemma. "She might be in something of a state afterwards, though. Her real past is a lot to process."

"I'll take responsibility for that. The important thing is her health." Then, once she was back on her feet... she could figure out how to go about all of this.

He just hoped it eventually involved telling their mother.

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