Tap. Tap. Tap.
A fingertip struck the table. In the silence, a steady metronome.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Evarista stared at the jar on the desk in front of her. The orb weaver inside didn't mind the noise. They were best buddies now. Neighbors. Confidants.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Another night of complete silence. She hated the bustle of daytime, but this silence drove her mad. It was a good feeling, though. It seemed like everyone else had died. She was the only one left.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The orb weaver's chitin glistened in the moonlight. Such a beautiful creature. such a beautiful mind. So indifferent to the horrors, grief and melancholy around it.
Tac. Tac. Tac.
The tapping assumed a pointed tone. Her own fingers began to shift without any conscious input. Black, slick digits struck the lacquered surface before suddenly stopping. No. This didn't cut it. Internally chiding herself for not paying attention, she returned her fingers to human form. A slow rearrangement as the black chitinous plates retreated and dissolved into soft, pallid human skin. Not that she liked the human skin; she really didn't. But it was time to change her attitude. It was time to take this more seriously.
She wasn't going to progress the way she using her abilities now. It was not art, it was not science. I was just lethargy that took form. Idleness, as if her mind was detached from her body, leaving the repugnant piece of meat behind. Seeing it twist and turn, indifferently. It felt good, but it wasn't enough anymore. Like a drug, entering into a habit built tolerance. It wasn't exciting anymore, didn't bring the same euphoria it originally brought. It became the norm. She hated the norm.
Standing up from the armchair with a jerk, the girl paced. Back and forth. Wall to wall. She had long ago picked out the two furthest points in the room, walking between them and touching the wall before turning around. The walls had black marks on those spots from years and years of this touching. It made her relax in the past, but it was a habit now, just something normal. It was disconcerting to realize the diminishing returns on things that felt good. The body was never happy with anything for long. It always needed more. Taking, taking, and taking until it couldn't handle the strain, but still wanting more. It was like that with alcohol, and it was like that with morphing. That was fine. Evarista hand no problem with this degradation. Self-restraint was just another form of suffering, except that it seemed even more stupid to her.
She moved the jar from the desk to the windowsill, throwing open the window. The moon and the stars bathed the glass gently. Leth was a merciful master. Dropping to her knees in front of the window, she girl gripped the jar tightly and looked intently at the creature inside. It was perfectly at eye level. Her nose pressed against the cold surface, the only thing separating her from the ever-indifferent orb weaver. Why did people say spiders were ugly? It looked rather nice to her. Aesthetically pleasing, even. Such complexity, such organic architecture.
The anxiety set in. What should she do now? Morphing just the hands and feet has become boring. She had thought about the next step often, but always procrastinated. It was daunting, and she had no idea where to begin or what to actually do. Only the desire, the objective, has formed clearly in her mind.
She wanted to create her own web. Spin her own silk. Her very own art. Human art always left her indifferent, but this was appealing. Something she could actually make with her body, which was so useless in its natural form. Oh, the things she would do once she came to grips with this...
But it wasn't easy. How do spiders even make their webs? Just staring at one locked up in a jar didn't provide much insight. Although she has seen this fellow make flawless webs at the hanging garden where she caught him, she didn't pay attention to the details. She couldn't afford to, really. Catching the orb weaver was hassle enough. Being bitten by it would create more complications. She would be crushed by grief if the chamberlain decided to throw out or even kill her eight-legged drinking buddy. So, letting it out of the jar was unfortunately not an option. But keeping it in the jar wouldn't get her morphing experiments anywhere. Unless...
Evarista had almost forgotten about it, but it suddenly struck her just now. She did know a little bit of auristics from her short and bumpy ride at the Institute. She was not at all in the habit of using it, as it gave her little more than headaches. Still, in this situation, it seemed like a Rhysol-sent opportunity. Her nose still pressed against the jar, Evarista strained her eyes to 'see'.
Nothing happened. Bah, what was this! She could do it during the lessons! Not on the first try, admittedly. Maybe she needed a drink to help her concentrate. Bothersome to think in those routes, but unavoidable at this point in her life. She needed a drink, and that was final. The intrusive thought could not be chased away once it appeared. It could only be drowned.
Briefly leaving her friend in peace, the girl busied herself at the desk, pouring up a quarter-glass of whisky, and took a swig. Just enough to wet her lips... ahhh. That heat sliding down her throat made all the difference. Putting the glass down, fully intent on returning to it later, she rejoined the spider at the windowsill.
Knees to the floor. Nose to the glass. Eyes on the crawlie. Second try. One swig of whisky wasn't enough to give her the buzz anymore, but it chased away any sleepiness. She was actually able to concentrate now. Squinting, she stared at her striped prisoner without blinking. Soaking in the form, the contours. The whole and the nuances. The moon was a poor source of light, but that was a good thing. The silver-black veil of a clear night was perfect to 'see'. Transparent hues began emerging. Dim, dirty white colors, emanating from the angled form. A hidden corona emerging from the air, always carried, seldom seen.
A few seconds in, Evarista's eyes began to water, and she had to blink. When she opened her eyes again, the aura was gone, fragile concentration broken. It wasn't as breathtaking as she had expected. The spider's aura was decidedly modest compared to the aura of most other things she has seen. Dirty, pale, flowing lazily yet thinly, like a swirling puddle of slime. There was little complexity, but that was good. Great, even. Exactly what she wanted. Finding the information she needed within that puddle seemed attainable, because the puddle had a bottom. The dazzling circus of a sapient aura was pretty to look at for a moment, but she could never glean anything useful from it. There was too much going on. Too much nonsense she was not at all interested in. This short séance inspired yet more adoration for simplicity.
It gave little more than that, though. She had to keep concentration longer if she wanted to derive any useful facts from the aura. Maybe it would be easier if she blocked out the surroundings better. Still staring into the jar, Evarista boxed in her vision by using her hands like blinders, blocking out the distant lights and movements outside of the window. Third try.
Now that she already had an idea about what the aura was supposed to look like, it went faster to recognize the smudged patterns as they surfaced around the spider. Accidentally blinking right at the beginning forced her to restart, rebuilding the picture again. She could finally 'see' something - the sensation of the exoskeleton if she would touch it. It felt much like her own morphed digits, so that was old news. However, she was somewhat pleased to know that her morphing had been so accurate already. What else was there? Emotions? A bug shouldn't have any. Maybe hunger. Was hunger an emotion? She fed the spider earlier today, so it wouldn't be hungry now in any case. Starvation sounded like something that should reflect on a creature's aura, so that was something she had to experiment with. Not now, though.
The eyes were watering again, this time more profusely. She closed them, wiping the few tears that rolled down her cheeks. Giving her eyelids a small massage, the girl stood upright to give her knees a break. Now, more whisky. Returning to the desk and picking up the glass, she slowly tilted it in her hand, sucking on the corner thoughtfully as the beverage entered her mouth in a tiny stream. Her goal was to find out how the orb weaver made its web. How does one see that in an aura? What was she supposed to look for? Sorting thorough a spider's aura wasn't going to be very difficult per se, but with her control of the magic, it would be tedious. That wasn't an obstacle, though. Chronically lazy as she was, some things just lit her work ethic on fire.
Evarista pulled the glass from her lips and looked at the contents. Just enough left for one more swig. This would be her final reward tonight. Returning the glass to the desk, she walked over the the windowsill, closing her eyes for a little while to prepare them for another go. Down on her knees, eyes open, hands as blinders again. Fourth try.
The viscous-looking aura began oozing out of the spider again, touching her senses lightly. The girl squinted, attempting to discern anything related to web-making. Alright... there's a special sac where the web is stored. No, not the web. There was no web yet. Just the substance that the web is made from, some kind of protein jelly. After that- ugh.
Attacked by a sudden wave of dizziness, Evarista quickly looked away, supporting herself on the windowsill to avoid losing balance. The discomfort dampened her morale a little, so she felt quite done for today. Still, it wasn't bad. No, it was amazing! She could use this! Create a compartment first, then fill it with liquid proteins. Those were the first steps. Next, she had to know how to turn that jelly into strings, and the secret of webmaking would be hers.
Modest as that piece of information was, there was no way she would have learned it without the use of aurisics. Physically dissecting the spider and rummaging around inside of it wouldn't have made any sense to her, anyway. And she'd probably get herself poisoned. And it'd be really messy. The slaves would probably complain about it to the chamberlain. The old man was usually forgiving of her eccentricities, but she didn't want to try his patience. Auristics were definitely the way to go.
Waiting for the nausea to pass, the girl wobbled up to her feet and headed for the desk. Final sip of that sweet, sweet whisky, and off to bed. Flopping down onto the sheets, she felt the fatigue begin to set in, eyes closing on their own. Holding them open at all was laborious. Was it due to being tired after the use of magic, or was it a side effect of auristics in particular? She didn't know, and she didn't really care about those details at the moment. If anything, it helped her fall asleep all the faster. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.