The humiliating emotional catharsis of the previous evening had passed, leaving Princess Eleanor Thistle with a single, burning resolve: absolute, total competence. No more tears. No more accidental glitter. And definitely no more crying over past-life mothers.
The morning found her engaged in Phase Two, Sub-Section Alpha: Object Manipulation and Hand Eye Coordination.
The centerpiece of her current training regime was a simple, unfinished wooden block left haphazardly in her crib. It was small, cube-shaped, and thankfully, not round.
If I can master the pinch grip, I can hold a knife. If I can hold a knife, I can threaten my brothers. It's simple, elemental logic. Now, focus!
She lay on her back, hands hovering over the block. The problem wasn't lack of strength; it was the infuriating, unreliable baby tremor. Her hands operated with the jerky precision of a drunk automaton.
She reached. Her left hand, the one with the knack for rogue magic, darted too quickly, swiping the block sideways. Her right hand, the one that used to perfectly hold a stylus for eight hours a day, fumbled and smacked the mattress.
Unacceptable! I am a Vampire Hybrid apex predator! My ancestors devoured kingdoms! I can't even pick up lumber! This is worse than trying to navigate the VLOOKUP function!
After ten minutes of silent, grueling effort, she finally managed to clamp her thumb and forefinger around the block. Success! Her arm shook violently, but the block was hers.
Her internal monologue was a victory march: Yes! I have seized the means of production! I am now armed! Fear me, you overgrown mutts and sparkle-wizards! This block will be the foundation of my empire!
At that very moment, her mouth ,that untrustworthy, drooling orifice decided the block looked delicious.
Driven by an overwhelming, involuntary baby instinct, Eleanor's arm bent, and the wooden block was brought straight to her face. Before the Clarissa part of her brain could file an objection, the Eleanor part had clamped down on the corner of the wood.
NO! NO, YOU IDIOT! That's wood! That's splinters! That's exactly how you ended up here! Stop chewing!
She fought her own jaw, trying to release the block, but the primal grip was too strong. She made a muffled, frustrated sound, the wood tasting faintly of cedar and potential emergency room visits.
And then, a smooth, baritone voice broke the silence.
"You are chewing your building materials, Princess."
Caius. The Glitter Prince was back. He was leaning against the crib, looking pristine in a new tunic, but a thin line of silver-pink shimmer still outlined his earlobe.
Eleanor instantly dropped the block, the sudden, sharp shock of being addressed overriding her chewing instinct. She was so furious at being caught in this pathetic, undignified moment that her eyes narrowed into tiny, venomous slits.
You! You sparkling nuisance! You dare mock my teething phase? I hope you choke on a rogue enchantment!
Caius merely smirked, completely unfazed by her murderous glare. "A true Fae would have transmuted the block into candy before ingestion. You lack elegance, Eleanor."
"Gah!" Eleanor attempted to articulate, but it came out as a squeaky, congested noise of pure fury. She hated him. She hated his effortless posture. She hated the sheen of glamour he subtly emitted.
Caius sighed dramatically. "Father sent me to... teach you something useful. He suggests you learn Elemental Control now that you can apparently sit up without immediate disaster."
He snapped his fingers. A tiny, perfect flame …about the size of a candle wick flickered into existence above his fingertip. It hovered, motionless and bright.
"Concentrate on this," Caius instructed, holding the flame near the crib bars. "Fire is the simplest expression of power. Focus your anger into heat. Now, extinguish it."
Eleanor stared at the fire. Fire was dangerous. Fire was useful. Fire was exactly what she needed to turn the block into acid. She focused every ounce of her resurrected soul, every memory of tax forms and choking death, into the flame.
Die! Burn! Go away! I don't need your condescending fire lesson!
She channeled her magic. It wasn't glitter this time. It was a cold, sharp, focused wave of immense pressure. She was aiming to smother the fire with sheer force of will.
Instead, the flame didn't go out. It froze.
The tiny, bright orange flame instantly turned into a rigid, minuscule spike of blue ice, hovering perfectly still above Caius's finger.
Caius stared at the blue ice spike. Then at Eleanor. Then back at the ice.
"That's... not Elemental Control," Caius said, his voice flat with surprise. "That's Inverse Transmutation combined with a Temporal Stasis field. That's highly advanced... and also, completely useless for battle."
He flicked his finger, and the spike of blue ice shattered into a dozen tiny, impotent frozen flakes.
Eleanor just stared at him, her face a mask of furious infant innocence. Useless?! I turned your fire into ice! I won! I'm a prodigy! Now, get out of my castle before I figure out how to do that to your spine! (Lol) .
Caius, however, was no longer looking down his nose at her. He looked genuinely rattled. He quickly stepped back, adjusting his tunic.
"I will return later," Caius announced, sounding strangely preoccupied. "When you've, perhaps,... mastered not chewing the furniture."
And with a speed that suggested genuine unease, he fled the room, leaving the future sovereign alone with her wooden block and her rapidly drooling mouth.
Ha! See, Clarissa? You might be a pathetic eater, but your soul is an unparalleled engine of chaos! Now, to figure out how to melt the walls...( chaotic twenty two years old girl in a body of a baby)
Now I should learn to melt the walls and froze caius spine.