Monty,

  If I was to say that I was unhappy that my daughter and son in law reached out to you I would have the unfortunate honor of being a liar. Their dismissal of you seven years ago still angers me, but the hope that our family could be brought back together never left.

  However you are the one who will make the choice, and whichever you choose know that I will always support you and you can always find a home with us. But if you do go into the city to see them you need to be careful. The Wandering City has gone missing on its path back from beneath the Charred Contient. I have heard whispers that they are blaming that new Brew Union, which means they are blaming Empyreans. Stick to the more public and respectable areas.

  Beyond that I am sorry to hear that your watch was stolen. I still remember when your grandmother helped you design it. I have sent one from her collection that you can have. It belonged to an old friend of ours before they passed.

  Speaking of your grandmother, she is doing well, and asks for you often. She will sometimes knock on your door to wake you for breakfast, which may sound sad, but I find it especially adorable. A letter from you to her would be much appreciated.

  And lastly congratulations on becoming a Dreamer. I do not know exactly what that means for you, but regardless I am proud. Even if you do reconcile with your parents and move back in with them, your grandmother and I want you to visit over the winter break.

  Best

  Grandpa Shi Gao

  I folded the paper, flattening the crease methodically before sliding it back into the envelope and putting it into my jacket pocket. Then I unwrapped the package. Normally I would not do this while sitting outside, it was a private missive after all, however the school was practically empty.

  The third-years had never been present, and most of the first-years were still on an island. It was the second-years that left sometime during our travels. All of them were gone including their teachers and overseers. If Elina were here she could have told me where they went, but I was not the socialite she was. The only person currently in the school whom I have had any real conversation with was Cystella. A pathetic observation.

  The pocket watch was rather dated, but well kept. My grandfather was the one who taught my father, his son-in-law, about watches, and my father ignited my own interest in them at a young age.

  I traced the edge of the watch with my finger, but didn’t crack it open to inspect its parts. My mind was focused on other matters. I had received no additional mail from my parents while I was away.

  Did they change their mind? Or were they waiting for me to respond? Was their desire to see me only worth a single olive branch?

  Their faces were hard to remember completely, like a word that was difficult to pronounce. However I did remember the way my father would rest his hand on my shoulder, soft and gentle, but heavy and uncomfortable.

  I remembered how my mother would hold my hand like she was trying to squeeze the juices out of it, and her equally bone bending yet brief hugs.

  I missed that feeling… and there was a chance I could feel it again.

  A tingling sensation crawled up my spine. Two girls from Professor Rider’s class looked at me with the fascination of an animal in a dissection lab. When I met their eyes they peeped as though they were startled birds and traded harsh whispers.

  I didn’t like that, the whispers from the students. Disgusting, freak, monster, insane, horrible, psychopath.

  They just didn’t understand, they did not have the tingling urge to find out why things worked the way they did.

  My eyes drifted away from them, rewrapping the pocket watch.

  Running my finger on the torn edges of the packaging paper I decided that I would go and see my parents. However I would give them no warning letter.

  I wanted to see their true selves, why they really wanted to reconnect with me, not receive whatever false pleasantries they would prepare.

  I wanted to see if they would still look at me the same way they had that day.

  —

  My family traded in silk. Not just any silk, but silk from Green Gem Spiders, a Nightmare native to the Charred Continent. During the Empire’s reign my great great grandfather left the corrupt country on a boat with a colony of young Green Gem Spiders and bought his way into the Sun State by selling trading route information.

  He had a tough time making it in the Sun State, but through hard work and ignoring provocations, he was able to start a successful business.

  My mother was the heir to that business, and she met my father who was one of the workers on the spider’s colony web.

  My father meanwhile came from overseas as a baby, but his parents died in a train derailment as a young child, and he had to work instead of going to school to make ends meet.

  It gave him a narrow, but thorough education and a strong work ethic. He took my mothers name when they married, and I was born not long after.

  My first memory was of being covered in blood, a slice on my hand going from the base of my palm to the pad of my thumb. In my other hand I held a bloody knife, and on the ground was my favorite toy. It was a wooden Nightmare, its joints, head and tail removable, and lying next to it was a stick I took from outside that I had been trying to carve into a new limb.

  I had grown bored of the few appendages that came with the toy, and wanted to make my own. But of course I was unable to and cut my hand open as a result.

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  Despite being only a few years old I did not cry, instead my dull grey eyes stared at the sliced open flesh in fascination.

  There were things beneath the skin? I tried to wipe away some of the blood to get a better look inside, but the flow was constant. Only a few moments later a scream from the maid alerted my parents and they came rushing in.

  I do not know if that was the cause of my parents distance to me, or if it had always been that way.

  Both of them were often busy with work, my father leaving for days at a time to manage the expanded colony farms, and my mother spending long hours in the office overseeing the business.

  However when they were home it never felt like a warm place. Father was a quiet man, thin but well muscled from years of hard labor. When he was not working he would indulge in hobbies like watchmaking, and fishing.

  And if my father was quiet, my mother was silent, around me that is. I could remember her animated conversations with business partners when they were invited over for dinner, but she would devolve into silence when I entered the room.

  But I never questioned their love for me. My father did not hug me, and often refused to hold my hand unless we were in a crowded area. He said I needed to be strong, and there wouldn’t always be someone there to keep me safe. Still he would place a reassuring hand on my shoulder when he thought I needed it.

  At the same time he was the one who introduced me to watchmaking. My young inquisitive mind drank up the information, and in only a few years I was able to take apart and put back together our large grandfather clock. With help of course, I was short, and not particularly strong.

  Father would tell me of how he learned it from my grandfather when he was engaged to my mother.

  Meanwhile, Mother would hug me and hold my hand, but it was always only for a moment, and it was always painfully strong making me feel as though my bones were sticks about to snap. Sometimes she would play with my hair, and every once in a while she would let me hold her hand and play with the veins and tendons.

  Between my fathers hand on my shoulder and my mothers strong hugs I preferred my mothers hugs. To me, the pain was a sign of love, and despite being brief they would fill me with a sense of care that would linger for days.

  Because they were so busy they hired maids to take care of me, and got me a dog to keep me company.

  His name was Burst, and he was a short thing with pointed ears, and white fur with light brown patches.

  I loved him, he gave me everything that my parents didn’t. He’d bark so much it would grow annoying quickly, but between that and the oppressive silence I would take it anyday. He’d jump up and rub his body on me and cover my clothing in fur. I’d even let him lick me as much as he wanted, even if I found it mildly disgusting.

  The small front yard was our kingdom and we’d occasionally walk through the neighborhood watching Solarian kids play ball in the neighborhood park. Sometimes they would come by and pet Burst, and those moments always filled me with happiness. Still, they never invited me to play with them.

  Then one day Burst grew sick. It was sudden, or I missed the preceding signs, but he began breathing heavily, and he was boiling hot.

  It took him quick, on the second morning my parents left on an errand, telling me that they would take him to a veterinarian when they came back.

  Burst died less than an hour later.

  I remembered hugging Burst's corpse as the maid hugged me, crying in a way I never had before. Once I calmed enough I stared down at my dead dog and thought. Burst had died because something went wrong inside of him. If I fixed what broke, would he come back? Of course he would, that was how fixing things worked.

  It worked on watches, on toys, on math equations, so it only made sense that it would work on animals too.

  I asked the maid if she would go and make me something to ease my stomach. She hestiated, but after wrapping Burst in a white sheet she did so.

  I had to be quick, going into my father's office I opened one of his desk drawers and took a knife he once told me never to touch. The danger would be worth it.

  I unwrapped the sheet around Burst like a present and laid his body before me stomach up. Unlike when I sliced my palm open my hands were stead with the experience of taking apart clocks hundreds of times.

  With one hand I held Burst still, his soft fur threaded between my fingers, his skin still warm, and with the other I sliced into his gut.

  It was much easier to slice into the soft tissue than I thought it would be, father kept his knife sharp it seemed. Down at an angle, turn, down at an angle, turn, up at an angle, turn, up at an angle until there was a clean symmetrical diamond shape cut into Bursts stomach.

  As I reached forward my fingers trembled, but not with fear or disgust. I was the explorer finding new lands, and I peeled the flap of flesh away.

  My slices had cut through the muscle so I was shown the beautiful rolling hills of intestines. I tried to pull them out, thinking of them as flesh ropes, but they connected to the body by a wall of curtainous tissue that I had to slice through.

  Once I was done cutting the intestines I threw them off to the side before diving back in. My lessons covered a bit of anatomy, as any educated child should, so I was able to somewhat discern what some of the things were, but compared to the flat colorless diagrams these were beautiful pieces of a puzzle.

  Stomach, bladder, kidneys, pancreas, all the various organs formed a circle around me in the wake of my exploration. I was covered in blood, and the former pristine white sheet was similarly stained. But it was okay, I scooped up every drop and put it back in once I fixed what was wrong with Burst.

  I sliced into the diaphragm, peeling it back like a sticker from a page before awkwardly trying to slice free the heart and lungs.

  When I was finally able to pull them free I grimaced, they were covered in accidental cuts. No bother, they would heal like all cuts do once I put Burst back together. It was only when his insides were excavated that I frowned, I didn’t find anything wrong with Burst. Turning back to the organs around me I began to examine them closely. I caressed the kidneys, squeezed the stomach, tried to force the heart to pump and pulled the intestines through my fingers.

  It was when a sharp pain caused me to hiss that I noticed it. A blackish brown spot with yellow liquid was on the small intestine, and a white bone stuck out from inside.

  Finally.

  With my slime slick fingers I struggled to grab and pull the bone out, but after some wiggling I was able to get it free.

  I stared at the shard of white for a moment. I remembered it, during dinner one night I had not been particularly hungry and snuck Burst one of the chicken wings. A snap echoed out and my parents looked at me disapprovingly. One of the maids had taken the chicken wing from Burst, but it seemed the dog had swallowed some of the cracked bone.

  My heart lightened and a smile bloomed on my face as I tossed be bone aside. So it was like a piece of metal getting stuck in between gears. I began to put the various organs back inside, cutting away strips of white cloth to bandage them in their correct place.

  Tears stung my eyes and a laughing sob echoed out in the house, growing louder and more chaotic with each replaced organ.

  That was how my parents found me, blood pooled around my legs and my hands inside a dead dog.

  The next day I was handed a letter and dragged a suitcase behind me, confusion, hurt and fear enveloping me as I was told to take a train to Eichlin where my grandparents lived and give them that letter.

  I remember taking a few steps toward the train station before turning, even through the tears I could see the relief on their faces. A small burning hope burned inside me, one that they would tell me what I did wrong when they came to pick me up.

  I learned what I did wrong, but they never came to pick me up.

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