“It’s been seven Ard-damned years,” she spits. “Or… ten?” 

Eight years.

Seven months, nineteen days. As of this evening.

“One day,” she grumbles. “One day one day one day. When?” 

“When what, princess?” Adrian bends toward her. 

She glowers at him, but doesn’t respond. 

“Hmm,” Adrian sniffs. “Subject remains uncooperative.” He makes a note on the thick vellum page. “Subject is presently unresponsive to verbal stimuli, though subject’s eyes track on author suggestive of understanding. Unknown if subject is unable or unwilling to respond. Subject’s living relation made no indication of behavior outside of subject’s baseline- weak evidence that subject’s cognition has not further degraded. Does that seem accurate, Princess?” He sets down his quill. 

She doesn’t respond. 

“Hmm.” The arcanist shakes his head. “Do please cooperate. It’s for my research. Your procedure may have been… less successful than may have been hoped, but there’s no reason why the next one has to be as well.” 

She works her mouth soundlessly for a moment. Adrien draws closer, and she launches a thick wad of saliva onto his pristine velvet robes. 

The slap echoes off the grey flagstone walls. Her cheek stings, but she smiles broadly. 

A good effort, child, but his hostility does not benefit us. No point losing ground on small battles.

“Later”, the girl agrees. 

“Hmm.” Adrien says, wiping at his front with a kerchief. “You still hear your voice I presume? Fascinating. We had predicted it would be subsumed in the procedure, yet it still hasn’t faded.” He takes up the quill and makes a quick note. “I continue to wonder if that is the source of your madness. Still, the aetheric waves remain within half a degree of convergence. I don’t think even a god could separate you. That part of the procedure at least, remains a success. Strength and speed of reflexes likewise, if your antics in the Pontifex’s manor are any indication. I don’t think we’re seeing any degradation there. Hmm.” 

Adrien circles his subject. “Estimating visual age remains difficult. Over the first five years, your aging seems to have proceeded as normal, then begun slowing. Teenage years are all… similarly hale. It makes estimation difficult. I previously estimated you would cease aging entirely by real age twenty seven, appearance age nineteen. Does that feel accurate to you?”

No reply is forthcoming. 

“Yes,” Adrien says. “Well. Good. That has promise for extension of life. And the inhibitor?” He waves a gold-flecked jade wand over her chest. “Yes. Good. Still in place. Still functioning nominally.” 

No. Functioning poorly. Making things worse.

“You should remove it,” she suggests. 

Yesss... Good! Be persuasive, stupid creature, argue the point!

“Ah.” Adrien says. “At last she speaks. Or has your so-called voice attained the power of speech audible outside of your ruined little mind?”

“Fuck you,” she spits. 

Just like that. Except different in every way. Try "It's interfering with your data, you idiot charlatan. You'll never fix your mistakes if you can't even clearly see what you've done."

“Interesting,” Adrien makes another note. “If… somewhat inconclusive.” 

“It is interfering with your experiment,” the girl says carefully.

No. Do better.

“Shut up. This is the best I can do. It’s interfering with your experiment and… and… uh. You ought to remove it for cleaner data.”

“No.” Adrien says. “Did your voice tell you that if I do, it will break free and eat your mind? Well, whatever remains of it.”