Or perhaps not. 

I stretch out, resting my head back against a pillow. 

How about we just... wait and see? 

We have a couple of things to follow up on, and a few things to start. 

No need to make this super complicated - just keep on poking at making good-myth-habits, settling in here, working on our transition stuff, researching, going through all these motions is gonna be a lot. 

Nod. 

For now...

I queue up some less talkative passive music - some simple mixes of the wash of water from sky and sea - and go see if there's anything swiftly useful we can get out of researching the light in a bit more detail - alongside the sort of thing that Lumen will have themself.

That doesn't need to be too intensive, and there's nothing wrong with enjoying the classics, I think, so I splay myself out in bed, arrange the interface for 'laptop browsing', and see what I can find. 

The results are the kind of half-helpful, half a quagmire of disambiguations and theoretical explanations and quibbles that I'm increasingly growing to expect. 

Illusion magic tends to come in a handful of forms - simple emissions of light along the side modality of a projector, mana constructs designed to emit or reflect light, purely mental effects, dream-magic things that work from preconceptions, or other things besides that are too similar or too technical for me to consider too worth digging into. 

The reflections of those things are not even especially consistent - mindscapes aren't especially consistent between methods to discern them, though there's all sorts of correspondences, and even psychic illusions designed to be formlessly "An optimal object of desire" or such can give very different results when implemented differently. 

I expect there'll be something to show, there, especially once I get the proper power formed. 

The answers for plurality vary, as well, which might be interest as well. 

That'll be a cute little experience. 

I wish there was more we could do to draft some sort of prospectus, but there's... really not something that we are remotely qualified for at present. 

Mythic perceptions tend to get past illusions, apparently, though a wide variety of mental illusions are susceptible to something that are quite close to 'rolling to disbelieve' and 'will saves', which don't require any such capacity. It might be worth seeing if we can configure the display to get some interesting progress on that... 

Oh that's there, conveniently - let's start that...

I don't want to double-dip in thoughts about illusion, so I'll go through some of the information on the mixer, as I stare at the window, bright, bold and clearly readable despite how easily my eyes are taking it in. 

One thing that wasn't too clear earlier was that the party enhanced ones' hedonic capacity - often permanently, for the sort of guest that they end up. That will be... quite fascinating, even if that's not the sort of thing that makes much sense to plan around, though there's possibilities around using some of the features of mythos or even perhaps the limb of immortal steel - which is a useful subject to research into in and of-itself, though perhaps that's also a question that makes more sense to explore with Amaya. 

I focus my thoughts into the panel itself as my eyes skate along it - there's probably any number of ways to start this, any number of things to start the process off with, so there's no need to find any sort of specific issue that's hidden, but it's still worth it to notice the way that it feels brighter then the previous display without my eyes quite having to adjust, the tiny amount of jitter of the position when my eyes move around, the fuzzy smoothness of the color that readjusts as I look, each reconceptualization of the 'true' color propagating out across it all 'til it cascades away into nothing - 

- and it's back, much the same. 

It's tricky - so many of the things that let me see through tis are things that require some precise mix of attention and in-attention, sharp piercing will and diffuse force of mind that enwraps it and dissolves the construct inside my mind. Simple applications of desiring it away is possible for some of these, but not very effective, at this point. 

It's an interesting stim, almost, as I pour through more of the details of accounts around the rest of the benefits - the charismatic mien seems like a perfectly fine benefit , if not something that most cinematic characters don't have or even something that will nesscarily be more then a marginal extra edge with whatever boons Purity provides for avoiding the little mistakes, there. The empathic capacity is... more interesting, if perhaps similarly limited in some ways. 

It's a schemer's tool - the sort of thing that isn't the sort of dramatic reaching past barriers or touching of souls often depicted in powerful psychics, it's another edge that better equates to the abilities of supervillains then anything else - an unnatural skill in piercing to the heart of the matter of other's feelings, of discerning the truth of the face presented to you, to discard and refine models of the mind and soul through 'intuition', more then the ability to simply see the emotional state of someone right in front of you. I suppose that's somewhat easier to do in the context of a place of wards and hidden things - allowing you to find your own truth aside the vectors they block. That especially fits in how it's an omnisensory expansion - allowing at the ver least for sight and touch to become their own vectors of discernment, though even with the basic humanoid model it's possible to work towards the ideal of 'pheromone reading' in taste or scent, or other, more internal feelings - there's a few scattered cases of what might be a proprioceptive angle, which is I suppose another angle to watch, aside the more traditionally magical. 

In all expectation there will be things flooding in mostly through sight, given the options that Radiance grants, but it would be remiss to avoid at least awareness of these things. 

We drift, for a while, flitting from us to us, as we look through this - Sapphire seems to be the best at counter illusion work, followed by Iron and Jirachi, which is sensible enough. Switching works decently on some of them, too, which could be a nice tool sometime, especially since even some of the things that are resistant to that approach still allow reimplementing to cause it to fail - something about the process about 'creating' a new mind to take the place makes some of the more persistent mental ones bleed away, though there's any number of tricks that bypass that - area effect ones being the least of them. 

There's obviously more to see on anything we could look at, but it becomes less and less something that feels too too worthwhile as the night winds on, with the mental state that we end up with, the little drone of the night making the little hints something that feels less and less real, the illusion practice slowing down as the lighting starts to dim as our sleep cycle catches up with us. 

I move each finger in turn, grounding myself in the simplicity of the manual connection to the motion, and start fiddling with the interactivity physically - trying out the annotation options that we can do for these for later - the thoughts are swift moving, and don't linger quite enough to remember all that well. 

The physical feedback is different enough, I suppose - it reminds me of the cold trappedness of dysphoria and dissociation, though it's far gentler, at the end of the day. 

I might as well briefly think through our further questions - the details of propagation of the light, the creation of angels, the power interactions of the immortal limb, the details of the revision system as normal and perhaps how myth and light could alter it, any known interactions between light, myth and magesmithing, details on the contract magic, the dragon, and I suppose any other relevant potential tests or such...? 

That seems reasonable enough. 

I make sure all the lights are low, let the lingering process of unwinding the illusions unfurl in my mind, and curl in to sleep. 

Morning comes, eventually.

I get out of bed after perhaps 20 minutes lying there, enjoying the cool air and the soft temperature gradient that's probably not normally physically possible in a system this inert. 

Anyways...

Today let's go for a dress - something fancy and otherwise impractical, or such? 

I walk over to the closet again, letting my breaths keep the fuzzy warmth of bed inside me as I go, and strip and check out the options. 

I slip on a dress of soft pure white, the rivers of fabric cascading well past my knees, hugging the little curves we have ever so tight. 

It's marvellous, and I smile as I slip on the pure white silken gloves, enshrouding my hands in the tender caress of the perfect fit. 

I pull up a set of satin underwear, making sure it fits just right around my package, and queue up the interface once again. 

It feels almost... sluggish, as the pane of the display flickers repeatedly before forming again, before futzing out again a time or two, before settling in. 

...Guess who we forgot to check during illusion practice. 

I smile a little slyly. 

It's not the same, from headspace. 

I do a little wiggle of my butt that gives an echo of the feeling of my tail swishing around behind me, before the feeling ends. 

I draft a letter myself. 

With that attended to...

I breathe out, and stroke my hand along my shoulders, the gloves hardly at all interfering with the sensation of subtle smoothening of my pebbled skin and the extra edge of wispiness in the brush of the hairs. 

We should eat. 

Breakfast... happens. 

It's the routine thing - the simple motions behind tending for some tea and making sure that everything gets turned on, turned off, and cool all in the right times, as nicely signalled with the whistles. 

It's ironic, in a way, that this is so comforting - it's nearly a bell system of my own making when the one of schools and such has always been quite a trial. 

Still. The food is as I remember it - perhaps not quite good, but the sort of thing that fits into my life and within my taste. 

I'll probably stop doing it eventually - at least not all the time - but for now, it seems a little absurd to do anything else. 

I hum softly. 

My throat feels actually pretty nice - the gentle thrum of my vocal cords feels almost is like a massage, at times, and it's all airy and floaty where I want it to be, to an extent? It's not nesscarily something that's more than the little benefit that I get out of honeyed tea or such, but it's still enough for me to notice, when I sigh and trill. 

I don't have to-too much to say or even think, right now? 

It's easy enough to slip back into say, the series of thoughts that want to talk about what exactly this will mean, 'mythically', in a year - little rituals and such are something that will likely have a non-zero effect, though it also depends on how that'll interact with the options for say, food spending or alchemical methods or whatever that'll turn that into something. It's not even like we couldn't do the same for sleeping, and Jirachi will probably enjoy any number of options for consecrating her work working out, and as much as it's nice to get all of the basic self-care things glossed over by the system, I do want to apply my own efforts for beautification and cleaning too and...

I breathe out. 

Racing thoughts much?

...Yeah. 

You know what, we should shower. 

I set out on a random walk for one, before the inevitable slip kicks in, depositing us into a room that looks much like the communal showers we've seen in public pools before, aside the artistic flair in every tile, the marble tubs, and the semi-circular alcove with a dizzying array of products right in front of us.

There's some perfumes - each rich and deep, placed on an alcove with some runic inscription and a small explanation saying that it's a 'scent retractor'. There's also the standard options of various mixes of dyes, soaps, shampoo, conditioner, hair growth promoters, retexturers, oils, even a nicely made assortment of combs and probably if the conspicuous lack of items filling up some of the shelves is concerned, a wide variety of ommited items that I would have absolutely no idea what to do with if I didn't get some tedious experience breaking explanation, normally quite a bit more. 

In lieu of anything better to do I...

- There's no fucking way that you actually fucking need to heat the water up by letting it run for a bit -

I shake my head, nod, blush, cast asides my clothes into a convenient nook, and turn the spray of the shower on around me. 

The misty, steamy haze is soothing and simply affirming to a part of my brain that still wants to be scared and wants to be absolutely sure that none can see me, that wants to feel that on  my skin and at every angle I look immediately loves it, and the wash of water along my skin is comforting in it's own way - lingering bits of sweat pearl up with the water and start sliding of my slickening skin as I wait to feel ready again, a different set of tension in my body now about the scampering-fleeing instinct still - if not in my bones, in my twitching legs and overactive nerves, of always being rushed and worried that any delay will attract attention - 

And I'm letting this get away from me becuase it's fine, because nothing in here is going to hurt me, because I can do this as long as I'd like and this all wouldn't be here if I wasn't perfectly free to use as much of it as I'd like. 

So.

I grab a thing of oil - jasmine, though the scent isn't too important - and I rub it all along my face. It's smooth, soft, almost delicate, and I shiver at the feeling of the heavier suspension sliding along my cheek, some subtle change coming to my skin as my pore open and my muscles relax, sighing contentedly as more and more opens up to caress. 

I'm in no rush, and it's nice, to feel it sink into my body as I just wait there, drifting a bit as I listen to the water, rubbing it on and off my skin to even it all out and make it shine so nicely. 

I stick my head into the stream of water, sighing and shivering as the rush of it flows along my shin. cleaning it off in an instant, leaving my feel fresher then before, a flush spreading along my cheeks for a moment before it steadies. 

I duck my head a little, still slightly greasy hair wetting swiftly. I find it best to brace a little for the moment that my hands stroke through the mass of it, just because the tangles and oils can hit awkwardly, but it's so good to feel my fingers trailing along my scalp that that worry melts away as I stim through the little loop-de-loops that formed, straightening them out, til the black hair of the body slicks down, a slightly thin wave coating my head and spilling out back past my ears and down almost to the base of my shoulders, all tickly and pleasant against them. 

I sigh contentedly, and spot a nice little comb to fuss with as I let the flow go down to my chest. 

I'm still flat, of course, but the sensitivity improvements, modest though they are, have come here, too, and I might spot a bit of a change in the precise coloration and size in my nipples from the corner of my eye. It's... fine, for now, and perfectly capable of being part of the languid enjoyment of the warmth here, aside that and the little worries that come up about my muscle tone and body fat percentages not quite lining up with my ideals. 

The tug on my scalp of the hairs resistance before being pulled back into place is a massage of it's own, even aside the stroking of the tines of the comb, which is more then enough to entertain me for a few minutes as the steam tickles between my toes and all along my form. 

My chest rumbles happily for a while before I put aside the comb. 

Soaping up is a bit of a different experience from just letting the rinse happen, so I take the time to adjust and pick out a nice lilac-y smelling bar to get suds from for this. 

It's... sometimes affirming, to trace my hands along my hips and think about all the ways that could be enthralling, on the right body, to the right person, or simply think about the way that it can be more neutrally ocnfident, proud, emotive and expressive in a way that the bounds of normality so often prevents. It's also a lot easier to get the dysphoria running - there's so much more happening, beneath my wandering hands, when the fine details of what's wrong can be so readily apparent to something so different from what happens in the moment to moment experience everyday .

Today it's... fine, though - my weight's been steadying out into a slight decline to where I want it to be, and the ripple of my chest for each breath feels more like a comforting pulse of someone close's breath then some nasty reminder, and even the more... intimate parts of my body image aren't wrong, persay. 

I trace my hands down along my crotch too, thumb trailing along my sack and fingers brushing along my penis, the sensitive foreskin adding it's own layer of luxurious warmth down into my system. 

I've never really minded these too much - beyond not having the option for something else, and they've always been a reassuring reminder that I have a different sort of... 'power' available, and it's been a breath of fresh air for that to not be changing with the pills and the plans for even further transformations. Hell, there's even going to be whatever mythos effects happen around the pills, too, even before the perfecting elixir, so it's not like that's nesscarily too far away. 

My fingers flit down along my thighs scrubbing away some of the little bits of uncleanliness left - alongside helpfully the unwanted hair. Soon enough I'm leaning over to clean my... foreleg? and feet, then reaching around to wash away the stresses along my shoulders and spine. 

It's... peaceful, especially since I have the sense that I'm not at any risk of say, pruning, so I do a second pass without the pretence of cleaning, then simply sit down, and let the whole thing keep on going for a good long while.

In time, the slow warmth fades back into our headspace, a comforting memory more then an active sensation in the working world of our mind, and so... 

We go through the rest of the motions - shampoo dripping through my fingers for perhaps half a minute because the sensation is so tranquil then a slow and thorough intermingling with my hair, and few streaks of rainbow-colored conditioner to make the whole thing have an endearing aesthetic as I ruffle through my hair, and a good long toweling down as the fine fabric clings so tight to our body that it feels like a second skin of dear dryness, for a while.