Agatha was drowning in homework. Well, drowning wasn’t the actual word. She didn’t have that much homework; she just sucked at it, so it would be more accurate to say that she was being waterboarded in a puddle.

  The girl sighed and arched her back and neck as she leaned forward in the chair she was sitting in, balancing herself precariously on the back legs. The rest of the students in her class were either nobles who had a massive starting advantage or commoners, or close enough, who had managed to make it through the exam. She had done and was neither. She had been invited to the academy. Those were no merits of her own, but innate circumstances. Not different from a nobleborn’s status, but at least those had a minimal education to show for it.

  “This is only the first year, and it’s going to get more difficult from now on,” Agatha groaned.

  She was studying every single hour of her day, yet sometimes it didn’t seem enough. She had been trying to make up for years of lacking education in weeks. She had also been illiterate – or barely literate – until a while ago, too. If she had at least had more fluency with words, at least the learning process could have been smoother, but she was clawing with her nails and teeth to stay afloat, just like her mother had said when she departed from Malachite.

  “Why are mothers always right?” The seamstress-in-training growled. “If they were wrong, life would be far easier!”

  With a sigh, she put the chair back on its four legs and stood up. Words were starting to blur and wave around, so continuing to study would be useless. A massive headache was also gathering on her head.

  “I could work on the dresses…” She wasn’t as motivated as when she was dressing up her doll… Christie. When she was dressing up Christie. The homework had completely eroded her motivation, but she needed to move her hands.

  Agatha picked up and stored all her writing materials and took out a handful of fabrics and thread and needle. Their bedroom actually came with a loaded sewing kit, which was to be expected considering that embroidery was considered a woman’s hobby. Noble women tended to make things like handkerchiefs and small embroideries rather than whole dresses like the seamstress-in-training did, but they weren’t unbeknownst to needlework by any means.

  Except Christie. Apparently, the girl had led a far more protected life than even noble girls.

  The sewing kit was as extensive, if not more than her mother’s tools, with all the pincushions, needles, colored threads, patches, scissors, and far more, but the fabrics Agatha had to get elsewhere. Fortunately, people didn’t pay much attention to discarded fabrics, and the tailor of the academy was more than happy to offer her whole rolls of linen that didn’t comply with the academy's standards.

  “This is already used as training material, and we might have you working here, it is no different from offering it to a trainee,” the tailor had said.

  Agatha was thankful for the materials, but the man could have said it in a far better way. One that didn’t imply that she was bound to fail, even though that was most likely the case.

  Considering she had so much material and still a handful of months in the academy, the dirty-blond girl took it slowly and decided to make a prototype dress completely out of linen to see how her idea would hold up from her mind to a finished product.

  Sewing, however, was a long-time endeavor. It was one thing to fix dresses and fabrics, making the whole attire from scratch was an entirely different one. Her mother had told her that nobles would wear an attire only once and then burn it, and as infuriating as that idea was as a future dress-maker, what amazed Agatha more was the waste of money and time. Every dress was a piece of art, yet she could understand wearing an attire just once if you had that much money. But burning it? That was disrespectful to the tailor. Not just to their art, but their time.

  Oh, how much Agatha hated losing time. The sheer idea of having her time literally burned made her blood boil.

  The girl’s hands stopped moving, and she sighed as she felt her rage consume her. It was a simmering thing, but she couldn’t work that way. It sometimes happened that when you were submerged in your work and the only thing you had were your thoughts that a single stray and rotten one could break your rhythm and concentration. Agatha put the final pin on the skirt she was working on before tidying everything up.

  “My biggest enemy is myself, huh,” she mused as she hung the skirt so the pins wouldn’t come out. “Depths, I am in no shape to do needlework now, but my mind is brimming with ideas. What to do? What to do?”

  Agatha pranced around the room until a hint of brilliance struck her. Without thinking twice, the seamstress-in-training grabbed a handful of charcoal sticks and a notebook before dashing out of the dormitory. The room had gotten too stale and narrow for her; she needed fresh air, and the balcony wasn’t enough. She quickly settled on a destination as she was treading the academy’s corridors and made her way to the stables.

  “So, what are you doing, Fran?ois?” She asked Christie’s stoneshell. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Hoh,” the lithic turtle growled. Or grunted, she wasn’t sure.

  “Christie was right, you really are a mocking turtle.”

  “Hah,” Fran?ois looked at her directly before laying his head on the ground, back to resting.

  “Fractures! How are you even sassier than most people I’ve known?”

  This time, the mock turtle didn’t bother to answer.

  “You know, I came here for inspiration, but you offer the same kind of imagination as a pebble.”

  “Hoh,” the stoneshell grunted.

  “Understandable,” Agatha replied, even if she had zero idea of what the monster was saying. “At least you are keeping the bow I gave you. Are the other stoneshells jealous?”

  “Ah!” Fran?ois raised his head from the ground and took his neck from his carapace as he slightly raised his front body up.

  “Fuck me, I didn’t know stoneshells could do that,” the villager was completely bewildered at the monolithic turtle that stood on two legs, albeit only for a handful of seconds. “I guess it’s good you like it. Come ‘ere, tho. I wanna fix the bow, you have it a bit twisted.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The stoneshell took a step forward and encroached his neck on her. She stored her notebook and charcoal sticks that she had been carrying on her arms in the pouch of her skirt. She was wearing her patchwork dress as she didn’t want to dirty her academy uniform, even if the washerwomen would have it clean by the next day. In any case, she felt more comfortable in clothes she had sown herself, and the academy rules only forced students to wear the uniform during classes, school time, or events; so there was no need to wear it all the time.

  “Excuse me~” Agatha muttered as she undid the pink ribbon and remade it again, not before dusting the fabric a bit. “You know what they say, there’s no more masculine color than pink.”

  “Hah,” the girl guessed the stoneshell had grunted affirmatively.

  “I intended to draw a bit, but,” she coughed, “I forgot how strong the stench of the stables was. Can we take a walk or something?”

  Fran?ois raised his head to look at her eye-to-eye and then said, “Hoh.”

  The petite girl clicked her tongue and pointed at the massive turtle. “I’ll take that as a yes. Follow me.”

  The stoneshell stepped forward with mountainous sluggishness. Each step was painfully slow, but it carried a lot of power. Agatha could understand the sluggishness of the stoneshells. Unlike actual turtles, the monsters carried tons of stone on their backs. It was surprising that they could even move in the first place. The girl led the mock turtle through the academy grounds until she found a tree that provided shade without completely eclipsing the sun.

  “This looks like a good spot, what do you think?”

  “Hoh,” Fran?ois grunted.

  “I knew you would think so too,” Agatha chuckled. “Now sit. I want to use you as a backrest, the tree has too many ants, and that’s never a good sign.”

  Whether it was out of obedience or laziness, the stoneshell lay down and rested on the grass. His carapace was covered by the tree’s shade while he left his head exposed to the sun.

  “There we go,” the seamstress-in-training threw herself on the grass and sat next to the mock turtle. Once she had a comfortable posture, she took out the notebook and a charcoal stick and began sketching. “You know, I’m not used to drawing my ideas before making them.”

  “Hah,” Fran?ois churred, and Agatha took it as an invitation to continue talking.

  “The problem wasn’t writing materials like ink or charcoal, we had many of those in Malachite, as you can get both materials out of the mine or the surroundings, but the paper. Paper is expensive. At least it was for me. Apparently, I’m good at drawing and calligraphy, I just learned of it a handful of months ago when I was studying for the statal examination. It feels weird that paper is cheaper to me than fabrics now. Not that I worked with high-quality ones, to begin with,” she chuckled in self-deprecation.

  The stoneshell chose to ignore her as he sunbathed. Agatha didn’t blame him. She continued to draw until she finished the sketch. It was a simple dress, but with many, many pockets.

  “What do you think?” Agatha extended the sketchbook to Fran?ois, and he had the intelligence to look at it.

  “Hah?” The girl thought the mock turtle was inquiring about further details.

  “We need to have our agates outside if we want to make them stronger, and whilst it’s enough for me to have my little sapphire outside,” she rubbed her necklace, “the same cannot be said for your Christie. I thought that the best way to incorporate agates in her clothing was with pockets, as she has way too many to fit them otherwise.”

  “Hah,” Fran?ois mocked her.

  “I know, I know, it’s a horrendous idea. But this is the best one I’ve got so far. How do you even incorporate stones into clothing? An armor like the Shining Knight? But that’s not possible. Christie has to maintain the Sleep command, so full body armor would be a coffin. And even if we opted for something lighter, she still can’t use the Control command so that agate would weigh. A lot.”

  “Hoh.”

  “Yes, the agates will also weigh in this dress design, but I can’t erase the weight. With this, we at least ensure that she has some agates out. Which is better than nothing. I guess,” she sighed and stood up. “Depths! It’s hard to come up with ideas. Can I pet you a bit?”

  Fran?ois slightly nodded, and Agatha gleefully accepted the invitation. The stoneshell was cold where the sun hadn’t hit him, and his skin was dry and dusty like rock, but nevertheless, it was pleasurable to caress him.

  “I think the true might of stoneshells isn’t not getting tired or being super strong, but being so pettable. How? You are just made out of rock. What’s your secret?”

  “Hoh!” Fran?ois shook his head around, and Agatha wasn’t able to interpret it.

  “I see,” she didn’t. “But you’re so huggable! I wanna do it! Can I?”

  “Ah.” Whatever that grunt meant, the petite girl took it as an affirmation, and she climbed the mock turtle without thinking twice. “Hah,” thus spoke the mock turtle. But it didn’t seem to be a protest as he rested his chin – if stoneshells even had that – on the ground and continued to sunbathe.

  As for Agatha, the girl lay on top of the stoneshell with her tummy against the rock. It was hard yet surprisingly comfortable. Fran?ois had a handful of spiky ridges on his back, but as she was so small, she fit perfectly between them. Her diminutive size also allowed her to expand her arms and hug the carapace, yet her wingspan was so limited that she only covered a fraction of the stoneshell.

  “I could get used to this…” Agatha mumbled with her cheek glued to Fran?ois’ carapace. Alas, that joy was temporary as her knees started to hurt. “Or not…”

  With a groan, the girl sat on her knees before lying again on the stoneshell’s back. But instead of lying on her tummy, she lay on her back and used one of the ridges in Fran?ois’ shell as a backrest. She then took her notebook out and sketched again.

  The bracelets looked fine and all, but the pockets are a bit too much. What if instead of putting them outside, I put them inside? Christie has managed to create rudimentary shapes so far, but with this, you could technically make the skeleton of a ball dress… Ideas, so many ideas…

  Agatha lazily yet ceaselessly drew with one hand and rubbed her little sapphire with the other as to get inspired more agate-related ideas. The sketchbook rested precariously on her bent leg – nature’s best lectern – but Fran?ois was so still that it mattered not. Still as a rock, the girl let out a giggle as she continued drawing. Her fingers were getting progressively covered in dust from the charcoal, but she cared not. She had ended up covered in more soot doing housework or even the occasional trip to the mines with the rest of the children. After all, when one was a young lad in a mining outpost, it was hard not to crave for the mines and their lithic secrets.

  Also, maybe steal an agate.

  “Ah, Fran?ois, your back is magical,” she mused aloud as she stretched her limbs a bit and cracked her neck. “This ridge has the perfect angle for my back. Who would have thought that turtles make for great backrests? Could I steal you from Christie?”

  “Hah,” said the mock turtle.

  “Ah, I guessed as much,” Agatha sighed before adopting her drawing posture again. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  However it may be, the seamstress-in-training fell into a creativity-laden trance as she sketched her ideas. It was a marvelous thing putting ideas into reality without having to commit hours to them. She wished she had been able to draw freely sooner. Her motivation to stay in the academy increased even further if it meant being able to draw for longer like she currently was, without a care in the world.

  Two substances of the earth melded in her fingers, one was capturing her ideas and the other was dotting her with them. Charcoal was coarse, but her agate was smooth. The smoothest thing there ever was.

  Ideas gathered in her mind like lime. It was a slow yet constant growth like the stream of a river. Slowly building up into something. Something else, something greater.

  “Ah!” Agatha yelped as her charcoal stick broke from the pressure and the usage, and all her materials fell from her lap in her startle. She picked up the charcoal sticks and the sketchbook easily, but her little sapphire rolled off Fran?ois’ shell. As she thought of recalling her agate, the girl realized the growing pastel palette of twilight. “Oh, I guess this is a good time to stop.”

  With the somewhat frightening height of two and something meters, Agatha jumped out of the stoneshell’s carapace and instantly regretted her decision. The villager sucked her lips in and then bit them alongside the walls of her mouth to calm the pain. Thankfully, it was a passing one as her youthful knees could shrug off the damage. She dusted her patchwork dress to not linger on the pain.

  “Where is it now?” She murmured as she searched for her little sapphire on the grass. A glint almost blinded her. “Ah, there it is!”

  She squatted down to grab it, only to be heavily confused.

  “What the…?”

  A thin, crystal-clear layer had grown atop her little sapphire.

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