Christie had forgotten how exhausting lithorica was. She hadn’t been able to perform actual acts of Agatecraft these last weeks, and whilst she had daily exhausted her body through training, she had completely forgotten about the lithic exhaustion for her body only remembered the physical one.

  Agatha had told her how using those four commands in quick succession during the military Agatecraft class had mentally exhausted her to the point of making her dizzy, but the same couldn’t be said for Christie. Her exhaustion was limited to her body as she really didn’t use any commands; what she did was… well… hold her agates, not lithorica in the usual sense of the word.

  The lessons on military Agatecraft had shown her how much it exhausted her to use her agates. Yes, she had built some stamina these weeks, but it didn’t help at all that she had those Agatecraft classes directly after physical education. For the rest of the class, it was perfect. One class taxed the body, whilst the other taxed the mind. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case for Christie.

  But there was no getting around it.

  From the beginning, she knew that her stamina was the problem. Though curses weren’t without their blessings. Classes were incredibly simple for the time being, barring the homework, meaning that she had half the day free to do whatever she pleased. Which usually translated into building up her stamina more. One thing she discovered as she practiced, however, was that her plentiful agates worked perfectly as weights. Not that it was precisely useful considering her training schedule was based on building stamina, not muscle.

  Once classes ended for the week, Christie found herself collapsing on the bed. Agatha’s bed.

  “Sure, just take it from me,” the blonde said as she entered the room.

  “Oh, there is more than enough room here to share.”

  “Are you calling me short?” Agatha hollered with her arms crossed.

  Christie jumped out of the bed and was ready to apologize for her vocabulary, but then she saw her roommate’s amused smile.

  “That is not fair,” the redhead pouted. “You know I have troubles with that type of sarcasm.”

  “I do not know if it is ‘sarcasm’, but I do it precisely because you have troubles with it,” the villager said with a bemused grin.

  The nouveau riche let out a soft growl, not having the strength left for any coherent verbal counterattack. How queer that physical exhaustion also exhausts your mind. And how drool. She sighed and sat down again on Agatha’s bed, then partially undid the collar of her uniform.

  “Ugh, it is feeling tighter by the day…”

  “What? Your neck?” Agatha snickered, clearly insinuating something.

  Oh, two can play that game, you know? “No, mock sapphire. My chest.”

  “Oh…” Her roommate whined as her eyes looked downwards, and a slight redness materialized on her cheeks. “Well,” she cleared her throat, “should you not get it resized?”

  “Do you not want to do it?” Christie offered with a smile that reached up to her nose.

  “If it were your streetwear, yes. But I would rather not touch your uniform. I am not lying when I say I am a seamstress-in-training.”

  “Oh, Agatha, I have seen you sewing, and you can definitely do such small fixes. Your skill is far superior to that of noblewomen.”

  “Noblewomen only do embroidery; there is a lot of difference between that and tailoring. I doubt most noblewomen would know how to fix their clothes; not that they would do it in the first place.”

  “That much is true,” Christie nodded. “However it may be, do you want to do something today?”

  “Were you not tired?”

  “And bored,” she corrected. “I prefer if it did not involve going down to Knight’s Ascent, though.”

  “Now that you say that, we need to go back one of these days.”

  “Agatha,” the redhead squinted in exhaustion, “we just finished the first month of our first year; eight more remain, I believe we can take our time leisurely.”

  “Fractures! Only one month? It definitely felt like more.”

  “Really? We were occupied so much of the time that time seemed to be flying by to me.”

  “I would say that is precisely because we were so occupied that it went by so slowly to me. So much stuff in too little time.”

  “Understandable,” Christie nodded. “But could I get a response to my question?”

  “Sure, uh…” Her roommate ruminated pensively. “I do not have any ideas.” And came up with none.

  “Do you want to see Fran?ois?” She offered.

  Agatha gasped and pressed her hand against her chest. “Christie! You offend me!” Knowing better than to react, the redhead waited for the mock sapphire to finish her sentence. “I always want to see Fran?ois!”

  “You really are a mock sapphire,” she mumbled between whispers.

  “What was that?” The blonde arched a brow.

  “Nothing!” Christie jumped out of the bed. “I will change before we go see him. You should do it too.”

  “Yes, yes,” Agatha pressed her hands against the tall girl’s back, then shook them up and down. “Now shoo shoo.”

  Even though they had seen each other’s skin – if not far more – many times already, Agatha still preferred her privacy. Though Christie was slowly denuding those walls. Denuding, truly the most accurate term. The girl chuckled to herself as she took a simple attire of linen adequate for the stables. She couldn’t wait for her roommate’s shame to be eliminated, for she didn’t like changing in her room or the corridor, depending on how acute Agatha’s shame was on that day.

  “Wait, wait!” Agatha interrupted her when she was starting to understand. “One moment, I need to get to the bathroom.”

  Her roommate rushed to their shared toilette with her skirt removed and another pair of panties in her hands.

  “Do not tell me that you have soiled yourself,” Christie said as she pressed herself against the bathroom door.

  “Oh, do not be stupid!” The mock sapphire said behind the door. “It is just that I am going to change panties, so I want to change pads.”

  The redhead brought a hand to her face in confusion. Many things in that sentence didn’t make sense. “One, why are you changing panties midday? Two, pads?”

  “One,” the blond replied with a lot of snark, “I wear nice panties while I am wearing the uniform. Two, I had my cycle more than three weeks ago now. I am just playing it safely in case it comes early. Would not be the first time, let me tell you.”

  “Okay, I get that. But why are you wearing ‘nice’ panties whilst in uniform?”

  “Because they are nice clothes, duh.” Even though Christie couldn’t see her, she felt straight in her soul how her roommate was hanging her jaw low and her tongue half out, mocking her like the mock sapphire she was. “Truth be told, when I say ‘nice’ panties, I mean the ones they have given me at the academy. Not actual nice underwear like lingerie.”

  “So what are the normal panties then?”

  “Uh… you are better without that information.”

  “If you say so…” Christie said that, but that was the perfect sentence to pique someone’s interest. Oh, she then blushed. I should not be thinking about someone else’s underwear. She removed herself from the bathroom doorframe and closed herself in her room to change.

  When she came out with a simple blouse and a linen skirt, her roommate had already changed. She wore a shirt – which looked more like an undershirt than a dressing one – and a pair of leather trousers. Christie recognized them from the day Agatha had arrived at the academy.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Are not those trousers a bit of overkill?” The many-colored-eyed girl asked.

  “It was this or my patchwork dress, and whilst I have no problems bringing it to the stables, I was too lazy to put on a dress,” the sapphire-eyed girl shrugged. “Shall we get going?”

  “What are those for?” Christie pointed at the bag the seamstress was carrying. Some drawing material could be seen from the top.

  “I wanted to work a bit; I am not just going to sit around Fran?ois.”

  “Why not? Sometimes it is good to just… exist.”

  “As lovely as it sounds, I do like having my hands occupied. But enough talking, let us get going.”

  The way to the stables was as short as always, virtue of the academy being as small as it was. Terrain-wise, the Skyscraper Academy was smaller than the Valasela Estate, though of course, it had far more installations as her estate was just a manor and a virgin forest.

  “Fran?ois!” Christie shouted in glee when she saw the stoneshell and extended her arms forward in an inviting hug.

  “Hah.” All of that only for the turtle to react with a mock.

  “Oh, playing hard to get today, eh?” She poked at the monster’s nose. He failed to react. “Oh, do not be like that, mock turtle. You know that I am rather occupied with the academy, and I cannot come all the time to see you.”

  The stoneshell stood up, and as Christie was getting her hopes up, Fran?ois approached Agatha and he rubbed his head against her roommate’s arm. I think I just heard something crack, the nouveau riche thought. It must have been something cheap considering the sound. Probably just my heart.

  “So that is how you want to play, huh?” Christie crossed her arms and looked away in contempt.

  “Is this necessary?” Agatha arched a brow as she caressed the stoneshell’s head.

  “Very much so, yes,” she harrumphed. “But if you think I do not have a solution to this problem, then you better think twice!”

  Unlike her dresses, this linen skirt had pockets as it was meant as a working outfit. Her dearest father had actually bought her the whole attire to play around with Fran?ois – because the stoneshell could get very dusty – as she hadn’t worked a day of her life. The redhead took a big shard of obsidian out of her pocket.

  “Why do you have obsidian in your pockets?” Her roommate squinted at her.

  “How do you know what obsidian looks like?”

  “You would be surprised by the number of trinkets and paraphernalia the passing caravans bring with them. I have lived in a mine all my life, but the weirdest rocks and gemstones would always be brought by caravans.”

  “Right…” Christie snapped her fingers with her free hand and looked at her mount. “Now, now. What do I have here, mock turtle?” The stoneshell interest piqued as his eyes lay upon the shard. “Do you want it, boy? You know what to do~”

  “Are you trying to feed obsidian to him?”

  “You are looking at a human-sized creature made out of stone, and you are weirded out that I am going to feed it glass?” The redhead arched a brow herself.

  “Okay, that is a bit unfair of a comparison when we can summon stone ourselves. In a way, are we not made out of stone too? Stone girls instead of stone turtles? You definitely pack more than Fran?ois, that much is true.”

  “Agatha, I would normally be all out for a philosophical and philanthropic conversation, but you are kind of ruining the mood.”

  “Oh, sorry for ruining your glass-munching mood,” the petite girl shook her hands around as her body became a living emitter of sassiness and walked out of the stables.

  Christie actually was thankful for that, as that made it harder for Fran?ois to avoid her. To highlight her point more, the tall girl swayed around the shard of black glass before the stoneshell’s nose.

  “Come on~” She sang melodiously. “’Tis only one word~”

  Stoneshells could eat anything that was thrown at them. From pasture to meat, even if they preferred their vegetables. As far as standard food went, Fran?ois’ favorite was melons. He would just chomp through the whole shell in glee. But they also could ingest… less standard food. Apparently, eating rocks healed them; that was especially notable in their shells, as it fixed any cracks. That also made them grow way bigger.

  But stoneshells were also notorious picky eaters. As a person wouldn’t normally chew on a raw onion – though there are repulsive exceptions out there, living and breathing – stoneshells also preferred more refined tastes. Not exactly cooked, but stone didn’t cut it. It had to be a mineral at minimum, and their preference was gemstones. Alas, gemstones were expensive – agate, of course, included – but obsidian was not. The volcanic glass was easy to find and replenish through various sources. Whilst it was a dubious claim to call obsidian a ‘mineral’, the stoneshells didn’t seem to disagree. And why base yourself on scholarly knowledge when you could just listen to the belly of a turtle?

  It took a handful of swaying and scratching the glass against the rough and stony surface of the stoneshell’s nose, but he finally caved in.

  “Hah…” Said the mock turtle.

  “Good boy!” Christie threw the piece of obsidian into the air with complete disregard as she was beaming with joy.

  Fran?ois had no issue with that as he jumped on that flying shard, his neck moving faster than thought, and captured it in his jaws. A second later, the most gruesome of shatters was heard as the stoneshell chewed on the obsidian. Glass didn’t make the most comforting of noises when it shattered, even less when it was actively being chomped on.

  “That neck of yours is as fast as always, huh?”

  “Hooooh~” the mock turtle grunted with his mouth still full of glass, which in turn gave almost a musical touch to his voice as the shards reverberated.

  “You are having too much fun with it…” Christie said in mild distress as she remembered why they didn’t feed Fran?ois too much obsidian. “I am going to find Agatha, you… enjoy yourself.”

  The redhead removed herself from the stables as she knew the stoneshell would be able to find her easily. Since always, Fran?ois had been too good at hide and seek.

  Her roommate was easy to spot as she rested beneath a nearby tree with a sketchbook on her bent legs. Agatha was always so active and sparkling that Christie couldn’t help but stop dead in her tracks as she looked at the blond girl. There was an innate seriousness to that concentrated pose that was maddeningly enthralling. Her sapphire eyes were glued to the page as the charcoal stick flew across it with masterful dexterity. The creativity was tangible, warm even.

  That was something Christie had always lacked: creativity. She had the imagination to bring every story she read to life in her mind, yet she completely lacked that skillset to create one; to create anything, really. Yet Agatha was… not shining, not quite. Her roommate was always a sparkling, sunny day, but now… she had a demurer touch to her. Even if the girl was just drawing. Her normal charm was a cutesy one, yet as that childlike – in the good sense of the word – was dimmed by the seriousness, another type of charm prevailed, one more adult.

  Words failed Christie as she tried to describe that which was bewitching her, so she could only describe it as demure, even if the term might not be fully correct.

  “Hoh!” Christie’s skin crawled, and she jolted on the spot as Fran?ois grunted behind her.

  Upon hearing the lithic grunt, Agatha raised her face from the sketchbook and looked at them. “Oh, you should have said something if you had arrived.”

  “Y-yeah, just a-arrived,” Christie chuckled nervously as she felt her cheeks heat up. “This mock turtle just got… er… ahead of me.”

  “Hah?” The stoneshell looked at her in confusion, but thankfully for the redhead, he couldn’t speak.

  Christie took a deep breath and sat next to Agatha. Thankfully, the warmth of her petite body was less than the warmth of her creativity, so the tall girl felt her cheeks gradually cool down. Wordlessly – or rather, gruntlessly – Fran?ois stretched next to them on a bed of grass.

  “So, what are you drawing?” The redhead finally asked.

  “Oh, not much. Just ideas to incorporate your agates into your clothing.”

  “That is amazing, Agatha!”

  “Really?” The blonde squinted as if she had been lied to.

  “Truly,” Christie softly nodded.

  “It is just a drawing.”

  “Oh, but I did not mean the drawing, but the intention behind it,” she grabbed her roommate’s free hand, and whilst the gesture embarrassed her a bit, she continued it as it was too late to go back. “I m-mean, I have never had anyone draw my clothes.”

  “It is… mandatory,” Agatha didn’t meet her eyes, instead choosing to look at the turtle as she gained a coloration of her own. Oh, I am a paragon of indecority! Christie’s thoughts were so incoherent that she used a word that she wasn’t sure existed. Unaware of her roommate’s thoughts, the seamstress continued to speak. “The more time goes by, the harder the classes get and the more homework we have. It is hard to spare the time, and sewing is time-consuming. Drawing, however, can be done quicker, and can also be left halfway done and return to it at a different time. It helps having both a blueprint and an idea when getting down to work with the textiles.”

  “I see.” She didn’t.

  Her dearest father hadn’t allowed her learning embroidery as he considered it too denigrating for women, and as Christie hadn’t pressed on the issue, for her interest was ephemeral as the book from which she had gotten the idea, and the whole spiel ended there. Never did she press on the issue because her dearest father had said so, and his word was law. Only now it began to strike her as odd the hypocrisy of his claim.

  So… she didn’t have the faintest idea of tailoring. But that’s the thing, you didn’t need to be something to understand it. A lot of people failed to comprehend that; comprehend that empathy could be applied in many ways. Yes, she hadn’t seen it in her life, but she could extrapolate and understand how a task could take a lot of time and effort, and it was better to first note down some thoughts and not go in blindly.

  Sometimes people focused too much on the actual word – even when the speaker has told them not to – instead of paying attention to the emotion and essence of the text. It might be difficult to understand in the written format of a letter, yet it was basically imperative in speech.

  So yes, she couldn’t understand, but she did get it. Yet people kept getting angry if you said that… Listen to my tone, not my stupid words! Christie wanted to shout yet she never did.

  “So there is that.” But Agatha did not. She didn’t get angry at her; she considered her words an offhand comment, and in a way, that was the most marvelous of results Christie could have gotten. Sometimes words shouldn’t be given thought. Sometimes it wasn’t about the literal sense given to them and just the raw feeling.

  Christie still didn’t understand why she was reacting with such a degree of… rambling. Her mind was a mess, and she didn’t know why. One moment she was lucid, and the next one she was bordering on insanity.

  And she was still grabbing Agatha’s hand.

  “Sorry about that,” the nouveau riche retreated her hand hastily. Perhaps I am the one who should listen to the belly of a turtle… Her mind regained a sliver of tarnished sanity. At least it will make more sense than this mind of mine.

  “Not a problem,” the villager giggled and went back to her sketch.

  The drawings weren’t the best Christie had seen, but it was far better than anything she would be able to draw. And that got her thinking about her roommate’s previous words.

  “If you are struggling with academics, you can always ask for my help,” Christie offered her help. Christie wanted to help.

  Perhaps Agatha always made her think about things she had never thought before; perhaps Agatha always made her think in ways she had never thought before, and as awful as those could get with her fluid sanity, she still wanted to help.

  “I see,” Agatha smiled again at her. Softly. Too softly. It wasn’t the brightness of the sun that saluted her, but a dim agate. Something was wrong with that smile – a creeping, nameless darkness to it – but Christie couldn’t guess what it was. “I will ask for help if ever the occasion arises.”

  She didn’t.

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