The room Erika and Morrigan lead me to is big and empty, the only furniture inside of it being a big, double bed and a closet. I sit down on the bed and sigh. It might be big and too open, but I have my own place. A sanctuary where I can retreat. I have always hated being around people for too long, and it has only gotten worse the more time I’ve spent alone on the streets. I’ll properly be spending most of my time here.

    Erika closes the door while Morrigan comes up to me, a sour look on her sleek face.

    “You look terrible,” She says, scrunching her nose, “Smell like it too. What did they feed you in Denmark? Raw herring?”

    “I was homeless,” I tell her straight.

    “Explains the hair,” She nods, examining it like a professional, “It needs to be washed and brushed properly, and cut to. I think bangs would suit your perplexion.”

    “Just heal me, please,” I sigh.

    “I’ve done everything that I can,” Morrigan says, almost defensively.

    I feel on my chest and side. It doesn't hurt anymore, but it still doesn't feel right. I guess I’ll just have to wait for it to get better. I’ve never really gotten injured before. I know, logically, that I should have, but I’ve always been very careful. 

   “Let's talk about the good news,” Erika says excitedly, jumping onto the bed to sit beside me, “You figured out how to use your powers on purpose. Tell me, what was it you did?”

    I don't know how to explain it any better, so I put it simply and say, “I went fast.”

    “You have enhanced speed?” Erika comments, her eyebrows shooting up, “It makes sense. You were down at the pyramid well before Zeph and me, and we went in right after you. There’s also the fact that Aiden and I couldn't find you every time you ran off. You properly ran faster than what we could, even without knowing it.”

    “Yeah,” I nod, thinking back, “Every time I’ve had problems, I’ve always just run from them. Like sometimes I would get caught shoplifting or trespassing, and when the cops began chasing me I’d just outrun them. I guess I never noticed I was running abnormally fast. I just thought I had more energy since I was young.”

    “But you were also running on less energy than cops, weren't you?” Erika points out, smirking, “I mean, you were homeless after all. They were well fed and well energized, you were just scraping by.”

    I get up and walk over to the giant window. It’s the entire wall, a bit slanted because of the pyramid shape of the base, “Why do you keep doing that?”

    “She can't help it,” Morrigan giggles, even her giggle comes across as well practiced and perfected, polite and gentle.

    “It’s true,” Erika admits coyly, “I just know people.”

    “But you’ve never met me,” I shake my head.

    “I’ve met sorts like you,” Erika tells me, coming to stand beside me.

    I run my fingers on the glass. It’s smooth and thick, but there are bumps and waves, small cuts and scrapes. It’s old. “Tell me about this place.” 

    “The pyramid we live in is older than any of us know of,” Erika starts, talking slowly and calmly, like a mother reading for her child before bed, “It was here even before the oldest of us was alive. It’s always been a home to us, the Tethered. There has always lived a group, and Organization, inside the pyramid, with the goal of supporting, saving, and solving humanity. We go on missions, appointed by our leader Adi, where we help out. Sometimes it's natural catastrophes, sometimes it's wars. Most of the time now it’s to interfere with politics. Make sure no one nukes each other. We also search for others like us. It’s our job to make sure every new Tethered learns about their life, their powers. We offer them to live with us, but we never take them.”

    Behind us, Morrigan huffs out a single laugh, a mockery of Erika.

    “I’m sorry?” Erika quirks her head, turning to watch Morrigan. I turn around too, looking at the white lady sitting on my bed.

    “Sure, we always offer,” She starts, twirling her white hair between her fingers, “But is it a fair offer when we sometimes give it to an eighteen year old, and then sometimes to an eight year old.”

    “It was never my choice to seek out underaged Tethered,” Erika sighs, “I agree with the decision Miriam made regarding Lynn, his situation was different. I assume you are also speaking about Shira, and that I can't comment on. She was young, but she begged. Her parents would have found out soon, I understand why Miriam did it.”

    “Who are Shira and Lynn?” I ask. There are so many new people I have to learn about. Maybe I am being dramatic, it is after all only seven or so, but for me thats a lot.

    “They were with me when you arrived,” Morrigan says, “The two people with the black hair.”

    “How old are they?” I ask, “How old are you?”

    “Lynn’s what? From fifty something, so sixty years,” Morrigan answers me, “Shira is only twenty two or so, you should get along. I’m 120.”

     “Thats old,” I say in surprise.

    “That’s rude,” Morrigan glares.

    “She’s the fifth oldest of us,” Erika says, “Adi our leader is 243, and then there are three Drifters who are all older too.”

    “When will I get to meet Adi?” I ask.

    “Later today,” Erika answers cheerfully, “We are holding a big dinner tonight. It’s a tradition for when a new Tethered joins us. It’s a fancy dress party, so we’ll have to find something for you. Do you have a favorite color?”

    I think of the journal in my backpack, of the drawings I made as a child, “Purple.”

    “I think I can work with that,” Morrigan humms, getting up from the bed, “Erika, älskling, will you help wash Camilla’s hair?”

    Erika nods and takes my hand, leading me out of my room and into an en suite bathroom. I hear Morrigan leave my room too, presumably to go find a purple dress. I wish I had asked for a suit, I hate skirts. You walk terribly in them.

    “Strip down and get in the shower, I’ll get you some shampoo and conditioner,” Erika tells me, pushing me towards the giant bathtub.

    “I know how to wash my own hair,” I snap, taking off my blouse, “I’ve not been homeless my entire life.”

    “I don't think you are incapable of washing your hair,” Erika coos as she turns the shower on, “It’s just that it’s going to be a lot of work. Your hair looks like an owlsnest, you’ll need an army to comb through it.”

    “I could do it with enough time,”

    “With my help you’ll never need enough time.”

    I give in and let her help me. I wash it with shampoo on my own, but when it’s time for the conditioner, Erika comes and helps me apply it and brush my hair. We are both working quietly with our hands, the pain of tugging out tangles soon turn into a soothing pull. The water turns cold, and when I comment on it Erika puts her hand down in it, turning it around as gentle light appears from her palm, heating up the waters.

    “I thought you did magic with,” I say, looking for the right word, “Your tongue? Speaking. Words. Feelings.”

    “Do you think a singer can't also be a painter?” She asks me, pulling her hand out and turning back to my hair, “I have a multitude of talents. So does everyone. It’s just that some of us are better at one of them, or some of us rarely gets to use our other gifts. A flashlight is not useful on diplomatic missions, a charmer is not useful  in fights. I have my own strengths, my own usefulness.”

    “So you think I can do other stuff too?” I ask.

    “I think you can do everything, with enough practice.”

    “You mean time?”

    “Time is not something I care to think about,” She says and I feel a tug at my heart. I don't know why, maybe I feel sorry for her. It most be lonesome, living this long.

    “How old were you when you last saw your parents?” I ask her.

    “You are so chipper,” Erika swats me on my arm, “I don't remember. I think I was 18.”

    “Tell me about how you joined,” I tell her, leaning back to listen to her.

    “I’d rather not bore you,” She laughs, and that tug at my heart is there again, like a string pulling be to the surface. I didn't even know I was drowning.

    There’s a nock on the door.

    “Are you ready soon?” Morrigan asks from the other side, “There’s three hours till the feast, and Shira insists on us showing her around beforehand.”

    “I just asked,” Some girl, Shira, yells from further away.

    “We are almost done,” Erika answers back, getting up from where she was crouching, “It’s brushed through. Put on a towel, Morrigan has properly already found something for you to wear.”

    “Do I have to wear a dress?” I ask as I get up and put on the towel.

    “Yes, it’s a fancy dress party,” Erika says, pulling the plug on the tub and letting the water risle out, “We don't get the chance to do that very often. I know a lot of the others misses the old fashion trends. Back then everything was more formal.

    “It wasn't when you were young?” I ask, then catch myself, “Younger, I mean. You are still young.”

    “I was young in the sixties, so don't bother trying to flatter me,” Erika laughs, crossing her arms, “I was obsessed with the mini skirt trend and everything cheap plastic. There was nothing formal about that.” As she says it, she opens the door. On the other side, tapping her foot impatiently, is Morrigan, wearing a long white and blue dress, with a detailed embroidered neckline and her hair tied up.

    “The sixties ruined fashion,” Morrigan huffs, taking my hand and leading me towards the bed where Shira is sitting. Shira is wearing vibrant blue jeans and a red t-shirt, paired with a scarf around her neck and bold, gold eyeliner. She smiles at me, but I quickly look away.

    “Agree to disagree,” Shira said, Erika nodding fervently.

    “Can we stop talking about fashion and start getting me some clothes?” I interrupt, pointing at my body that is currently only covered by a towel.

    “Of course,” Morrigan says, turning around. There’s a rack of clothes on wheels behind her, filled with all sorts of items. Blacks, purples, blues. Some of them are long and sparkly, others normal pairs of jeans or sweaters.

    “I got together a wardrobe for you,” Morrigan tells me, taking out one of the long, midnight purple, dresses, “Shira helped me. They should all be your fit and style.”

    “How would you know?” I ask as she hands me the dress. The fabric is feather light and just the right amount of soft, with tiny silver lightning bolts sewn into it.

    “You should really learn to stop asking why questions,” Shira laughs, “Why are we living in a pyramid in the Bermuda Triangle? Why are we immortal? Why do we speak English when most of the world’s population doesn't? Why us?”

    “So magic,” I conclude, “You have tailoring powers? How’s that useful?”

    “You should learn that your elders know way more magic than you will ever know,” Morrigan says calmly but deadly, “I am not a one-trick pony. And never judge girls for being good with clothes, it might save your sorry life in the end.”

    “Sorry,” I grumble, looking down.

    “Danes,” Morrigan sneers and turns around, “Always so full of yourself.”

    “You should try on the dress,” Erika butts in, excitedly, “There’s a walk-in closet you can change in if you are more comfortable with that. Morrigan brought a bag of extra underwear. Right, Morrigan?”

    “Of course,” Morrigan answers, her back turned on us, “I’m not barbaric.”

    “I’ll go change in the closet then,” I say quietly, taking the dress and the bag of underwear.

    The closest is big. I’ve always thought closets like this only excited in movies, a Hollywood exacteration. It’s basically just a small room. I could make it into something else, I don't really care about having this many clothes. I could get a couch and a lamp, turn it into a reading room. I would need a lock too, just so I can relax properly.

    I put on the dress. Morrigan was right, it’s a perfect fit. The sleeves are short and simple, like a tshirt, but the deep v-neck keeps it from being too casual. The skirt is layered and gradually the layers get longer and longer, creating a pine tree silhouette. The dress reaches my ankles, meaning I would be able to run and not trip, which is definitely the best part of the dress. I come out and the girls are all watching me silently as I walk towards them.

    “It’s pretty,” Shira says, swinging her feet back and forth.

    “What you you think?” Erika asks me.

    “It needs a more defined waist,” Morrigan scrunches her nose and comes up to me. Her fingers pinch the fabric, and it melts together like smooth butter. She draws a line along my waist, and a dark fold, like a belt, appears. It’s made of the same fabric, but it still stands out. It doesn't make sense in my own head, but my eyes can see everything happening.

    “Shira,” Morrigan calls, turning around, “I need a silver necklace. Lightning bolts to match the dress. Just something to decorate her collarbone.”

    “On it,” Shira nods, taking out a thread from a small purse lying on the bed. She twists it around her fingers, and the brownish gray string turns into a slim, delicate silver chain. She takes out a handful of wooden beads too, and as she swirl them around in her hand they turn into the same color of silver as the chain. They deflate and compress into small lightning bolts, just likes those on my dress. She puts the whole thing together and hands it to Morrigan, who places the necklace around my neck.

    “So you both do fashion magic?” I ask, studying the delicate necklace. It shines brighter than any accessory I’ve ever seen, it must be real silver.

    “I transform materials,” Shira says, “It’s like alkemi. Turning water into wine, I would think I was Jesus if I wasn't Muslim.”

    “And I mostly do Illusions,” Morrigan says, “But it has involved into cosmetics and tailoring.”

    “Zeph calls her a mirror,” Erika smiles.

    “He also called me the love of his life, so you should take his word with a grain of salt,” Morrigan huffs, “Alright, next dress then.”

    I sigh and catch the dress Morrigan throws at me.