She looked me up and down, as if analyzing whether I was worth talking to. For whatever reason, this didn't make my skin crawl, but I kind of wish it did. "Morning." She repeated.

"Breakfast?" I asked, gesturing down the hall, towards the stairs, towards the exit, towards the communal kitchens. "I think there's pancake batter left. I put my name on it, so hopefully no one else took it."

"Sure."

We made out way down the hall and stairs, her slightly in front of me so I was left marvelling at her back. It was real in a way I wasn't, so much more tangible and well, valuable. I didn't touch it - that would be weird - so I just watched the ripples in her shirt move over it. I knew it was the effect her Inheritance had on people which was causing me to act this way, to consider her body a holy site. I didn't mind, I just wish I knew whether she was doing it intentionally or not. Some Inheritances work more intentionally than others, and some work mostly on reflex. Mine, for instance, the Assimilation, was largely controllable. Patterns had to be noticed to be altered. But manipulating value was too vague and abstract to wrap my head around.

If she was doing it intentionally, was it just for me? Was she trying to make herself valuable to me alone? Was my pull on her special? It couldn't be, I knew it wasn't, but I wanted it to be. 

But if she intentionally made herself valuable to everyone, I couldn't blame her. That's what I or anyone else would do if I had her Inheritance. Humans are social animals, and it is easiest to function in a society by being well-liked. People did nice things for their friends, and whoever else they fancied. She could inspire love and fear in people, and even if they knew what she was doing, they couldn't even resent her for it. Not unless she was far away, maybe. But then, I didn't resent her when she was far away. Maybe because I never got far enough?

No, I realized, I did resent her sometimes. Just a few minutes ago, even. I didn't want to like her and I did anyway. So on some level I must resent her.

She opened the door that led outside. "Margo can't walk." She said suddenly, evenly.

"Hm?"

"Margo. The new Chill Heiress. Nearly killed herself on accident. I feel bad for her." She said it so dispassionately, but there was a current of real emotion underneath. She would not have mentioned it if she didn't want me to do something about it. And sure, it wasn't like helping Margo out herself, but it was something.

"Should we help her?" I asked.

"Why bother?" Harriet sighed.

So she wanted me to take the initiative. Great. "Well, I'd want her to feel welcome."

She laughed in response. This surprised me, even though I knew her cynicism well. What was the point of this conversation, exactly? "What?" I asked. "Should we not make her feel welcome?"

"No, it's fine, I'm just shocked you care." She replied, stifling her laughter.

"Why would I not care?" I responded indignantly.

"What would be the point of helping her?"

"What does that mean? It's a nice thing to do, shouldn't that be that?" I felt bad striking this tone with her - I only wanted to look and act good in front of her - but I didn't know what she wanted me to do. I was just going where the conversation was headed, and what she was trying to talk about was anyone's guess. Harriet was alluring, but mystifying sometimes.

"You really want to help her?"

"Yeah!" I certainly did now, at any rate. Maybe I did all along? I wasn't sure. I was curious about her sure, and I felt bad for her, but I couldn't tell if, before this conversation, I wanted to help her. It felt like my idea, though.

"Square." Her insult was playful.

"Triangle." I shot back, also playful. She was satisfied with me. I could hear it in her voice. Her happiness made me happy. I had done what she wanted, and it was what I wanted all along. Nice that we coincided like that.

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Triangles are pointy and mean." I stuck my tongue out, and then immediately regretted insulting her, even if I didn't mean it.

She didn't mind. It seemed like she liked it. "Cruel? Me?" She joked, mocking indignation. I liked this side of her. My heart felt light.

And perverted. Dirtied. Manipulated. I wondered if I minded, if I should mind.

"I bet you broke her legs yourself."

"That's what I do at night. I go around breaking people's legs."

"That must be what the giant hammer is for."

"Of course. The giant hammer I keep under my bed. The one they allow me to have."

"You only break people's legs. What's the harm in that?"

How would dating Harriet be? Would it be like this forever, bickering like an old married couple? Going off on imaginatory tangents? It's not like I had many better options ahead of me. There were no single women my own age, except maybe Patience, but the idea that she had an age at all was a tired topic. And there were certainly no available men. Being true to myself meant very little if lying to myself could make me much happier. Not happy, maybe, but happier than the alternative, which was being alone forever. Patience, unfortunately, couldn't keep me company forever, and while I had other friends, none were as close as her or Harriet. Most of the Inheritors were reclusive, traumatized weirdos. Being trapped in a valley didn't help one's psyche much, and carrying the burden of overwhelming power didn't help either. We were dangerous and had to grapple with that.

Harriet wanted to help Margo somehow, and I did too. That made me happy. Maybe not happy. But happier than I would have been otherwise. Seeing Harriet's less cynical side come out was nice. I may not love her, but I certainly liked her. Manipulated or otherwise.