A name not spoken in vain

An early morning, in a normal house. The sun shone pleasantly through the curtains, and there was a faint hint of cleaning potions in the air. In the kitchen, an adult woman hummed the tune to the same song she always sang.

It was to this comfortable scene that Aisha had woken, and it was with her mother's melody hanging in the background that she carefully stepped down the stairs, nursing her left hand like it was a fragile object that might easily break. After all, that was more or less the truth.

"Mom. Mom!"

Aisha's plaintive, worried voice cut through the air, stopping her mother's melody. She was in no mood for listening to it anyway.

Miriam turned around. What she saw was her barely dressed daughter, left arm wrapped in a sweater that was also soaked with water. A glance at the mana flows showed a deeper, by now painfully common tale. She lightly sighed.

"Mom, I… My hand…"

"Isn't that your favorite sweater?" She lightly scolded her daughter. "Well. It's just water, I suppose. Here, take this towel before you start dripping all over the floor."

"Mom!" There was a note of betrayal in Aisha's voice.

"I told you, you've got to start taking care of these problems yourself. I can't always be there to fix them for you. Tell you what." She poked Aisha's sweater with the towel, then set it aside and gently began unwrapping her daughter's hand. Miriam tut-ed at the sight. Entirely what she'd expected– pale skin from the shoulder to the elbow, then clear ice, slowly melting in the kitchen's heat.

She'd slept on it, of course, and so her hand was barely a nub. Miriam made a mental note to go air the bedsheets out, but for now, her daughter needed her. Not that she was going to make it easy on her.

She scraped the elbow with a fingernail, shaving a little bit away. This ice was literally rotten, but what could you expect from a dream-state metamorphosis. It'd have to come off.

"Your clothes are soaked." There was a small puddle forming beneath Aisha. "Tell you what, I'll give you two options. Either you go take a shower right now, then go to school, and we'll sort this out later."

Eyes widening, Aisha gulped.

"Or?" Her voice was tremulous. There was a part of Miriam that hated doing this, but she didn't have a choice.

"I can't fix it right now." Her voice was flat, brooking no argument. "I need to stay fresh for work, and you're getting too powerful. It's those worshippers in that 'Aisha club' of yours, I'm sure."

"They aren't– It isn't–"

"They are."

She stared her daughter down until she sullenly looked away, gripping her arm. "They're just friends," Aisha muttered. Which was true, but her daughter had to realize what that meant for her. It was better than the opposite problem, Miriam supposed.

There was a moment's silence.

"Or I unseal your domain, and you get to take your own chances, little goddess of change. If you can punch through it while sleeping, then you're more than powerful enough to fix this on your own. Of course, your control is…" She let the word trail off. Aisha made a face, no doubt remembering the last time she'd insisted they try that.

"It's one or the other. Oh, by the way." Turning back to the counter, and her vegetables, she asked Aisha over her shoulder, "What do you want for lunch today? Eggs and sausage? I'll cut them up, so it's easier to eat with one arm."

"Sounds fine," Aisha mumbled, gripping her melting arm tightly. "I'll go take that shower."

Miriam threw her a back-handed salute, then kept chopping vegetables until she could her the creaks of her daughter walking up the stairs. Mouth set in a thin line, she looked unhappily down at the board.

"…I'm sorry, Aisha, but you need to work on this."