Candy stood outside the house, arms folded, waiting. Marcus had insisted on arranging a carriage to take her to the mage. She could have walked, it was thirty, forty minutes tops, but he wanted her to be safe. He emerged with a sack lunch in one hand and a thermos in the other.
"Sandwich, banana, some chips, and tea," he said casually, handing it over.
She stared at him. "You don’t have to pack me a lunch like I’m a child just because I’m your, ugh, wife now."
Marcus shrugged. "It’s not a wife thing. It’s a best-friend thing. Don’t you remember how many times I made Cameron lunch? If I didn’t, you’d either starve or eat mine."
"That’s not true."
"Oh really? First day of National Guard duty. They didn’t serve lunch. You made me give you half my sandwich. It had cured meats, spiced mutton, a perfect fat slice—"
"It wasn’t that good! And it was just that once!"
"Once? What about the time during winter drills you forgot your rations and I had to share my stew? You swiped the dumpling, Candy. The dumpling."
"Okay, okay—"
"Or that one time at training camp? You dropped your bread roll in a puddle, declared it cursed, and made me break mine in half for you."
"It was a very ominous puddle."
"Mm-hmm."
Candy sighed, amused despite herself.
"Still, there's the banana…"
Marcus gave her a curious look. "Yeah, actually. When did you start liking bananas? You always said they were texture treachery."
"I... I dunno. Two weeks ago? I tried one and it didn’t make me gag. Thought it was a fluke. Then I ate another."
Marcus squinted. "You think it’s the spell?"
"I’m going to ask the mage about it. At first I thought it was a woman thing. But, apparently not all women like bananas."
"Apparently?! You had to ask? Who exactly did you poll?"
Candy coughed. "It was... the Literary Society. And at the bathhouse. I may have asked around."
Marcus blinked. "You polled women during towel time?"
"It was relevant! We were discussing fruit paintings. It came up."
"Uh huh."
"And maybe I asked your mom."
Marcus groaned. "Well that explains the letter she sent me asking if you’d had a fever recently."
Candy facepalmed. "Of course she did."
The carriage arrived. Marcus reminded her to get back before curfew, wished her luck, and waved her off. She arrived at the mage’s modest home in a simmering mood. As soon as the door opened, which it did on its own because of course the mage had enchanted it, she marched inside.
"You absolute jackass!" she yelled.
High Mage Eldrin looked up from his lunch. "Candy. Lovely to see you too. I'm well, thanks for asking. Why yes, I did lose weight. How kind of you to notice.”
"You said the spell wouldn’t change my mind!"
He sighed, pushed his food aside, and gestured for her to sit. "Alright. Let's unpack this."
Candy crossed her arms. "I’m different now. I, I like bananas. I didn’t before."
"Okay."
"Okay?!"
"Anything else, or just the bananas?"
She hesitated. "At the fireworks festival... I was forced to sit on Marcus’ lap. And it didn’t feel awful. In fact... it almost felt nice."
"Mhm."
"And that freaked me out."
"Rightfully so. Let's do a scan. Sit still."
He murmured a few words and waved a glowing charm over her body. It pulsed faintly, then flared. They continued to talk while the crystal did its magic.
“I wouldn’t have physically been ok sitting on a man before I changed,” she reiterated.
“And you know this from experience? You sat on a handful of men's laps before changing?” he asked.
“No!”
“Well then technically we don’t have a baseline to compare to.” Before Candy could respond the crystal dinged, a light beamed out and above it a rotating, translucent picture of Candy appeared. Eldrin studied it for a few moments. Finally he spoke.
"Ah, as I thought. Your magic's still pulsing. It's taking up more of your body, especially neurological routes. Its… how do I put it? I think, it grows then recedes but each time it grows it potentially changes something else, and it doesn’t change back once receded."
Candy frowned. "So it's changing my brain?"
"Yes. But not your mind."
She blinked. "Wha... what’s the difference?"
"Your mind's who you are. Your memories, your reasoning abilities, beliefs, outlooks. Like if you decide that you take the utilitarian ethical stance because x, y or z that’s your mental processes working it out. That’s your mind. Conversely, your brain is just the interface. The banana thing? That’s likely taste buds and sensory receptors adapting. Same for physical comfort. The lap thing didn’t mean you liked it in a philosophical way or that your sexuality has changed. It's just the physical act didn’t feel bad."
"So I’m not... into men now?"
The mage chuckled. "No. Not unless you discover otherwise and if that happens, I doubt it will be from the spell. The spell didn’t change who you are attracted to. Just how your body might express attraction. Or comfort. Or bananas."
Candy exhaled. "That’s... oddly reassuring."
"It should be. But you need to come back every three months. We have to monitor this. Your magic is unpredictable."
"Is it going to keep changing things?"
"Possibly. Which is why I need ongoing scans. But rest assured, you are still you. Just... a very weird, evolving version of you."
After the appointment, Candy sat on the edge of a quiet fountain plaza, eating her lunch. She didn’t want to go anywhere too crowded, an overzealous guard might dock her for improper curtsy angles or a late "sir."
The mage had thrown more words at her than she knew how to sort. Brain versus mind. Sensory receptors. Spell pulses. Comfort as not-evidence. It was all... too much.
She realized there wasn’t even a word in Paddlewick for what she was feeling. Not confused, seemed like that implied a mistake. Not changed, she felt that implied acceptance. Not wrong, though part of her flinched like it was.
She just felt scrambled. Like her soul had been lightly toasted and handed back to her with a label she didn’t understand.
She took another bite of the sandwich. Salty, rich, familiar. Her eyes burned, but she blinked it away. She needed new words. Or maybe a whole new way to think. She'd look into this. There had to be a way to learn more, but for now, she'd process what she did know.
So she sat.
And thought.
And chewed.
And, despite everything she had to admit: Marcus made a damn good sandwich.