You Find the Will to Go On... And a Little Luck at Last!

You sit there dumbly as the heartbeats pass... but for some reason, your circumstances cause a wellspring of willpower to overflow within you. You WON'T go out like this. This isn't the end! You'll fight this no matter what! A soft voice in the back of your mind tells you that you're just in denial, so you ignore that voice too! You look around the room, and your eyes fixate on the one thing that might give you the edge you need. The spellbook.

With a grunt, you struggle to your feet, then waddle over to the pulpit with wide round steps thanks to the spreader bar, and at last you look down into the book. Thankfully, like the journal, you can read the words on the page. The book is still opened to the pages containing the ritual of your transformation, and you look on curiously. Your suspicions are confirmed in the title. "Porcelain Metamorphosis." You're made of the stuff of fine dishware, or of Victorian dolls... You scowl. As you keep reading you realize that you're now essentially like a clay golom, but unlike a golom, you still have your human soul, and all the senses that came with your flesh and blood body. That, at least, is good.

You find an especially pertinent note scribbled at the side of the main text. You heal... Or at least, you'll heal from minor wounds. Looking over at your arms with resignation, you realize this probably doesn't constitute a minor wound. But the demoness notes a way to fix more major wounds. You'll need silver, or gold, and someone to perform a kintsukuroi spell... Whatever that is... You read the rest of the page, but it delves into magical theory, and concepts that are utterly beyond your mind. How best to entice your soul to remain in an inanimate material, how to preserve the living senses, and where within the body to inscribe the necessary runes and sigils, and how to manifest certain strengths by the energy of the soul. More than once you see your body being referred to as a living phylactery. The term concerns you, but in an odd way you're beginning to think this wasn't intended as a curse at all. Instead you see it as an exploration into the potentials of niche magics, as well as the demoness' exploration into her own kinks and fetishes.

But none of this will help you now, so you turn the page. For a brief moment, you're bewildered by the fact your hand doesn't move to turn the page before you realize your folly once again. This will not be easy to get used to. With a huff, you lean over and try to turn the page with your nose, only to find your glossy frictionless skin is too smooth to find any purchase. Now growling, you slide your nose back and forth again and again, but it's useless. You try something different and wet your tongue with saliva, then literally lick the page over... You can taste the tinny iron of the ink, and the mustiness of the hide parchment. As you flip through the pages looking for something useful, You begin to hope that the hide pages aren't from anything weird...

Your thoughts are interrupted, as at last you see a spell that might be useful... What more, it looks simple and quick to cast. The only question is whether or not you have a well of magic within you to cast the spell, but for some reason, you just intuitively know you do.

A grim smirk grows on your face. This turnabout will be swift, and cruel.