MEMORY: R.M.

[rizomata]

You're five years old.

You lived in this house with your mother for as long as you remember, but she hasn't come home in a while. A couple of mages have started stopping by every day or so, leaving you a tray of stale food, asking questions you don't know how to answer, and sometimes, borrowing books from your mother's shelves. This continues for several weeks until they, too, stop coming back. The books don't come back, either.

You wander outside with your empty tray, and run into a young woman... another researcher. She expresses shock at your messy hair and clothes, tells you her name is Marget Roan, and she's a friend of your mother's. She comes back to your house to help tidy it up. She cuts your hair. She brings food over and cooks it for you. She teaches you to lock the door when she's away.

"There aren’t many bad people in Aspio, but if people knew there was a little girl living here by herself, a thief might try to rob you or something." She makes a scary face. "If a thief takes something from you, he’ll never give it back!"

You look to the empty gaps in the bookshelves with fright. She seems to realize how disturbing the thought was, and then continues, "I know. You should start writing your name on the things you own, Rita. Do you know how to write your name?"

Without a word, you go over to a brown shopping bag, and with a pen, write your name in big letters to show.

"Very good. You could just use your initials, too. Lots of adults do that."

"Mm... okay."

When she leaves, you go on to write your initials on everything. You spend several minutes writing R.M. on every single piece of paper on a notepad. Then, you go into your mother's room and start digging through the boxes... until you find an enchanting accessory among the discarded blastia. Realizing it's too precious to draw on, you simply trace your initials with your finger over the gemstone. It's yours now.

...

You're eight years old.

Marget's busy with her research, but you still see her often. You've started learning about blastia, too. It started with crayon drawings of models, with persistent questions about aer and converters and cores, and now, you've become skilled enough to work with formulas yourself. Sometimes Marget comes over to help you decipher the more difficult ones... and sometimes, you find the answer even before she does. You talk at length about the latest theories. She challenges you with even more advanced problems, and you can feel your skills develop as you craft more and more complex formulas. It's fun. It's the most you've ever connected with a person.

While walking outside one day, you hear a pair of mages talking. "Have you seen the thesis Roan just published?" "The theories presented are fascinating..." It's odd. Marget never told you she published her thesis. For a mage, that's a huge deal... but maybe she didn't think a child would be as excited about it as these grown-up researchers are. You're curious, though, so you stop by the bookstore to take a look. This is the City of Scholars; it's easy enough to find a copy.

... The theories are familiar. The formulas, familiar.

These are your formulas.

You run home. She's there, setting your table for dinner. You slam the paper on the table. She looks to you in bewilderment, tries to make some excuses... but you understand. You understand she stole this from you.

Your face hot with anger, you grab your notes and show her. "I kept all of our notes here! I wrote my initials on every page! This proves those are my formulas!"

"And what do you think my initials are!?" she finally snaps back. "Who are they going to believe: a licensed researcher, or an eight-year-old!?"

She's right. They won't believe you. They won't help you. No one will. Not a single person.

You scream for her to get out. To never come back. And once she's gone, you lock the door.

You won't let anyone inside again.