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Her ears snapped with a soundless pop. Vibrations bloomed all the way up her arms. Everything felt wrong. If there was one thing about this whole adventuring thing, Madoka certainly did not like the amount of things she had to go up and down in. Portals, mountains, flying, and now these metal lifts that flung her around— she did not like any of them at all.

She should be happy that the Vale Bá is slain. She should be happy that she possesses the key to cure her sickness. But she felt alone. She let out a metallic sigh; she was all alone in this rapid descent, sheared clean and raw in the weightlessness. Since she could not move, her brain decided to spiral with the lift as it traveled. Whether her body decided to follow was up to fate.

Her breath let out tiny chaining bolts of Knotting magic. It was inside of her now. In her lungs. The strands clung to the window of the lift, then vanished like golden spectres running away from her upward. Metal supports flaked the tube she was in with specks of golds, blues, shadows, and ruin. The turbines whined, indifferent to the drama that occurred here.

This place reacted to her touch, not because she was a person— but what was coursing through her body. Her chest, her hands, and now her lungs now had the ability to shape the world around her. She could even fly. Other places reacted to her presence. Other beings. However, only one person reacting to her mattered. The princess. No amount of lectures or talks from the Head Maid could ever had prepared her for such outlandish things.

Yet here she was, inside a metal box sliding down a big ancient building of incomprehensible origins and scale, because magic brought her here. She, by all accounts, either was or now is magic. And magic was or is her. Even the breath she makes was now full of the stuff. Even—

Madoka was split on her opinions of magic. Specifically, the kind that she could use. On one hand, it was golden and radiant. It was far too bright and way too flashy. Definitely not a style or color that she would prefer. She was a maid, after all— she truly could not prefer anything. But if she could choose, the color of her magic would be white and a lot less attention grabbing.

She scoffed to herself. Such luminosity was wasted on her. She was average looking, not very bright, and generally not a pretty girl herself. Only one person thought she was and, well, that person was not in her right mind. What to choose? She could not choose the other color of her old uniform. Black reminded her of those disgusting roots that were evil. So, white it was.

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Oh. She realized that she indeed could use magic of that color. She had not had any chances to use such intense magic. The Crystal inside of her could be used as a powerful bomb, capable of leveling an entire forest should she choose. And she definitely did not want to do that. Not because Audrey would disapprove nor because of any limitations, but because of the sheer mess it causes every time she does. That strange magical artifact has been with her for a very long time, though she still had no idea on its true intentions or origins either. But if she dared look inside herself, the magic was pure white.

Therefore, she could not choose white as a preferred color of magic.

Besides the color of magic, the other half of her opinion on magic rested in what she could do with it. The possibility of doing anything with magic already sent quite a disruptive shockwave in her mind. She had always assumed Commoners and Slaves do not possess such talents. That misconception had long been proven wrong, but even though she was initially incorrect the fact that she was thinking over this predicament still unnerved her.

What school of magic would she want to use? Knotting magic assisted her in cleaning and causing immense property damage, as the princess called it. But it was not subtle, therefore, circling back to her mixed opinions on the color and function of it. If she wanted to transform the Crystal into a broom, she could just pick up a broom instead. However, the memory of her hitting her mother's corrupted form with an enormous frying pan did feel a bit satisfying. She had enough of the noise in her dreams.

Heh. A frying pan. And the giant golden broom. And how could she forget about the giant metal ball. All great choices for her to pick from the next time she needs a very large mess cleaned.

Given the choice of switching a school of magic to another, Madoka decided she would choose Substance magic. She would be healing the princess whenever she inevitably hurt herself all of the time. It sounded a lot more useful than sheer destructive force— Audrey already could cause such trouble on her own. Green was a soothing color, was it not? Even the cloak she wore from Lady Saze was woven of such a nice color. Perhaps, she still deemed her previous opinion more valuable than the function of magic: Color was more important than the function of magic.

This lift was taking a long time. She needed to know what color of magic Audrey preferred. She wondered if it was green, since she loved those Wind Blades a lot. She wondered if she could emulate such a spell with her own Knotting magic. Even if it was made of golden or yellow strands.

No, no, no, Madoka. She shook her head furiously, but only received a dizzy wave of feedback to her brain. Think subtle. No trouble. If she does not rip an arm off a rude adventurer or blow up a forest, there will be no messes to clean. If the table is not bumped, then no one will force her to move it back and clean it over several times. But what if she blew up the table? Focus, Madoka. Breathe in. Breathe out. Don't let the Princess's habit of rambling get to you.

Still, something stirred within Madoka's thoughts as the lift descended. If she could choose anything, she would still choose her. Even now, that was what she was doing, right? Despite the dark future, the colorful past, and whatever was happening now… That choice was hers.

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