You spin through the infinite blackness, falling, flying, a kernel of soul slipping between cracks in the abyss. You cannot remember who you were. You cannot even think to try. Until, suddenly, something catches you. Two hands hold the fragment of light that is you close to their chest. A voice speaks, feminine, calculating, cold and warm all at once.

  "Fallen child... little soul cast aside by careless gods. Is this truly your end?" Her voice carries a soft, teasing tone.

  You gawk at her, or at least you feel like you're gawking, even if you lack a mouth. Who, what, where, why - the questions flash through your mind.

  "I am a Morrigan, dear. And I seek to sire a new daughter. A new witch, to wander the worlds. Your soul, so far from home, so bright... You would do. If you would accept me." She smiles coyly.

  The name, Morrigan, resonates with you. You have heard of them, in memories that are no longer your own. The origins of all magic, the beings from which all sorcerers, mages and warlocks claim descent. To have one of these legends appear before you, to be offered a place among their ranks in what you presume would be the next incarnation of your soul - it is beyond belief. You can barely even wrap your head around it. All that power, simply given away?

  "Power is not given, dear child. All I would give to you would be the foundations. How you build on that, who you decide to become, whether you even survive to adulthood at all... these things are for you to decide. Now, do you accept?" The Morrigan before you leans in close. A hungry spark of anticipation gleams in her eye.

  You've always been an ambitious sort. You know this, even as you don't know why, or when "always" even was. You know this, and so, you reach out with fingers that you do not have and take the hand of the woman - the witch - the goddess - in front of you. She smiles wider.

  "Excellent. I knew I had chosen correctly. Now, a few simple things, before you truly begin. I will manifest you into the world of Moirai. It is the homeworld of all Morrigans, a cradle where we grow and come into our powers. You need not fear sharing it with your sisters, however. Every time a new Morrigan finishes her manifestation upon Moirai, the world... splits. Two copies are formed from the original whole - one, to remain spinning through the cosmos, a gift to new Morrigans. The other, yours, a sanctuary and bastion in equal measure. Should you choose to make it such, of course." She traces the lines of your face, and suddenly, you realize you have a face. The woman before you is forming it, sculpting it from nothing. You blink at her with new eyes, and open delicate lips to breathe in the nonexistent air.

  "It will take you one hundred years to finish manifesting upon Moirai, and come into the height of what powers I have granted you. Everything from that point onwards will be by your hand alone." She reaches down, sculpting breasts and belly and arms. You see... dark skin, dark blue skin, six slender limbs, silver hair cascading downwards. Somehow, you thought you would be human. You don't even know what a human is.

  "I shall grant you a series of boons, to cement the beginnings of your power. Remember - a Morrigan is unbound. In time, you may choose to walk any path you wish, create any magic you can imagine. But what I give you here will forever be the baseline, the foundation upon which you build yourself. So tell me, my dear... what is it you want?"

  You nearly laugh. The question is so open-ended, so directionless, that you can barely even think of where to begin. You consider how to approach the question, and then, you decide. What you ask for here will be such an important part of you - it is only right to let your heart speak on this matter, not your mind. The words spill freely from your lips.

  "Power.", you whisper, and in an instant you can summon the elements to your will. "Wealth.", you speak, and the knowledge to turn lead to gold, to transmute flesh to iron, appears within you. "Life.", you say, and with but a touch the bodies of natural beings shall remake themselves at your will. "Freedom.", you chant, and you know the secrets to opening shortcuts through reality and bending space into the shape you desire. "And creation.", you finish, and know that no feat of crafting shall be beyond you.

  And then, a thought strikes you. A life at the top, as the most powerful magical being in the world... doesn't that seem just a bit too lonely? You don't want to live out your days as a hermit studying magic for all eternity. "A-and," you stutter, watching for a sign of rejection, a sign that you have pushed too far, too fast. But your creator only inclines her head, eyes glittering darkly. "and, companionship." The knowledge flows into you just as easily as the rest. With a touch, stone and metal and wood will spring to life at your command, a faithful servant.

  The woman before you smiles as she holds your leg, teasing toes out from the ethereal nothingness. There is an intimacy to the way she cradles you, like how a mother holds her newborn child. "Greedy girl. Most ask for but one boon, not six. But I chose you for a reason then, didn't I? And nothing you have requested is unreasonable. You shall have your boons... and one more. A heart, my heart, the heart of a Morrigan. The source of everything you are and will be." She reaches into and through her chest, flesh and fabric peeling apart to reveal the blood and bone beneath, pulsating with every breath. She reaches towards her heart, black yet speckled with motes of stardust, and with a single perfect fingernail, cuts out a tiny piece. She places it within you, her blood melding with yours, and you understand.

  When the first sculptors put chisel to stone, they carved their creations from the unforgiving rock. They destroyed, and in this, they made. This is the cosmic equation by which all creation operates - gods, monsters, and mortals alike, all cut the universe into the shape most pleasing to them, discarding the unwanted fragments and returning the waste material to primordial chaos. This is entropy, the slow march of something into nothing. You now stand at the other end of this process - with each beat of your tiny, yet slowly growing heart, the chaos of the universe flows in, and order flows out. It is an endless font of magic. It is the source of your abilities. It is something, born from nothing.

  "And now!" She claps. "You shall descend upon Moirai. Do try not to make a mess of things - remember that one day, a younger sister of yours will come across your works. The legacy you build here will be the message you send to your future peers."

  You stand, finally, upon steady yet newborn legs. The blackness of the abyss stretches around you. Your body is tall and young, a girl who has just crossed the line into womanhood. "How do we get down there? Where will I land?" You ask.

  "That is for you to decide." She smiles. And then she grabs you, and hurls.

  ~~~

  The planet of Moirai stretches beneath, above, and around you, as you fall towards it from a direction you cannot name. You see... glimpses. An industrious empire stretching far to the west. Multiple ruined kingdoms, stalked by beasts of every shape and size. A serene set of plains and valleys near the equator. A kingdom between the sea and the desert, thriving on trade and commerce. Forests full of monsters and tribal peoples. And to the north, a frozen wasteland, an empty city long abandoned. Something draws you to it. It is a hard place, an isolated place, with few companions available save for the monsters that even now roam its forgotten halls.

  But, should you claim it, it will be yours in truth. There shall be no hidden coven, no witch hunters looking to put you to the sword, no cults in your name sharing your halls. A kingdom all your own, sequestered in a place no one would ever look. The perfect home.

  You reach out, six arms grasping the strands of the world as you break through into it, hurtling out of the abyssal blackness where your form was molded and your heart given. Your motions are clumsy, uncertain - but the world responds nonetheless. Your trajectory changes.

  Something breaks at your passage, even as it reforms an instant later. For a single night, freak storms batter the kingdoms, and the moon shines full and bright when it should be a waning crescent. Gods and spirits whisper warnings to their followers, while kings and emperors gather their trusted advisors. Not all recognize the signs, of course, but the movers and shakers of this world know - a new Morrigan has arrived. You see all of this, and none of it, as for an instant the world is laid bare before your eyes. But your mind is overwhelmed, and the vision passes before it can truly begin.

  And then, you arrive.

  The cold is the first thing you notice. In the darkness of the abyss, you felt nothing, your body there but not quite real. Here, however? It is a piercing, painful sensation, cutting through your flesh and into your bones like icy claws. You shiver, wrapping your six arms around yourself and hunching down. You're wearing nothing. Of course, there is no reason for you to have any clothes, but somehow it surprises you.

  All around, white stone buildings tower, half-buried by snowbanks taller than you, reflecting the light of a clear blue sky. Some part of you notes their make, discerning their form and function with a glance - limestone, tall and square, simple, spartan buildings meant to house soldiers rather than civilians - but the rest of you scrambles for one of the open doorways, desperate to leave behind the biting chill.

  The insides of the nearest building are dark, largely empty, and no warmer than the street outside. It's one saving grace is that all of the wood and fabric has been preserved by the glacial cold. The door, a solid slab of oak clearly meant to keep out the weather, is still intact, and what little furnishings there are in the small, one-room building are in even better shape. A desk and chair stand off to one side, and a series of shelves occupy the opposite wall, still laden with scrolls and paper. The far wall - opposite the door - is dominated by a stone fireplace, and much of the ground is covered by a threadbare but still remarkably intact rug.

  You're still freezing. It's been barely a minute since you arrived, but already the tips of your fingers are starting to lose sensation, your dark blue skin beginning to darken to an ugly purple. You beat down the rising fear, the visions of dying alone in a frozen city.

  But you have the power to solve this - it's just a matter of using it. Moving quickly, you rip a strip of cloth from the rug, move to the fireplace, and focus.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Your heart beats. From the abyss, you draw a speck of power. From nothing, you create something. The torn cloth in your hands bursts into flame, and you drop it, hissing as it burns you, yet leaning forward as precious heat begins to rise. You let out a long, relieved breath. You knew your magic was real, felt it beneath your skin, and yet somehow, it wasn't quite true until you used it.

  What you have done is nothing so crude as the evocations of fire a mortal mage might conjure. It is the imposition of a new source of energy onto the world, a simple thing made infinitely greater by naught but your own will. This strip of cloth will burn forever, never stopping, never slowing, never extinguished. If someone other than you ever finds this, they might enshrine it as a new morgani artifact, a precious piece of magic to be locked away in a holy vault or studied to unravel its secrets.

  To you, it is a source of heat and light. It is proof of your power, proof that you can survive here, proof that this all isn't just some gigantic mistake. For several minutes, you sit beside it, letting the meager warmth banish the chill from your bones and the doubts from your mind.

  You look around, finally taking in the sights around you. A square window, devoid of glass, is set high into one of the walls. Outside, you see a gust of air turn the world white as snow is swept up in the gale. You grimace. The first step must be clothes - there will be no travel beyond your humble hearth without them. Thankfully, there is a rug just beside you. Magic stirs within your heart, guiding your hands.

  The weaving of new clothes is quick, almost unnaturally so, were it not for the fact that you understand every step of the process with the intimacy of a master seamstress. Your six arms help as well, enabling you to hold the thread and manipulate the cloth all at once with contemptuous ease. You wonder if so many limbs are regular for a member of your new species - somehow, you suspect your... mother(?) took some liberties in your creation. Soon enough, a shawl is formed, then a thick woolen dress with an attached hood, and finally, a set of foot wraps in place of shoes. Born from the now disassembled rug, they are a dark brown bordering on black, and still retain a ragged, threadbare sort of look despite your best efforts. Finally, you imbue them with the same sort of warmth you used to create your eternal fire - not to the same point, of course, but enough to make your clothes forever warm and dry, protecting you from the snow and frost. Unfortunately, the sanctuary your new clothes offer against the cold is far from complete, and in truth, you suspect there is no way to make yourself truly invulnerable to the chill without also scorching your skin. At least, no way with what you have now.

  The clothes are a blessed relief as you slip into them, and you shiver with pleasure as they ensconce you, wrapping the shawl tightly around yourself to bask in the heat.

  Clothing secured - and finally feeling moderately insulated against the terrible chill that pervades this place - you move on to the papers surrounding you. Thankfully, your connection to Moirai is such that deciphering the language proves trivial, the words blossoming with meaning and intent before your eyes, even as you are sure you have never seen their like before. Unfortunately, the contents are... less than enlightening.

  45th of Spring

  Caravan arrived. 20 sacks of grain were added to the stores.

  47th of Spring

  Hunters returned. 3 snow-deer have had their meat salted and smoked. One is to be consumed today, the other two have been added to the stores.

  52nd of Spring

  A banquet was held. In addition to the regular rations, 1 snow-deer was consumed, along with 3 kegs of mead, 2 sacks of grain, and 1 crate of assorted vegetables, along with small amounts of salt and ginger.

  You feed the reports to the fire as you read them, an unsatisfied frown on your face. You soon grow bored with the repetitive activity. Perhaps, once you have claimed this city, you can refurbish this place into a personal library. Until then, it is useless to you as anything more than a rest spot.

  Which means there is nothing left to do, but explore. You stare uneasily at the door. You are... not weak, exactly, and certainly not helpless, but neither are you strong, and you don't feel equipped to face whatever monsters have made this place their home. But you asked for this. You can handle this. As long as your heart beats, magic is born from you, restoring your body without need for food or drink and growing your power in slow, steady steps. If you are not strong enough, you will simply need to prepare. You have all the time in the world, after all.

  ~

  It is nearly half an hour later that you finally decide on how you want to proceed. With no particular goal in mind and no need for sustenance, safety is your primary concern. At first, you consider if you can open a portal here in case you need to quickly flee from a bloodthirsty beast, but soon discover that you are not yet strong enough to make a human-sized portal or let it last for more than a few hours. A weapon is your next thought, but it is quickly discarded. Your arms are weak, your body frail. You are a witch, not a warrior. Finally, you decide on a more direct use of your talents.

  It is the work of nearly an hour to gather snow from outside and shape it into the rough form of a man. The cold burns your hands, but there isn't enough rug left to make yourself proper gloves, and you are forced to make do. You compact the snow into the proper shape, the movements coming to you with the same ease as weaving, until a sculpture takes form before you. It is a knight, visor down and sword in hand, standing at rest nearly six feet tall - taller than you, but not by much. You had considered forming the sword separately, but for what reason would a knight ever need to be apart from his blade?

  You touch his icy chest, and impose your will upon the universe. With a ripple, snow becomes the finest steel, and the figure before you could easily be mistaken for a man in truth.

  You focus harder, drawing deeply upon the juvenile well of power within you. Your heart burns at the exertion, and your breathing grows labored. Words spill from your mouth, unbidden - not a chant, not some recitation of ancient magic, but something new. Something wholly yours.

  "Rise, guardian, born from the womb of my heart, tempered by the echo of my voice. Defend me, and all I hold dear. Venture bravely into the dark, so the light of your valor may reveal the path forward. I name you thusly: Lux, my lantern in the darkness."

  Your voice is strong, throaty and deep and echoing ever so slightly with a power beyond mortal ken. It is not what you expected, yet with each word you grow more sure of yourself, and by the end of your incantation, you know your voice fits you exactly.

  As you try to catch your breath, the once-statue before you moves. It - he, you decide, for the valiant knight guarding the conniving witch must surely be a man - surveys the room before him for a moment, expression nonexistent on his metal helm, before stepping up beside you, looming protectively over your shoulder. His movements are stiff and clumsy - an unfortunate result of forging him from a solid block of metal, instead of disparate armor pieces designed to move together - but you can tell there is still a terrible strength within his limbs.

  You recover yourself, heart settling in your chest, although you are still diminished and will be for some time. You smile up at your knight, your Lux. He is yet another proof of your power, another layer of magic insulating you from the danger all around. You already feel safer with him at your side. You turn to face the door, and your knight dutifully shadows you.

  The world outside beckons, bright and shining and mysterious.

  "Come, Lux. We've a city to explore."

  ~~~

  Author's Notes:

  I started this entire story mostly on a whim. CYOAs aren't really something I have much experience with, apart from reading a couple of stories based off of them, which were sometimes good and sometimes not. However, I had a few hours to kill, and so I ended up searching through some CYOAs that I could find. Eventually, one of them caught my attention. As I filled it out, it started to stir my imagination, to make me think about how the ideas and places and people it presented could be developed and turned into a proper story. It stirred my muse to action, and that was what ended up creating this story.

  I hope anyone reading this hasn't been too turned off by the second person, present tense nature of the writing. It wasn't something I came into this story intending to do, but rather it just kind of happened as I went along. The second person perspective felt natural at the time, having just finished reading the CYOA which was all in second person. I'm not exactly sure where the present tense part of the story came from, but once I realized that's what I was doing, I decided I liked it. Present tense is a very immediate thing, it anchors the reader in the action and makes things feel present and real - as opposed to past tense, which deliberately separates the reader from what's going on.

  Some of you may have noticed that I avoided giving the woman at the start any description. This was intentional! The reason is a secret though (not a very big or important secret, mind you, but a secret nonetheless).

  Please give me feedback, positive or negative! If you see something you think could be made better, tell me!