Chryssa dared. She did not notice the pleasantness or dewiness of the mysterious liquid which drenched the floor around her bed. She plunged one hand without hesitation to retrieve the mysterious capsule, a trapped fish in an eagle’s claws. There was no wonder. There was no reverie.

Cold, controlled, she smashed it on the bedside table.

Mismagius emerged like yolk from a shattered egg, the red light hardly forming before the girl’s sullied digits curled around its beaded throat. Its body fluttered, its wide-brimmed hat tipping back as its ragdoll head lolled. Chryssa’s grip tightened. While the chokehold didn’t seem to hurt the ghost-type, she still held it fast.

“I’ve given my answer,” she said. Her eyes were gray and hard as iron. Scarlet ran down the side of her hand from where one of the shards had broken the skin. It trickled down her palm as she forced the stunned Pokemon back, smearing blood against the white wall. “Am I supposed to be grateful to you now? I don’t need a reward. I need respect. I asked for understanding, not backhanded gifts.” She spoke to it as if she knew the one who’d sent it could hear.

“If you test me again, consider our ceasefire at an end.”

With a cruel, careless shove, she pressed the ghost-type through the wall, releasing it back into the storm outside.