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Anteronia University's scholars are the brightest minds of a new generation of wizards and artificers. In the dining hall, two students sit. A strawberry-blond human chews on the straw of her drink, idly staring at a pamphlet.

The student sighs and asks her companion, “You free today? I wanted to check out that carnival."

The second student, a gnome, picks up her head, which was buried in a book on arcane theories. “What? No. I've got finals coming up, and Professor McGlasling's been ridin' my ass all semester. And you need to pay attention to your studies if you're going to graduate. Hey, Ailen. You there?"

The human drops the straw and sighs, her head falling onto her crossed arms, and she grumbles. “I'm just so burned out, you know? I need to do something, or I'll explode."

“Well, nothing's stopping you from going on your own."

Ailen blinks, lifting her head again. “But that's so pathetic."

Why? You wanna blow off steam? Go out and have fun. You don't need people to do that. That's what a carnival's foods and cheap thrills are about. Me, I'll be studying."

Ailen huffs and pushes herself up. “Ugh, fine, but remember, if you get burned out, I'm gonna say, “I told ya so."

“Different strokes for different folks," Gimmegee says. “But if you go, bring me back some funnel cake."

“Fat chance," Ailen says, stepping away. “I'm gonna keep it all to myself."

“Already feeling better, are we?" Gimmegee smirks.

“Maybe it is a mindset thing," Ailen shrugs. I'll get over there where there's color and merriment and let it soak into me. You can thrive on the threat of a good pounding all you want, but I like healthy expressions of myself." She says this, strolling away, leaving the gnome to grumble to herself and make some notes in her notebook.

A clerk in an academic gown approaches the gnome not a moment later. “Excuse me, Miss Gimmegee. There's someone to see you."

—

The park at Anteronia has been transformed into the fairgrounds for the most boisterous festivals. Many people dress in motley and masks and parade and celebrate frivolities there. Here, the city's people forget their troubles as they spend the day exercising the wildest spectrum of emotion.

And it is there that Ailen hopes to rid the boredom that erodes her soul.

“Hm, Tunnel of Terror, a masquerade ball later in the day, a merry-go-round, a hypnotism show, there's a lot here, but what to go to first?"

“Talking to ourselves, are we?"

“Yipe!"

Ailen jumps, dropping her pamphlet. It's caught and handed back to her by a gloved hand, attached to a bowing figure in a harlequin outfit, his bells jingling as he stands back up to greet her with a charming smirk. “You dropped this, miss."

“You scared me," Ailen retorts, snatching back the pamphlet.

“Oh, that was more of a startle, not a scare!" The harlequin corrects, placing his arm around her shoulder and motioning through the path before her. “If you want to experience true terror, there are better places for that."

“I'm not interested in being scared," she admits, but as she swipes her hand to swat him away, he's already off her, wagging his finger.

You're here for something more exciting than startling. Something light-hearted. You want to be able to throw your most bottomless laugh from the deepest pit of your stomach and wash away all worries."

“The stress of work overwhelms you, miss. I can see it in your eyes. They should be sparkling like gold, but they are tarnished by the mundanities of life.

“What are you peddling?" Ailen asks, folding her arms over her chest. She steps back, but he zips behind her, leaning over her shoulder.

“Only the ability to do what you want, with no repercussions. How does that sound? All you have to do is follow me."

She whirls around, pulling her spellbook from her handbag and fluttering the pages. She produces a flat piece of wood between those leaves, pointing at his painted nose. “Careful. I'm a student of magic."

The harlequin holds his hands up. “I'm not here to trick you I'm just a worker at the carnival. We found you through the magic of divination, is all. It's how we do business, you see? We look into who most needs a personal touch and supply our services. See?" He flicks his wrist and produces a card, handing it to her.

Snatching it, she scans over the details. “A transformative experience, promising a temporary relief of the mundane. What's the catch?"

“A nominal fee," the harlequin says, pouting and shrugging. “Paid upfront or in labor."

“Labor?"

He stands up tall and motions to himself. “I am a recipient of the package. As you can discern with your no-doubt powerful skills, no mind manipulation is involved."

Ailen concentrates her magical affinity on the harlequin, the auras appearing around him discerning the transformative and illusion magic that covers him, but nothing else. “You're telling the truth."

“See, it is a perfectly harmless change some of us go through, and you can decide how you want to pay when you experience it. So, do we have a deal?"