Sirla The Mimic Vol1 Eng version

Sirla The Mimic – Volume One: "Elian's Journal"

A Note Before Anything

This is my book. Just for myself. If you're reading this – stop. No, seriously. This is private. I know it's stupid to write "private" on the first page of a book that's literally a book, but I don't care. Brock doesn't know I'm writing this. He'd probably call it "sentimental garbage" and throw it in the fireplace. But I'm writing it anyway.

My name is Elian. I'm a mage. A beginner mage. A "cook who happens to know a few spells" according to Brock... hehé...

And this is the story of how I (and my teammate Brock) met the strangest creature I've ever seen. Maybe the strangest creature that's ever existed. Maybe the prettiest in how she works, the prettiest of all creatures!

So... I'm writing this because I don't want to forget. Because sometimes I wake up at night and I'm not sure if she was real. Because Brock says I should forget her, but I can't. She's so... so... AH. Because I think – I hope – I'll see her again.

So. This is my book. My rules. And if you're still reading this... well, I guess I can't stop you. But don't say I didn't warn you.

Chapter/Entry One: "The Girl Who Wasn't a Girl"

I suppose I should start this story about a creature that most people would never call a hero. She's always been something on the sidelines — sometimes even a threat, like in those old tales bards tell. But for me, she became something else...

Sirla is a mimic. Literally. She took the form of a girl to attract people in the dungeon. Which, honestly, an interesting decision.

But one day, We (Me (Elian, a beginner wizard with minimal skills – mostly cooking) and Brock (a warrior with a hammer and axe... and also scepticism (i hope i writed this word right) ) ) entered the dungeon: Brock didn't stop me from doing stupid things. He figured I'd figure out I was being an idiot on my own.

I approached Sirla. She, without a second thought, opened herself (not like person, but like a flower) up from the inside – literally almost eating me. Then Brock dropped an Intelligence Bandage on her entirely by accident, also slipping at the same time. Sirla froze in her opened-up state, contemplating whether to eat me (i hope intelligence can give her a chance to understand ethics, or make it possible to understand ethics faster), but Brock managed to throw a Bottomless Bag over her.

And just like that, Sirla was inside the bag.

I started arguing with Brock:

Brock: "I TOLD YOU, COOK, TO FOLLOW THE PLAN AND NOT MAKE RASH DECISIONS! AND WHAT DID YOU DO?",

Me: "I just wanted to...",

Brock: "YOU JUST WANTED TO DIE!!!"

Inside the bag, surrounded by all sorts of things – corpses, gold, and other stuff – Sirla tried to burn through the bag with stomach acid or something. Unsuccessfully. Her attempts to open herself to tear the bag open didn't work either. Her predator instincts were screaming for freedom. She still wanted to escape, to finally finish us both off. Sirla was completely trapped.

Brock: "Listen, kid. If we make it to town, I'll buy you the best ice cream so you can forget this nightmare... But if you ever try to hug suspicious girls in the dark again, I'll feed you to the first goblin I see!"

Me: "But she looked so... lonely!"

Brock: "I don't care! That's not an argument. It's just a mimic we need to kill."

Sirla was mute. She'd instinctively taken the form of a girl and closed herself off. But then she found some kind of squeaky toy – like a whoopee cushion – and started poking it inside the bag, hoping someone would notice and let her out.

Then the sound came from the bag.

Brock: "What the hell is that? Is that... gas noises?"

Me: "Oh gods! She's trying to communicate with us! Maybe she's apologizing for almost eating me? Brock, we have to help! This is... this is a miracle, speaking to us through sounds from whatever she's got in there!"

Brock: "Idiot! It's a monster! It's not a 'she' – it's a mimic!"

The sound came again – loud, long, and incredibly ridiculous, echoing off the dungeon's stone walls. Brock froze, his face a mix of disgust and complete bewilderment. He hadn't expected such a... specific way of communicating from a deadly monster.

Brock: "You heard that, right?" He gripped his axe tighter, though his confidence was shaken. "...It's in there... doing that. Again."

I, who'd developed sympathy for her, looked genuinely confused. I touched the bag's fabric carefully, trying to feel what was happening inside. Me: "Maybe... maybe she wants us to take her out?" I looked at Brock hopefully. "That's like... she's trying to get our attention! That doesn't seem like something a monster that wants to kill us would do, right?"

Brock sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead.

Brock: "Come here, kid. If this is a trap, you get to touch it first." He said grumpily, though he didn't rush forward himself. "But if that thing comes out, I'll personally shove that cushion up its... well, you get the idea."

I carefully pulled the edge of the bag, trying to peek inside. At that moment, Sirla inside felt the artifact tilt slightly. She fell out of the bag, and though she couldn't speak, she looked at me and tried to "say" something in sign language.

She made gestures: pointing at her mouth, then licking her lips, with a smiling expression.

Me: "Brock, Brock, look! She's trying to communicate with me! She pointed at her mouth and... and smiled? Is she trying to say 'hello'?"

Brock, seeing Sirla fall out of the bag, immediately gripped his axe. His eyes narrowed, disgust plain on his face. He stepped forward, putting himself between her and me.

Brock: "You keep saying 'she,' fine. She's trying to butter you up, kid. See how she's looking at you? Like a piece of meat before dinner."

Sirla nodded, then gestured again: pointing at me, licking her lips, with a heart. I was delighted and triumphant.

Me: "Brock, Brock, look! She's kind! She showed me a heart!", I even moved closer to Sirla.

Brock: "She licked her lips! She wants to eat you! Her interest is purely predatory!" He looked at Sirla. "Listen here, mimic. Die. Turn into a stool or something I can easily throw in a ditch!"

A sharp sound came from the darkness of the corridor. Someone dragged a claw across stone...

A small but very fast goblin leaped out of the shadows, a rusty dagger in its hands. It froze, looking at Sirla and me, grinning maliciously.

Goblin: "Hehe! Fresh meat! Naked girl, chubby boy... What's his name... Brock, give us the girl, we'll eat her piece by piece, and you can have the boy for dessert!"

Then Sirla ate the goblin. She literally opened herself up before our eyes – not as a person, but as a mimic devouring the goblin.

I screamed and jumped back as Sirla "opened up." Her skin shell cracked open, revealing rows of sharp teeth and an expanding stomach that greedily swallowed the goblin whole. The creature didn't even have time to squeak as its limbs flailed in the air. A moment later, it was over. Sirla returned to her previous girlish form, casually adjusting a strand of hair as if nothing had happened. Her innocent smile remained frozen on her lips.

Brock stood frozen, axe in hand, his face stretched in horror and disbelief. He looked from me to Sirla, then to the bloodstained ground where the goblin had just been.

Brock: "What the... He muttered. She just... she just ate a goblin right in front of us?"

I stood pale as a sheet, looking at Sirla with a strange mix of fascination and horror. Me: "She... she protected us?" I whispered, trying to convince myself. "Brock, that was... a sign, right? She ate the enemy!"

Brock tightened his grip on his axe, his voice suspicious, he said: "She ate the goblin because he was convenient, not because she was saving you, you idiot!" He stepped toward Sirla. "Hey, you! If you jump at us now, I swear I'll turn you into mincemeat!"

Sirla gestured: something resembling a heart, and a writing motion.

Me: "Brock, Brock, look! She wants to write something!"

I rummaged through my bag and pulled out a piece of paper and charcoal. Brock watched skeptically but decided not to interfere with the "necrophile" – since Sirla did smell like a corpse. Sirla tilted her head, holding the charcoal, and wrote.

Her handwriting wasn't great. Something that looked like: "I'm not against you" and "I'm not against him" in 𝒷𝓇ℴ𝓀ℯ𝓃 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝒾𝓅𝓉. She also gestured toward me.

Brock, understanding that I might die, simply threw a piece of meat at Sirla and ran, carrying me in his arms. Sirla picked up the meat and followed us. She didn't have vocal cords – she was a mimic – but she wanted to call out to us.

Despite my fear, I looked back and saw the "girl" running after us.

Me: "Brock, wait! She's not attacking! Look, she's holding the meat!" I stepped back, almost tripping. "Maybe she just... wants to be friends? Or... or is this some kind of ritual?"

Brock stopped, breathing heavily, and turned to look at Sirla with undisguised distrust: "If that thing makes one wrong move toward us, I'll turn it into mincemeat, I swear on all the gods!" He wiped sweat from his forehead but didn't lower his axe. "And you, kid – if she comes near you, don't pet her!"

Sirla stopped a few steps away, still holding the piece of meat. She set it down and gestured: pointing at her mouth, then shaking her head.

Me: "Brock, look, she doesn't want to eat us. I think she wants to come with us. Be friends!"

Brock: "Friends? Don't talk nonsense! It ate a goblin right in front of us, kid! It's a predator – and we're food!" He squinted at Sirla. "Hey, you! If you're not going to eat us, then what the hell are you doing here, acting like some virgin?"

Me: "What's your name, mimic?"

Sirla looked at me and gestured the outline of letters: something like "☽║ମ⇲ᐁ.", so i think its "Siirla" or "Sirla" Then she stomped her foot and made a pouty face. I stared, fascinated, as she traced strange symbols in the air, trying to recognize them: "Sirli... Sirla? Is that your name?" I smiled back at her pout. "That's... that's kind of pretty!"

Brock made a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan of despair: "And this is my partner... Listen, Sirli or whatever your name is... if you're coming with us, you stay in the back, and don't even think about looking at this idiot for too long. He's mine, got it?"

I, ignoring him, stepped toward Sirla and said: "Brock, think about it! She's not eating us! If she wanted to, she'd have eaten us back there!" I paused. "Hey, Sirla... do you always do this? Pretend to be human so someone will talk to you?"

Sirla shook her head twice and gestured her name again: "Sirla."

Me: "Sirla! That's your name, right? Such a beautiful name... not like a monster's name at all..."

Brock watched Sirla, not releasing his axe, and interrupted: "Alright, fine! Enough with the sweet talk! Since you, Sirla-the-eater, decided we're your new company, listen to the rules: Don't open your mouth wider than necessary for food, don't scare the kid into a heart attack, and for all the gods' sake, if you decide his heels look appetizing, I won't spare you! We're getting out of this dungeon, and if you, Sirla, make one move toward Elian with eating on your mind, I'll shove you back in that bag, tie it in a knot, and throw you in the sea!", He turned and marched forward down the corridor, lighting the way with a torch.

I, in my happiness, turned to Sirla and gestured for her to follow, as if she were an old friend, even though we'd only met minutes ago: "Come on, Sirla! There's a whole world waiting for us! Much more food than that miserable goblin!"

Sirla opened herself up completely in a display of her nature, then quickly closed again. She gestured something and smiled innocently.

When Sirla opened herself, I nearly jumped out of my skin. My heart skipped, and my throat went dry. But when she immediately closed back into her anthropomorphic form and gestured something (not entirely clear), I breathed a sigh of relief. That smile was too disarming, like a bard's charm.

Brock just clenched his teeth, his eye twitching. He wasn't sure he understood her gesture, but she seemed to be saying, "Don't be afraid, that's just my stomach, not a trap for you."

Brock: "Straightforward creature, aren't you... But since you're so confident in your so-called dietary restrictions, follow. Just don't sneak up on him from behind when he's sleeping!"

Me: "You know, Sirla, Brock just grumbles because he's old and afraid of new things. He's actually glad we have... oh, I don't know... a bodyguard? Or a very strange friend?"

Entry Two: "The Journey Continues"

We found a corpse in the dungeon. Just bones of some fatty barbarian – you could tell by the amulet and the thickness of the bones. Brock threw some clothes on Sirla.

Brock: "One, so you don't die from overexcitement seeing a naked 'woman,' and two, so she doesn't popen herself too much. You can't walk into a shop naked no matter the situation."

I quickly looked away, trying not to stare at Sirla, but I was glad she had clothes now.

Me: "Brock, you're too harsh!"

Brock: "Harsh? I'm pragmatic, kid. In this world, you're either pragmatic or you're a corpse with no face left, like that big guy we just found. Look at him – he was strong, he ate a lot, and now he's just a pile of bones. Moral is: even the biggest tough guy can end up as someone's dinner."

Sirla, feeling the rough fabric on her, froze. She wasn't used to clothes – it was strange, uncomfortable, and honestly a bit funny. She adjusted a sleeve that was slipping off her hand.

Me: "See, Sirla?" I winked at her. "Now you look almost like a normal person. Just... a little more disheveled. But it gives you charm! We'll get to town soon, and you can find something more suitable – unless Brock decides you're too dangerous for civilization."

Sirla looked at the barbarian bones, licked her lips, and gestured something.

Me: "Hmm... Bottomless bag you were in?"

Sirla nodded eagerly, looking from the ba𝒸𝓀 to the bones.

Brock: "You're letting her put them in, and next thing you know..."

I'd already put the bones in Brock's bag.

Brock: "Idiot! I wasn't finished! That creature should be dead, but just because you're a zoophile and an idiot, it's still alive. Monsters like mimics have extremely low intelligence – usually 3-4!"

(𝒷𝓊𝓉 ℐ 𝒷ℯ𝒻ℴ𝓇ℯ ℊℯ𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝒶 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝒹 -1 𝒾𝓃𝓉.)

Me: "But she understands us, Brock! She's even trying to communicate! And if she's so stupid, why did she manage to outsmart that goblin? She didn't just attack – she waited for the right moment!"

Brock: "That's predator instinct, although..."

He squinted at Sirla's forehead and noticed the Intelligence Bandage he'd dropped on her earlier. That's what he'd lost! He quickly moved toward her to try to rip it off. Sirla made sounds like those made when you rip out that terrifying plant with a face – mandrake screams. She protected herself, clutching her face and head with her hands, trying to absorb the bandage into her skin.

I tried to talk Brock out of it, saying the creature should live. Then something hit us from the side – someone in the dungeon struck between Brock's helmet and Sirla's "face." We ran from that part of the dungeon, looking for an exit.

While searching for the way out, the three of us — Brock, Sirla, and I — tried to avoid necromancers.

In the dungeon, we found some equipment for Sirla – now she had a crooked shield. Every time I and Brock habitually told Sirla to go somewhere with a chance of damage, she usually ended up taking that chance. Scars remained, but she was a mimic and wounds worked differently on her.

Though, once when no one knew there was a trap and Sirla's arm got cut off, she then ate it to restore mass. That was not fun.

Brock: "Damn it! Kid, did you see that?! She just... ate her own limb! I'm going to be persistent about this, and I'm serious – stop with this nonsense. It's a monster. It needs to die. It's as strange as leaving regular animals like mimics and skeletons from the dungeon alive."

Me: "But she just grew that same limb back!"

Sirla nodded.

Brock froze, looking at me like I was insane.

Brock: "Grew it back... She just... grew it back?! Kid, do you understand how wrong that is?! Even the strongest REASONABLE regenerators — elves or forest spirits – take hours for that, not seconds! That's not healing magic, tha𝓉's some kind of... dark magic! s𝒽e literally d𝒾ge𝓈ted herself to become whole again! I'm trying to save your life here! You're living with me, doing the work you do – and you shouldn't die! I'm serious – I could kill Sirla right now, but I don'𝓃eed yℴu crying like 𝓉hat white-haired elf from the other continent!"

Me: "Brock, just listen! This is incredible! If she can recover that fast, she's the perfect defender! She doesn't fear 𝓂inor wounds, traps – even if she loses m𝒶ss, she just needs to... eat somethinℊ. S𝒾rla, do you feel pain when this happens? Or is it just... tasty?", Sirla looked at us with a puzzled expression and gestured a question mark. I didn't quite understand what Sirla meant.

Me: "Did you mean I asked an awkward question?"

Sirla shook her head.

Me: "You meant 'what's the big  DEAL'

Sirla gestured diagonally from top right to bottom left.

I thought for a moment.

Me: "You asked, 'what is pain like?'"

Sirla nodded.

Brock snorted, adjusting his heavy gear.

Brock: "Pain is what keeps you alive, kid. If she doesn't feel pain, she doesn't know when to stop. Because she's a pathetic monster, you know, silly Elley."

Me: "Don't call me that..."

Brock: "I'm saying you should watch your own ass for trouble."

Me: "Sirla, don't listen to him. He's just old. In a couple of intersections, we'll get out of the dungeon and go to a tavern or somewhere. You'll eat real food there, dishes, beer."

Brock: "Elian, are you seriously thinking she won't eat anyone? And don't you dare – WHATEVER CHOICE YOU'RE GIVEN – DON'T GIVE HER ALCOHOL, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES!"

Sirla had heard of beer before, but didn't really understand what it was. She didn't know if it was liquid or jelly or soup. The descriptions from previous passing merchants weren't clear. One way or another, whatever beer was, the three of us — Brock, Sirla, and I — kept moving forward.

I, noticing her confusion, smiled and explained.

Me: "Oh... sorry, sorry, I forgot to say beer is a drink, very popular with dwarves and gnomes, and a bit less popular with humans. It's bitter and... makes your head feel light. Brock's just afraid that if you try it, you'll tear up the whole tavern, because alcohol makes many creatures very loud and VERY unpredictable."

Brock: "Don't apologize to a creature that doesn't deserve it, you empty-headed pot!"

At Brock's words, Sirla stomped her foot – and a stalactite fell right on her head. She gestured she was alive, even though some mass scattered. Obviously, she didn't have a skull in the usual sense, but among the flesh pieces, under the skin, there were bones – not like human bones, but small straight bones, like piles or scaffolding, not a skeleton.

Brock already thought about leaving.

Brock: "Elian, let's go. She's probably dea..."

But Sirla quickly took the form of a small genderless "dog" since there wasn't enough mass from the destructive stalactite for her previous form. The transformation moment was eerie, like architecture rebuilding itself.

Brock: "...ad", Brock hoped that such a creature named Sirla, which could kill Elian, would just die. The sound of her body rebuilding was like raw meat hitting the ground mixed with bone grinding. Brock paled, his hand gripping his axe noticeably trembling. Brock: "What the... Kid, did you see that?! She didn't just survive – she... she reassembled! That's not regeneration, that's reconstruction!"

I, despite my fear, leaned forward.

Me: "Brock, look! She got smaller to save mass! That's so cute!" I crouched before the "dog." "Sirla? You there? You okay? Does it hurt? Or do you just need to... eat something to get your old form back?"

Sirla, in dog form, started eating pieces of her own flesh scattered around the room. As she collected, mass formed into long arms from her back, then a torso – but there wasn't enough for legs. The mass went somewhere unknown.

Brock: "Hopefully that thing will die soon and not be a problem..."

Me: "Don't talk about Sirla like that!"

Brock couldn't hide his disgust for Sirla and his slight, very slight, judgment of me. Brock: "Protecting her? You're protecting a piece of flesh and bone that stretches like rubber, kid-zoophile! Not even a plasmoid!" He gestured toward Sirla, who currently looked like a formless mass of flesh with long arms and no legs.

Despite Brock's grumbling, I couldn't look away from the process. It frightened me, but at the same time, I was drawn to how quickly and efficiently she restored herself.

Me: "She's not just eating, she's like architecture – building herself from her own remains, time after time, impact after impact!"

Sirla reached her claw-like hands into Brock's bag, looking for food – meat – to fully restore herself.

Brock felt his bag on his belt suddenly grow heavier, then jerk, as if a hungry worm had gotten inside. He jerked, almost losing balance, and stared in horror at the long, unnaturally flexible claw-hands reaching out from under his coat, rummaging through the bottom of his bag.

Brock: "HEY! YOU! Half-crab, half-cock!" He tried to push away the slimy limbs with his heavy boot.

I noticed Sirla had found a piece of dried beef and didn't stop her.

Sirla opened up like a predatory flower and ate the meat. It was enough to restore her "girl" form. Regarding clothes – she just picked up torn fabric scraps and stuck them together with a bit of flesh. She had to shift her skin a little to expose the flesh.

Brock raised his boot for another kick, but I stopped him and whispered.

Me: "Don't touch her, she's in our team! She's kind, can't you feel it in your heart?"

Brock: "In our team?! It's just you and me, no third member, especially not a creature like that! And 'feeling it in your heart' sounds like 'I'm a little idiot' – that's not how it works!"

He decided not to repeat the same thing and thought for a moment.

Brock: "Sirla, that's your name, right?"

Sirla nodded with a cute expression.

Brock: "So, don't you want to leave us? Look, we could take you prisoner, stab you, hand you over to the guards, sell you, whatever..."

Sirla shook her head with a determined expression.

Brock sighed, looking at Sirla with the same distrust and skepticism as before. But he couldn't drive her away because I wouldn't let him. I approached Sirla to check how well her new fabric scraps held together.

I was about to say something, but Brock pulled me toward him.

Brock: "Don't touch her, she might eat you."

And we went looking for the dungeon exit. There wasn't much left – right at the exit was a chest, slightly mechanical. Sirla decided to open it. When she did, a trap shot out. She spat on the chest, dissolving part of the mechanism, and moved the contents aside.

Me: "Oooh... She spat on the chest after opening it. I'd do the same!"

Brock: "Just let me kill her already!"

Suddenly, a mini-horde of goblins attacked us. But I managed to cast the spell "Immovable object of Gaslight" – convincing the goblins there was a wall in front of them. I cast a wall of glass. It wasn't very dense – about 2150 kg/m³, volume about 2 cubic meters, and the goblins were about 3. The spell power was 1.5, since goblins are stupid. The wall cost about 1161 units, which, since I don't have a large mana pool, was a lot for me. The cast took 57.19 seconds of penalty time.

Luckily, we made it out of the dungeon.

I literally fell to my knees, breathing heavily, my face pale, magical sweat rolling down my forehead. Casting such power with my current mana drained me completely. Those nearly sixty seconds of waiting while the spell formed felt like an eternity. The goblins, stuck behind the transparent barrier, poked at it with their short swords, shouting incomprehensible things.

Brock, taking advantage of the moment, grabbed me by the scruff and practically dragged me into the light. Brock: "You're a complete idiot!" He growled, though his voice had unusual relief. "Casting such heavy stuff right in front of a group of green-skins?! We almost died from your exhaustion!"

Me: "It's expensive, but easier than casting a temperature fence on them!"

Brock: "But that cheaper! You could've died!"

Me: "You have no idea what it's like to be a mage. Wall is easier, even if more expensive!"

Brock: "Aaaah... I could've just killed all the goblins and you'd be fine..."

Me: "You'd kill Sirla!"

Brock: "Even if she died, it'd be an accident!"

Sirla gestured and then took me by the back of the neck – right below where beast-folk usually have scruff, and where humans just have neck – and dragged me toward the exit.

Brock watched and grumbled.

Brock: "Great, now we have an oversized pet who drags mages around like bags of oats. Be afraid – she might decide you're dessert before we even get to the tavern!"

I was actually a bit scared and kicked my legs in the air as Sirla confidently dragged me forward.

Me: "Hey! Careful, Sirla! I'm human, not a piece of meat!"

Outside, we were met with warm evening air and the smell of the sea-buckthorn forest... And we headed to the tavern!

On the way to the tavern, we had to pass through several other places to shorten the road. I felt better after a while, and along the way, wewe entered a cave where Brock and I had been more than a dozen times before. A typical half-orc femboy sat there, admiring himself in a mirror.

Sirla stopped, grabbed my hand, and pointed with her tongue-hand at the half-orc.

Me: "Oh, hey, Colon!"

The half-orc in this sunlit cave, his ears adorned with elegant silver rings and his skin a delicate shade of green, turned sharply, nearly dropping his small hand mirror. His features were surprisingly refined for his race, and his long hair was neatly braided .

Colon: "Oh, Elian! And old grumpy Brock!" He sighed dramatically, clutching the mirror to his chest and striking an elegant pose. "You're just in time to appreciate my new shine: I – perfection, even in a cave I'm glowing. Here are a few points: My hair; recently bought shampoo, and you: just from the dungeon. But..." His gaze shifted to Sirla. "You even have this companion: It's unusual... Is this the new fashion among adventurers? Carrying around a living piece of a butcher shop?"

Brock: "This narcissistic turkey again. Colon, if you start talking about your perfect skin tone, I swear I'll use your mirror to break your nose!"

Colon: "Jealous, Brock. You just lack elegance. So what is this creature? Can it do anything besides eat and scare people?"

Me: "Don't fight!"

Brock: "Elian, let's go. Besides, this creature that looks like a girl can be left with Colon."

Colon theatrically covered his mouth with his hand, letting out a short, haughty laugh.

Colon: "Leave her with me? Brock, you're so rude! Are you saying this 'girl' is refined enough to keep company with perfection like me?" He gave Sirla a flirtatious look, though confusion remained in his eyes. "Though, I admit, there's a certain charm in her unpredictability. So... avant-garde!"

Sirla made some gestures toward Brock, and I said.

Me: "No, we can't leave Sirla with him, Brock. She's our ally!"

Brock: "No, Elian, we should leave her. Better yet, kill her. But you won't let me, so leaving her is already a compromise."

Brock crossed his arms, showing he wasn't joking, though deep down he knew arguing with a stubborn mage and a femboy was pointless.

Brock: "This isn't a compromise, it's a strategic maneuver! Imagine: we get rid of a potential threat that could eat us in our sleep, and Colon gets a free... uh... companion in the form of a mimic!" He nodded toward Colon.

Colon, hearing this, straightened even more, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Colon: "Oh! So she'll be mine? How interesting! This will be the most unusual and possibly disgusting experience of my life. Imagine: Her exotic texture will harmonize with my silk sheets!" He looked in the mirror again. "But only if she doesn't try to eat my jewelry."

I looked in horror from Brock to Colon, feeling my eye twitch.

Me: "You're both insane! She's not furniture or an accessory for beauty! She's a person!" I hugged Sirla, protecting her from these strange men.

Brock: "Blah-blah-blah."

Sirla, feeling the tension, looked from Brock to Colon, then to me. She tilted her head, made a confused face, and suddenly reached out, taking Colon's mirror with her mouth from her hand – checking how tasty it was, intending to eat it.

Colon screamed.

Colon: "Hey! Careful, you wild creature! That's pure silver!"

Sirla made a small crack in Colon's mirror with one tooth – consciously or not, who knows. Colon let out a thin, piercing squeak and froze, acting as if the mirror was his heart. His eyes widened in horror, his lips trembling.

Colon: "My... my... treasure! It... it bit it?!"

He held the mirror up to the light, examining the tiny, barely visible crack left by Sirla's tooth.

Colon: "This is vandalism! An æsthetic crime of the century! An offense against me!"

Brock saw it and said.

Brock: "See, kid? She's already starting to eat everything that shines! First the mirror, then your fingers, then your magic books about boys or (or probably xor) girls kissing!" He slapped my shoulder so hard I almost fell. "We're leaving her here! Colon, congratulations, you now have your own personal nutcracker that looks like a girl!"

Sirla objected, attaching herself to Brock's leg with her hand that had a mouth in the center of its palm. Brock flinched and almost fell. He jerked his leg hard, but Sirla held tight, her hand-mouth sinking into his thick boot leather. She pulled him in the opposite direction as he tried to leave without her.

Brock shouted.

Brock: "Let go!" He almost kicked her off, but in the last moment, I stepped between them. "Elian, don't defend her!"

Me: I started babbling. "Brock, don't hit her! She just doesn't want us to leave her! Look, she's literally attached to you!"

Colon, looking at his damaged mirror, grimaced.

Colon: "This... this is unhygienic! She's licking you, Brock! Oh gods, how disgusting! I can't be near this... this organic misunderstanding if it behaves like this!"

Brock finally managed to remove Sirla's hand, but so abruptly that the mimic flew aside, hitting the cave wall. She froze, looking at them with eyes full of something like hurt.

Me: "Look what you've done! She just wanted to be with us! You didn't even try to understand her!"

Brock: "Understand her? She's a piece of meat that even have no vocal cords to speak! Let's go to the tavern – better without this failed nymph."

Me: "But she is want to scream!"

We argued for a long time because I saw in the Sirla more than monster, on the other hand the cynic Brock... Whenever we left without Sirla.

Colon: "Well, what are you waiting for? You should... leave, go away, and all that from my home."

Sirla stomped her foot. She did it because she'd seen people do it when leaving. She didn't quite understand the meaning of the gesture but thought it was fitting. Then she "ran" after Elian and Brock. For faster movement, she took as formless a shape as possible – not a puddle (she's not a plasmoid), but more like a thick sheet of paper that rolled along.

Brock, already several steps away from the cave and voluntarily forcibly carrying Elian, suddenly heard the sound of that thing rolling – the mimic taking the form of a thick sheet of paper (which was funny – there was skin and it drooped). As soon as he realized it, he grabbed me by the lower ribs, threw me over his shoulder, and ran from Sirla.

Brock: He growled. "Get away, you leather roll!"

He ran as fast as his heavy boots allowed, trying not to trip on stones, while Elian kicked helplessly.

Me: I shouted. "Brock, slow down! You're scaring her! She just wants to catch up!"

Sirla rolled after us...

The End (for today).

ббю

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