8th of Gremlin's Grin

Okay, so, here's the thing. Apparently, drinking the Potion of Maybe comes with a long list of potential consequences, none of which are explained on the bottle. It's like buying a sword and discovering it's also a cursed kitchen appliance. Or being told your socks might be magic, but you find out the magic is just static cling.

The potion did nothing for my elbow, which is still itching and now glowing faintly like the last candle at a very depressing birthday party. But it did something else. Something big. Something unexpected.

My shadow is now a full-blown personality.

His name is Vince.

I didn't choose this. I tried to tell him this. But Vince - because that's his name now, okay? - just keeps talking. Nonstop. All he does is tell me things I didn't ask for, like what I'm doing wrong, which socks I should wear for success, and how my elbow would probably be fine if I just cared more about the process.

I don't know how he has opinions, but trust me, he does. And he's got the sass of a barmaid who's seen one too many knights stumble in asking for "just a pint." I get the feeling he might actually be a barmaid's soul who got misplaced during an epic bar fight. Very unfortunate for him.

"You should totally join the Death Tournament," Vince says. "It'll be great. You'll probably win. Or die. Either way, you'll get something."

Oh, I'll get something alright.

It'll be a headache.

I tried to ignore Vince while I prepared for the tournament. I thought about going to bed. Sleeping. Ignoring the shadowy chaos unfolding in my life. But then Vince had other plans. Specifically, he signed me up for a pre-tournament motivational seminar titled "How to Stab Without Really Stabbing."

I didn't sign up for this.

I went to the seminar anyway.

Turns out it was just a half-baked sales pitch by a guy in a helmet who claimed to be "Lord of the Stab and Chill." He handed out pamphlets titled "Stab Better, Live Worse", which honestly was a title that felt more inspirational than any pamphlet has a right to be.

But I was in no position to judge. Not when my elbow was still itching, and my shadow was trying to recruit me into a side hustle selling enchanted soup ladles on the black market.

The seminar didn't help much, except now I'm definitely wearing the wrong socks for the event. Apparently, I'm "not channeling my true foot potential" or some nonsense. It was at this point I realized: Vince is ruining my life.

But I can't get rid of him. Not unless I figure out how to re-curse a potion I drank by accident.

Which, to be clear, sounds like a great idea until you realize potions don't have "return policies."

So, now I'm off to duel Thornax the Undissolvable - who, based on his name, sounds like he might be either a ghost or an aggressively non-stick frying pan - while I deal with my rogue shadow and some very questionable sock choices.

On the plus side, my left arm hasn't unionized yet, so that's a win.