They knew their name, Lillian, named after the lovely flower. They knew that they'd gotten hurt, possibly died. They knew they'd fallen into the mana pool. Now the pool was gone, but they could still feel the upwelling of mana, the raw essence of magic, everywhere. When the magi told them they were a walking, talking, mana fount, their body had become the container for it, they laughed it off. Now, they were learning to take pieces of amber and fill these pieces with raw mana as new containers for it, at least until they learned to control the flow. -- Anon Guest
There were days when Lillian wasn't sure they were Lillian any more. They retained the name, but all the memories that had made Lillian were gone. Distant, unfocussed echoes at best. Frustrating hints at worst. They called themself Lillian Font, since they had essentially become the well of magic.
The guards of the well weren't certain what to do with them. Lillian could understand that. The well used to be an inanimate thing, a wellspring in the center of a temple. Things had changed.
The acolytes of the temple wouldn't tell Lillian how they had come to fall into the well, nor how they had technically survived absorbing every atom of magic in the world, but now... it still had to flow. It still had to exist. It still had to be stored and portioned out to make the entire world work.
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