Her once-immaculate wooden floor was charred in splotches, marking the potion spills that were mopped up a minute too late, but the burnt spots weren't very visible under the cloth, potion ingredients, and measuring instruments strewn across the floor.

Not that her home didn't have shelves. Each wall in her house was cluttered with shelves carelessly hammered in, which in turn were fully stocked with beakers, potion flasks, and boxes. Some were empty, some were glowing, and some were oozing their contents onto the shelves. The one desk she would have had space with was crammed with open books filled with markings and circles around certain paragraphs.

Iris paid all this no mind.

The Poogle seized a dropper and squeezed two drops of Essence of Mortog in her cauldron. "I'm telling you, Fireball, this will be my big break for sure!" She stirred the mixture with the bottom of her staff. "Others try to work miracles with machinery, but through my research and magical prowess I can do just about anything, even what everyone's afraid of."

Fireball said nothing, only running back to his master among the debris with a Sun Dried Techo Claw in his mouth. "Good boy," Iris crooned, tossing the Doglefox a marshmallow.

"They'll see..." she trailed off as she dropped in the claw with a quiet splash. Her voice lowered in pitch and volume, as if not to disturb the potion she was brewing. "I'll prove I can go back. I'll prove that I can fix everything..." Iris fought to keep her voice from breaking toward the end of her sentence as she struggled to keep her memories at bay.

Fireball stared up at the Poogle questioningly and continued munching on his marshmallow. She patted his fluffy orange head, smiling wanly. "In any case, I've studied too hard for too many years to quit now." Iris's faint smile disappeared.

"It's ready."

Taking an empty flask and tongs from a nearby shelf, the Poogle slipped the former into the latter. Holding the tongs with a practiced paw, she dipped the flask into her opalescent brew and lifted it, letting the excess ethereal mixture cascade off of the flask before holding it to her lips.

Iris hesitated for a moment. She'd worked through many nights and studied for many days to bring herself a chance of recovering the past. Had she done it wrong? The slightest error and she would be done for... or worse.

Iris shook her head. "Fireball, love, the time has come." Patting the Doglefox one more time, she lifted the tongs and poured the mixture down her throat.

It burned like the Magma Pool, stung like the Snowager's breath, and trickled like the sleeping Rainbow Fountain. Iris cried out in alarm and pain, dropping the flask onto the floor where it shattered into many pieces.

Fireball, who'd had his head buried in a bag of marshmallows, looked up in a daze. He swiveled his head and sniffed, attempting to find his master.

He couldn't, though, no matter he he tried, for she was in a different place, in a different time...

Her eyes regained their vision, but her mind retained its temporal confusion. She was engulfed by a dense thicket as the limited light of the setting (or was it rising?) sun enabled her to barely see a few trees' distance ahead. Panic raced across her body like her cousins on the Poogle racetrack. Anxious tears welled from her bright blue eyes.

"Where am I? Where is this? Was this all for naught?"

Iris's panic heightened as a shaded figure swiftly moved among the trees. Although she was never afraid of the unknown -- by Thyora's Tear, her current predicament was the result of a voluntary attempt to tame the unknown -- the unfamiliarity of her surroundings unnerved her. She sat upright and defensively drew the wand that never failed to assist her. The figure paused and then slowly began to approach the Poogle mage. Its advancing strides stopped and the figure unexpectedly (though rationally) questioned, "Who goes there in my glade?"

Glade? Iris thought to herself. Could it be--

Her budding realization was interrupted by the figure who continued on. "I SAID, who goes there in my glade?!?"

Without time to concoct a persona, Iris responded, "I am Iris the mage."

The figure stepped further closer, entering a patch of light the thicket of trees graciously allowed through their tangled roof of leaves. The light illuminated the figure's copper and emerald hair, her tall physique, and a pair of ethereal wings.

"Illusen!" Iris said under her breath, the schemata of her surroundings beginning to make sense.

Illusen posed another question to the Poogle, who was now face-to-face. "Do you have permission from Skarl to be in here?"

The trained mage that she was, Iris had already began thinking ahead. She coolly answered, "Yes. I am here studying regional specimens for the Royal Meridellian Magocracy on King Skarl's decree."

Illusen contemplated the answer and then seemingly accepted the fabricated story as truth. Iris's quick wit and educated upbringing allowed her to excel in such situations. The one question she could not talk her way out of, however, which she needed to hear to confirm her spell's success, crept its way up through her vocal chords and lunged out. "Illusen, may I ask what year it is?"

The earth faerie, perplexed by the ridiculous question, immediately answered, "Why, it's Year Two. How could one of such status not--"

Iris's senses blocked out the follow-up question. It was Year Two. The year the Royal Meridellian Magocracy itself ruined her family. The year that a young Iris lost her mother to a failed potion testing ordered by the Magocracy -- a concoction they knew would be unsuccessful. Iris closed her eyes. The channels that anxious tears rolled from moments earlier could not be reopened for emotional ones. No, she mustn't let memories interfere right now. So far, her potion's spell has been an unprecedented success:

A shift in place,
A transport in time,
By Fyora's grace
I'll fix past designs.

Now, the opportunity had arisen to change the past and she mustn't fail...

An enemy, angling for a higher position in the Magocracy, had forged certain documents that made her mother appear to be a secret Darigan agent. The highest ranking magicians could be relied on to never do anything the straightforward way, and so, rather than confronting her about the evidence and giving her any form of trial, they had simply tricked her into drinking the fatal concoction.

All of this she had discovered through years of scrying and suspicion, but whomever had forged the documents had cast magics powerful enough to prevent their own identity from being uncovered. Hopefully, being in the time and place of the incident would help her to get past these wards...

As expected, the tower was empty when she arrived. The Poogle walked in and started to search for the documents, a clue as to who forged them, anything. Her efforts were met with nothing more than books, a table, chairs, and an otherwise empty room. Giving up, however, was not an option. She continued to scour every inch of the room. That is, she looked until she heard the door creak open.

Iris looked around for a place to hide. She knew that whoever came in was the culprit and she couldn't be discovered. Not now... not when she was so close.

Iris soon discovered that there were not many places she could hide. The room had so much open space. Behind the door was the only hiding space she could find. It wasn't great, but it was better than nothing.

The door stopped right before it hit her in the face. She peeked around to see who had come in. She wanted to know. She needed to know... but afterward, Iris almost wished that she didn't...

"Oh, where is it? It had better be in one of these cupboards or else my potion is doomed!" Harole said in a desperate tone.

The Poogle was a little afraid of him; he was quite a powerful mage, but she could tell he had not noticed her.

Just as Iris was about to dash out of the room, the Scorchio left. However, she then heard more footsteps.

This time it was King Skarl's Blumaroo court jester. He had a piece of parchment in his paws and seemed upset to find Harole up and about.

Harole noticed him and asked, "A jester? What are you doing up here? This part of the castle is for the Magocracy only." Meanwhile, the Scorchio fumbled his walking stick.

The jester was scared and said nothing as he tried to run away.

"Not so fast, P.J. -- explain yourself to me," Harole said as he stunned the jester with his wand...

"Oh my," Harole groaned, "that's not what I meant at all." He knelt down carefully and retrieved the still-hopping mad P.J. from underneath the hat, who croaked loudly in protest. "Don't worry," he said, "I can get you fixed up in no time at all, but you really shouldn't have been in this part of the castle." It was then that he noticed the parchment lying innocently on the floor. The old mage retrieved it and read the words silently to himself.

"This is outrageous!" he suddenly shouted. "Where is Iris? I might find her at once and get the bottom of this!"

Iris trembled, but then she realized that he wasn't talking about the her hiding behind the door. Rather, he was referring to the her who had been a mere apprentice in this time. Harole rushed from the room, still holding the Mortog jester, and she let out a long sigh of relief.

The relief was short-lived, however, as what was on that parchment dawned on her. She suddenly remembered this day and realized that her calculations were off. She still had to save her mother, but there was one thing she had to do immediately, or all of this would have been for nothing...

Iris's younger self had known back then that something was going on -- she just didn't known what. Something in the air just hadn't felt right, and the way the older mages had started to avoid looking at her or her mother whenever they passed them in the corridors had made her suspicious. She'd tried to find out at the time what the secret was that the old mages were hiding. Unfortunately, not only did she come up empty handed, but she was caught in the act of snooping. Thinking back now, she was lucky that they hadn't suspected her of treason along with her mother.

Harole had been the one who'd found out about what she was up to and how she'd involved poor P.J., too. She still felt a little guilty that he'd spent a week as a Mortog because of her. It had been when Harole had been confronting her that the poisoned food had been found in the king's room. No one had been harmed by it, but the trail had led back to her mother. A false trail, obviously, but Iris had been unable to prove that and to clear her mother's name.

So, even if she could prevent her mother from drinking the potion and find out who was behind the forgeries, unless she got rid of the poisoned food before it was found then her mother still might not escape her terrible fate. Iris repressed a shiver.

"I can do this," she told herself firmly. "I didn't come all this way for nothing."

As the Poogle neared the king's chambers, a whispered conversation caught her ears.

"Are you sure?" a gruff-sounding voice asked.

"Of course I am," a softer tone replied. "No one has been in that room all morning -- until you came, that is."

"Excellent. Make sure it stays that way, okay? Also, remember: I was never here."

"Yes. You were never here," the softer voice replied flatly, in an almost robotic manner...

Fear and frenzy gripped elder Iris as she ducked behind a corridor and struggled to remember this event. She had been here, yes, when she met P.J. and gave the parchment to the jester, the parchment on which she had written a line likening Harole -- bless him, for he never did discover that potion of youth -- to a Turdle in terms of his speed... he was advanced in age, after all.

Alas, no memories between then and her reprimanding surfaced. The day had went by in a blur... and then it dawned on her. She must have been hypnotized by whomever possessed the gruff voice.

"Now," the voice continued, slightly more muffled to elder Iris's long ears, "take this piece of bread to your mother and tell her to deliver it to the king."

"I will take this piece of bread to Mother and tell her to deliver it to the king," the little Poogle said, her voice ringing out.

The Poogle hiding in the corridor almost cried. She had been used, it had been her... Sshe, the only Neopet, by now, whom her mother trusted, was ultimately the reason her mother was incorrectly blamed. The reason her mother... she shook herself. She could be the reason her mother was saved, too. If she had taken the food to Mother, then she could stop herself... couldn't she? Mother wouldn't take the food to Skarl, the documentation suggesting "A discovery of poisoned food by a Darigan double agent" could not be forged, and all would be well... right?

Right?

"Right," the gruff voice finished. "Now go, Iris."

"I will go," the little Poogle absently proclaimed before footsteps were heard.

Iris waited in the corridor until she was sure both had departed before dashing off in search of her younger self. Mother would be in her room... younger Iris was going to her room.

Iris navigated toward the residency towers and caught little Iris just before she went in the entrance corridor. "Stop!" she called out to herself.

The younger Poogle turned around, her eyes blank. Elder Iris's heart nearly wrenched to see herself in such a condition.

"Iris," the Poogle from the future started, "whatever you do, you cannot deliver that food."

"But it is my destiny," her counterpart replied mechanically.

Elder Iris almost cried. "If you deliver it, then it will become your destiny to travel back in time, to this very moment, and try to stop yourself, just as I am doing right now. If you do it, then your 'destiny' will be one without Mother."

Younger Iris tilted her head to one side. "I do not understand."

"I..." the Iris from years ahead continued, pleadingly, "am you, and I'm telling you, you need to snap out of this."

Younger Iris's eye twitched. "But... that would be impossible," she started, her voice more young and carefree; she then, again flatly, added, "I cannot go against my function."

The mind of elder Iris raced, trying to think of some spell that could un-hypnotize without causing damage, especially to an individual so young... she could not think of one, however. Any great harm caused to her former self BY herself could have who-knows-what kind of universe-altering consequences.

"Listen to me," Iris stated almost harshly. "You love Mother, correct?"

"Yes, I love Mother," Iris agreed.

Elder Iris gulped. "Would you ever kill mother?"

"Why would I want to kill mother?" younger Iris started, her voice beginning to crack.

"Because of what you are doing, right now, Mother will die." Iris was almost in tears now... but they soon became tears of joy as she realized younger Iris was crying, too.

"I don't want to kill mother," the little Poogle uttered through sobs as she ran up to hug her older self, who only hugged back. "I'm sorry, whoever you are."

Iris of the future merely smiled. "Think of me... as a friend from another place, somewhere distant."

"Kreuldor?" little Iris asked as she looked up at herself with wide eyes.

Elder Iris couldn't help but laugh slightly. "Sure, Kreludor..." She paused as she took in this new memory... she remembered being hugged and now hugged simultaneously; the experience was almost mind-blowing.

A new idea then surfaced... by going back in time she had erased her need TO go back in time. What if the Iris who was hardly an apprentice didn't return to the past to stop all of this? Universal Law might not like the consequences of that. "Iris," she told herself as she scribbled some instructions on a small piece of parchment she had in her star-dotted robe before handing it over to her younger version: on this paper contained her formula for time travel. "Open this in exactly 14 years."

Little Iris nodded with some uncertainty. "Okay, ma'am."

Elder Iris smiled. She did not remember herself being so polite. "Now, go run off."

Little Iris, handing the food over to her larger self, giggled and did as instructed. Soon, the echo of her excitement died into nothingness.

The only Iris left in the corridor released a contented sigh. She had done it... she hoped. Staring down at the piece of bread in her hands, she walked into the residency tower and found a waste bin. It then dawned on her that her mother was upstairs.

She could see her again, she could feel her warmth again, she could... no. It would only cause heartache, and if all really was well in the future, then she didn't need this. She struggled to remember more, to let her two timelines run together... she needed to know if Mother had survived. Alas, all her memories seemed blurred together and nothing was recognizable anymore.

She sighed.

Pulling a vial out of her robes, she tilted its liquid into her mouth and let the fire burn her throat... and all the while she uttered the spell that would mark her return.

A timeline fix'd,
A return to the norm;
Spacetime mixed,
The future is warm...

She patted him and a wan smile spread itself across her face. Where had she been? What had she done? What had she done?!?

Something was different. Something seemed off. She couldn't place what it was, though.

Maybe it was the bag of chocolate chips lying on the floor, cast among some paper? Fireball must have been munching on them. She really didn't like that, as it wasn't good for him.

Her crystal ball then started to buzz. She was getting a magical message.

Picking herself up off the floor, she navigated toward it. "Hello?" she asked into its cloudy surface.

"Could you deliver some Slumberberries to me? The Magocracy Labs are in short supply and I really need it for this potion," resounded the feminine voice through the orb.

"Sure thing, M--" Iris began, but then hesitated. Something was off... she couldn't quite tell what, however. She quickly dismissed it. "Sure thing, Mother."

For some reason that she really wasn't quite sure of, Iris smiled.

The End