This was just bull shit.

Wait, no. That wasn't right.

This was just Imogene's shit.

There. That felt better.

Dea Ex Machina was all about Tradition.

Tradition said, this was how you chanted in High. This was how it was was used in ritual and That. Was. That.

Dea probably thought Tuesday was defective. The words never felt right in her mouth, they never came to her aid when she casted, so she gave up trying, and Dea gave up on teaching her. A black mark on the walking ego's rep that's for sure. But the others saw that it was the not yet self appointed Lone Unicorn, and gave a collective shrug. They all knew that she was difficult.

It wasn't until she came to Sacramento that things started to make a bit more sense.

Watching the other magi was an eye opener. They way each and every one of them had their own way of doing things. Casting their magic, chanting in high. Small personal rituals. That had Tuesday thinking. And practicing. First she went back to what Dea had tried to teach her. The words still felt wrong, too heavy and long on her tongue.

So she started to change it. And if it failed spectacularly, then there was no one around to make her feel like a dolt for trying.

Soon Tuesday wasn't chanting but singing.

Rolling the words around her tongue, losing a syllable here or there, drawing out others because that felt right. Smooshing words and sounds together, even as she left out other ones. When she needed something, but it still felt to heavy on her tongue, she could hum it, and it made it all better.

Singing the words, made all the difference. She thought as she smiled and watched herself from an hour ago, frustration high, not yet found the song to sing.