In Feri Trad, there's a lot of talk about one's Fetch. I have a shaky-at-best grasp on the concept of the triple soul. Probably because my talking self is so goddamned loud (yeah, we're cussing again, welcome). Like she never shuts up and she's that terrible guest at the party everyone (God Self/ Primal Self) wants to suddenly need to go home or pass out drunk enough to shut the fuck up but without alcohol poisoning (yeah we're also back to stream of conscious, pull up a seat). So they're silently hating her from across the room mouthing shutupshutupshutup to each other. But she won't, because see: Talking Self.
Okay, so Fetch. Your Fetch needs to be fed with food that your Fetch finds delicious (shoes, booze, recreational drugs, sex, modern Irene Adler activities, chocolate cake, sushi, watching the Twilight trilogy for an entire evening, I don't know, it's your Fetch. You know what crazy shit she's into better than I do). They're kind of like Gremlins, I guess? If you feed them little pellets of whatever they're into, they're reasonably docile. You feed them after midnight (or not at all) and life becomes very, very real all of a sudden. Because Fetches are also liars. They're pathological, if it's any consolation so they believe it themselves. If they feel neglected for too long, they start a full campaign. Like, it's no longer enough for you to be tied to the bed post by your spouse but hey you know what would be a great idea? A ball gag with a new partner while in full shibari bondage. You met yesterday, surely this will work out fine, right? (Spoiler: Um, no) Half a piece of cake? Loser, there's a whole fucking cake in the fridge. You should eat it all. It's going to be amazing.
My relationship with my Fetch is (quelle surprise) antagonist, much like how I have a dysfunctional relationship with my Muse but still counsel on working with yours, even if she's a total pain in the ass. Left to her own devices, my Fetch resembles Aubrey Plaza's character here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtOToiIDNRA
Eat, drink and be merry, Charmers. For tomorrow we start the Books of the Dead.