When I get to the throne room, I come across a rather... odd scene. The fiery floors and beautiful blazing-bright gold walls now in shadow, speckled with candlelight. There is a small table with two wine glasses, two menus, and two chairs. It is... suspiciously romantic. It is too normal and immediately sets off alarm bells in my head.

The King is sitting on one of the chairs and a butler is standing to the side, with painted red handprints all over his mask and wrinkled, but dapper, suit. Is that... the poor Anathema who tripped?

I understand now... those red handprints are symbolic representations of damage. So that maid I had killed with the handprint on her cheek... was likely crippled before I even attacked her.

I... it was her or me.

The King beckons to me.

What the fuck is this?! This is so out of leftfield. We just completely changed story to a frickin’ romantic candlelit dinner, and it is exactly what I did not want.

This is bullshit. I cannot think of anything that I have done that would change the storyline so badly from court jester and pet all the way to being fucking courted. I have only acted as an entertainer and as an animal, right?

I can already see how this story would progress. We will “get closer and drink to his wealth and greatness as I try to avoid offending him and getting killed as a result of offending him. Then, drunk, we will go to his bed.” The story probably ends there for me. I just can’t survive such torment. A high-level System user requires an equally high-leveled (or someone with a Prostitute class) person to fuck with.

I have zip in terms of System.

I will kill myself if it comes to that.

I will repeat again, this is such bullshit! I-wait. I know why. I stare at the bastard in this brief moment of surprise that I can get away with before he becomes annoyed.

This is because of my breakdown, isn’t it?

The tit-sucking masochistic horn-using burnie!!!

I refuse to let the work I have put in for tomorrow be thrown away by this bedroom sewage sprayer! And my life of course.

I discard the pet role and stand up, walking with haughty grace towards the “battlefield” he has set up. I eliminate any sign of awkwardness in my limb position, a polite deferent smile on my face. From manic joy glinting in my eyes, I crinkle my eyes and raise my eyebrows in surprise and appreciation at the banquet. With the posture of a noble, inclining my head in deference, but also ensuring I appear like I am hiding ambition and intelligence.

If it was not a matter of life or death, I would be enjoying myself. I always have loved assuming new faces.

With an overbearing gesture and a knowing smile, he gestures to the menus. I pick up the one closest to me with a dramatic flourish, and quickly find the most unromantic meal that I can still eat delicately. Spaghetti, as well as milkshakes, are the worst possible ideas in history, that type of meal just leads to kissing i.e. having my face eaten. Any sizeable meat portions are incredibly messy and unbecoming of a noble, not to mention, kings are known for going on hunting trips. Enjoying that food may make me “get along with him far too well.” Seafood in general has far too many romantic overtones, so things like filet mignon or shrimp scampi will not work. Anything with chocolate is a bad idea.

Much to my relief, I find tacos. If you are smart about it, you can primly eat them and avoid sauce dripping down your face and arms. It’s just really difficult. The butler nods his assent and nervously turns to The King, who languidly points at something on the menu. It takes all of my willpower not to narrow my eyes in suspicion. I am dying to know what he ordered.

I let the silence go for a few beats. Then right before it gets awkward enough that he would start the conversation, I lean forward curiously. I gesture towards the door and expansively wave my arms, asking how things are going in his domain with my body language and the posture of my head. I giggle with a rising pitch, questioning.

I am not quite sure why no creature speaks. I know that more intelligent Anathema and Torments in other Tormented zones are perfectly capable of speaking. I would even go so far as to describe some as needlessly verbose. Wordless vocals are allowed, laughter seems to stand in for communication, and screams are permitted. Yet, none speak.

Regardless, I refuse to be the one to break the seeming ban, though it certainly makes things incredibly difficult, though I guess it simplified the teaching of Persée to the magical constructs/musicians.

To my hidden surprise, his face contorts in distaste. He then goes on to flare up his power in dominance, attempting to cow me from this line of questioning.

The force of the Miasma is tangible, weighing down on me to suppress everything about me. But I stay unbowed, my posture still straight-backed and slightly deferential, with my grin unmoving, whilst flaring the ambition in my eyes. It is obvious there is a threat to his authority, and given it literally cannot be an Anathema, it is highly likely that there is finally a Magical Girl in the rift. As expected of a noble, and not of someone hoping to get along with him, I immediately want to leap onto the subject.

First though, I need to get him off guard, or at the very least, show that I am a conniving bitch under a boatload of altruism. I “take the hint” and look away, checking in with the butler on just how long until the meal arrives by tapping my cheek while staring at him. In doing so, I made him feel uncomfortable until he answered the question he thought I was asking.

I then turn back to The King, truly eager to hear how I could commit myself to the protection of our citizens. My eyes widen and turn slightly downward at the thought of tragedy. It is truly in my interests that his loyal citizens are saved after all. Anything to further The Being To Which One Gratefully Submits.

I chose that title because it seemed like it summed up his identity the most with a great heap of flattery. I expressed my interest protecting the monsters by glancing protectively at the guards at the throne room, before looking at him with serious conviction in our cause.

I cannot actually do anything to help, and I am sure he knows that, but one of the most important things is to offer empty platitudes, ensuring that you would be a martyr for the cause if you were sacrificed. In the end, that would endear your family to the people and aggravated them towards The King for sacrificing me so needlessly. And again, I do not have a family, but it is what a noble would have. In addition, I am quite certain that a rival Anathema noble family would form just to accommodate that storyline. I do not have terribly much to back that statement, but by just analyzing this rift, I am quite sure that is how it would work.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

It is all quite meta, but when you really think about it, given that Tormented zones form around a strong enough meaning, you simply need to follow the absurd conclusion. Granted, my guess is that to follow the absurd conclusion, you must be three things.

One, you would need to be a truly amazing actor capable of withstanding intense torture, of which there is a surprisingly large amount, from Ninjas to professional Spies. If I lived anywhere in Japan, I likely would have been promptly recruited from the subordinate cities by the Ninjas.

The second is that you have to be insane enough to actually be able to follow the peculiar logic. This rules out most Spies and any incredibly high-level Actors. Ninjas though... well, most of them are still on the table, if you get my drift?

However, the third, which makes it vanishingly unlikely that anyone would be able to replicate what I am doing, is you have to be incapable of assuming a role which will influence the rift. In other words, the Assassin always gets revealed, the Magical Girls are the existential threat to Torments when you think about it so they can’t change the story, military troops cannot change the role of being an invading force, etc. This is where they fail and I, unfortunately or fortunately, succeed. I literally cannot do anything to The King because of how weak I am.

Ahhh, my tangent aside, I have succeeded in throwing him off balance and the meals have finally arrived.

Obviously, as the embodiment of a king, his nature having the abilities to deal with crafty nobles baked into his very existence, he did incredibly well in obfuscating his emotions. I applaud him. I have not faced such difficulties in analyzing a person’s emotions since my minor, one-day encounter with those Vengeful Spirits. And yet, instead of gazing longingly into my eyes with a besotted look and ignoring the food that the butler put down, as I think he intended with going out of the lines of the fine story we had going on, he looked appreciatively at the food and the squirmy things behind his skin-covered sockets slumped in relief at a reprieve from my web of interrogation.

Perhaps he did not enjoy that no matter how he responded, it would make him seem less kingly or more submissive.

Buddo, I regularly play Contact Contract with my girlfriend Elisa and can hold my own in creating loopholes for days. She is going to hold the Devil class. Give up!

HAHahAha!

I feel tempted to grin and steeple my hands menacingly as I dance literary circles around him. But of course, I must play a light hand while we eat unfortunately, otherwise he will feel threatened and likely cut my tongue out for such silvered words. Kings are not known to appreciate being trumped, and that will certainly factor into his behavior. I play to my aspect of vanity, something I had been very obsessive over to focus myself. I curl my hair around my fingers and smooth out the nonexistent crinkles in my dress.

I look at his food, and there are no romantic connotations to the massive roast ham in front of him unless you wanted to be incredibly lewd.

I look at my tacos, and immediately, my eyes want to twitch.

It’s chocolate!!!

It is one of those weird dessert transformations that all savory meals get eventually.

The corn tortillas I was hoping for are replaced with hard wafers dipped in chocolate!

And! And!! The unidentifiable insides are covered in powdered sugar and... strawberries!

I love this type of thing!...

Which is why I HATE this!!!

It’s romantic! He is still going with the story?

I show nothing, but inside my mind churns my noblesse disgust and dislike of The King.

Then a tentacle reaches over the table and rests on my shoulder like the weight of the world.

I look up, expression unchanged.

He grins that he found a dish I really like, but more importantly, his nostrils flare with victory. My throat tightens with horror. We both know he can just force me into a relationship. It turns out he had no intention of allowing me to weasel my way, despite the taken status I had made clear during our “conversation.”

He... he... I swallow nervously, the first crack in my composure, interrupting my thoughts. My cheek twitches.

Incomprehensible lines at royal angles horizontally translate to the predatory coordinates and the cubic volume of admiration of my beauty

Three of his tentacles touches... me.

Only Masua and Enterion can do th-no, this is bad. Very bad. I had repressed this quite successfully. This is not conducive to ensuring I forget about the Vengeful Spirits. They are gone. They left me.

I do not stiffen or otherwise react to his touching. If this is going to be - well, for my quickly fading sanity, I will politely describe it as a nonconsensual Nervous game – then I will at least hold onto some form of control by refusing to encourage his advances. I continue to primly eat.

The very Miasma caresses me, going under my clothes where The King seemed to refuse to do so with his physical body, as if that was any better than doing it with flimsy fabric in the way. It ruffles my clothes as it travels, searing like a light trail of a lit cigarette along my skin.

He never takes me to the bed room, merely gesturing and rubbing me with “sweet” motions. He tugs on my hair which...

It’s too much. I should...

My throat tightens. I feel nauseous.

I am not brave enough to kill myself.

Sure, I can throw myself to the wolves easily.

Ha.

I was deluding myself in thinking I could go farther on my own strength than just injuring myself.

I finally finished my meal and stood up. I bowed to him perfectly perpendicular to the waist, expressing my gratitude to him for such a wonderful meal and then walked next to his throne.

My eyes strained to cry, to change from the noble’s mask. I crouch onto the hard crystalline bowl which welcomes me, on my knees and hands. My throat clenches hard enough to make it difficult to breathe normally and unruffled by the events. I curl up, my gorgeous hair somehow serving as a blanket to me. I give myself a soft smile to appear preciously sweet in my sleep amongst the precious stones.

If I could break this role for a second...

Oh, if I only could. I grin wider as I settle for sleep far too close to The King's resting place for comfort.

I would hopelessly clasp my rotting hands over my soft furry blue ears, completely despairing over the sweet nothings and commands I can now hear the Miasma whisper to me. I would tear at my skin attempting to pull away the thousands of lace threads which now connect me to The King and wrap around the battered skin on my body tightly, loop after loop digging into my skin.

Instead, the tongue in my mouth that I had used to lick him and get out of his arms when we first met lolls out my flawless lips, ebony black and long.

I can feel my sharp, newly knife-like teeth digging into my tongue.

The crystals on my eyes expanded during his... attentions. I can barely see and blinking requires conscious effort.

...

Well...

...

Gosh dang!

He certainly left his mark on me!

I mean, seriously, a hickey would have been simpler!!

Geez! He's got no class, am I right?!

Well, well! Looking forward to tomorrow!

Had a very productive day with setting up the play and all that jazz! And the dinner was truly delicious! Plus, I did not have to pay for it!