SAVE POINT 14

Rosabella

"Don't you look like something!" Maid #1 dribbled in excitement—her grin stretching all the way to her eyes and her thin fingers wiggling in the air, hovering above me like she'd just iced a cake and was ecstatic about it. She moved to angle the floor mirror so that I could see my refection while I reached under the blossoming skirt to scratch my thigh...

Again...

All this tulle was killing me, snagging on my skin.

I frowned into the mirror, watching the uncomfortable line solidify on my face like a raisin in a middle of a sundae.

Sure, I looked like...something. I just didn't look like...me. I looked like a poof. It was the first thing that crossed my mind. I looked like a poof: a fancy hedgehog...a pufferfish...a poof. A black poof. Ebony lace and tulle stood out from my middle, layering down in black, mohawk-like circles to the floor. The top of the gown was a rigid, sweetheart neck—no sleeves, all corset—and it pinched just tight enough to create that wince on my face. My brown hair had been layered around my face in swooping curls and hair-sprayed into place so much so that I was scared to turn my neck and upset it. My lips shimmered red and my eyes, blue from a sparkly eyeshadow. Long, black gloves completed the ensnarement of the outfit. I looked like a made-up Teresa Barbie doll in desperate need of some sweatpants.

"At least this one is all black in case you hurl again," the second maid added unhelpfully, sharply reminding me of what had happened to the first dress.

"Don't you like it?" the first chimed, still dancing on the balls of her feet, "Of course, you like it!"

And I found two pairs of eyes, blinking at me.

Waiting.

For some kind of bubbly exclamation that I couldn't seem to muster.

Maybe, they sensed my lack of enthusiasm because the air blurred and wobbled around them. Their faces contorted, and a high-pitched shriek started, clawing at my eardrums—

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

What was happening? The two maids didn't seem to hear anything. Their eyes were still blinking at me—narrowing like there was only expectant silence between us, then, bulging.

And the scream—

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

How did I make this stop? It was immobilizing! It was unbearable! It—

"I love the dress," I breathed, feeling like I barely could—like the lie sucked the very air and life out of me from the inside out—"I really love it."

…

And the screeching stopped.

And the air snapped back to clear. The maids' faces were righted again as neon system prompts popped into view:

[System Reward: You’ve Kept Yourself In Good Graces with the Maids +5 XP, 966/1000]

[System Reward: Way To Put A Face On & Please The Crowd +5 Baddie Points, 675]

I got points for this shit?

"You're probably nervous for your speech." One of the maids interrupted my thoughts, nodding.

"Yes," I blurted. And I didn't have to lie about that part. What did the speech have to be about again? My palms began sweating immediately at the thought.

[Loading…1 Hour Later…55%]

I still wasn’t sure; I still wasn’t sure what my supposed speech was about even as I drifted numbly through the crowded ballroom, mixing root powder (that was supposed to relieve the effects of the darkness) into a tall glass of cola and trying to breathe even though the corset of my dress seemed determined to prevent it. This place and this crowd looked like a hotel, business function where they'd made an acute mistake and, somehow, accidently invited me. Tilting my chin back, I caught a view of the expansive, tray ceiling and glimmering chandeliers. Both told every bone in my body to run—or shrink. Like I intrinsically knew I didn't belong here in this grand space and, yet—

And, yet, all these noble-looking people, dressed to the nines in tuxes and gowns, kept nodding at me, their gazes lowering in respect, admiration and acknowledgement.

Like I did belong here. ...Or else I was having one heck of a vivid hallucination.

Food always helped. I all but dove towards a waiter, shoving one of those stupid, little breads topped with chopped-up tomatoes (that most definitely had a fancy name and weren’t real snacks—those) into my mouth.

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"Whoa! Catch a breath, there, tiger!" Sparo grabbed my elbow just as I leaked a bit of tomato down the front of my dress. My cheek were too chipmunk-full to say anything. He looked me up and down quickly, lifting his sunglasses to examine my attire.

"You look...nice." His white teeth flashed in a smiling grimace against the contrast of his pressed tux. I'd never seen the guy so dressed up.

I pouted back at him, spotting his lie from a mile away; he was about as transparent as a fish tank. "Be real with me, Sparo," I lectured, unamused and squeezing a hand down by my side in the layers of tulle that my arm itch again. Polite laughter and glasses clinking tittered behind us.

His nose crinkled for a second, "You look like a poof."

"Exactly what I thought!" I exclaimed, throwing down my hands in a strange kind of relief that only came from being understood.

"No, but, seriously," Sparo amended, "you don't look like yourself. You're paler." He used a finger to prop my chin up towards him, and little sparks danced like firecrackers along my skin where he touched. He didn't seem to notice. Lines formed in his forehead as he thought for a moment, "Have you been taking your medicine?"

I held up the Coke. "Literally, right now," I told him, taking a giant slurp which probably left me with a fizzy mustache. I quickly wiped it away with the back of my hand. I watched as the system amended my HP, ticking it upward.

[+2 HP, 65/89]

Neat. So this herb did help. I took another swig just to further convince myself.

[+2 HP, 67/89]

A burp flew out of my lips. My eyes widened, and I brought a fist to my mouth to cover it, but it didn’t stop Sparo’s chuckle. I looked around and caught a woman watching me. Her eyes narrowed in judgement—apparently the face wipe or burp hadn’t been so discreet after all. The air wiggled around her, distorting, twisting... Her head looked larger than her body. I could see every detail of her gaudy, pearl earrings—

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

"Agh!" I nearly bent over, clutching at my ears as the high-pitched ringing ensued.

"Rosabella?" Sparo's hands instantly flew to my back, "Hey, what's wrong?"

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

"That—ringing!" I sputtered. "That—"

The man's face crunched up in an expression which could only mean one thing... He couldn't hear it, the maids couldn’t hear it? It was in my mind—like how I heard the dragons? What had I done last time to stop it? What did I need to do?? I’d given in. I’d appeased the maids. I'd told them the dress looked nice. What did I have to do now?

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

My limp hand slapped shakily down on a nearby table-clothed tabletop. The red napkin there was soft on my fingers—real fabric. I brought it to my mouth, blotting.

“Excuse me,” I murmured, hopefully amending my prior burp—

…

"Ahh!" I straightened with a jolt.

As the air righted itself. The woman a few paces away, who’d been frowning at me, smiled. Familiar system prompts populated in front of my eyes:

[System Reward: You Commanded Respect From HELGA, NOBLE 18 +5 XP, 971/1000]

[System Reward: Way To Amend Your Societal Grace +5 Baddie Points, 680]

This again? Completely breathless, I turned to—

Almost knock into a completely bewildered Sparo. His eyes flashed concern in all but caution-yellow, "What the hell was that?" he sputtered.

And I wished I could tell him—I really wished I could—but I wasn’t sure myself. My heart was still seizing. I placed a hand over the organ under the stiff neckline of my dress, trying to calm it. "I don't know," I whispered, honestly, "It happened earlier too. It's new. Maybe something with the darkness?"

"That medicine should get rid of all symptoms," Sparo nodded at the glass I still clutched, "drink up, okay?" He said it so kindly. I was about to nod—to open my mouth to respond—when feedback from a microphone squeaked, echoing in the large room. I clapped my one free hand over my ear, and saw I wasn’t alone in my response this time as others around me did the same.

"If I can have your attention, everyone."

I whirled at the voice to find a squat, wrinkled woman at a podium up front. Her beehive hair wobbled over a blue-sequined, evening jacket.

"If I can have your attention, please," she continued—her dry voice far too amplified by the technology.

As if on auto pilot, the crowded room quieted.

"Today, we celebrate the return of the Game Maker to this hallowed place. After many a year of struggle, we finally see the light. Welcome back, Rosabella," she smiled grandly at me, unfortunately gesturing in my direction when our eyes locked, "We are honored and thrilled to have you back in the halls that your ancestors walked. We thank you for your dedication to The Game and saving all of us."

Applause started then, to my utter horror and surprise.

Loud.

Jarring.

Kind of overwhelming.

I tried to fight the urge to slink back up against the painted wall behind me, but it only partially worked.

[System Reward: Looks Like You’re The Center of Attention, The One Everyone Wants To Be +25 Baddie Points, 705]

I swiped the system alert away. Enough already with the Baddie Points! As though it wasn’t already obvious enough…

"Save me," I mouthed to Sparo who chuckled a little.

"Game Maker, if you'd like to respond?" —The old woman's voice again.

And no.

No, I wouldn't like to respond.

Because that was when my heart clammed up. And my feet stuck to the marble floor. And my throat lost any liquid it’d had two seconds ago.

And they were all staring at me...

And the woman walked the microphone towards me—

Shit.

I was going to die. The girl who'd faced dragons and zombies and armies and giant spiders was going to shit her dress and die after being asked to give a speech?!

But a dark hand reached out, wrapping around the microphone before it could get to me. A familiar voice spoke into it instead... Sparo. Thank the Grand Dragon!

"You know, I think we'd all agree that after what she's been through, the Game Maker is pretty damn—er, darn—" he caught a disapproving look from the lady, "tired. We aughta let her rest, don't you think? Don't we owe her that much?"

And something strange happened then.

Because people began to clap.

First softly—politely. Then, some, with extra vigor, yelling, "Yeah! Yeah, we do!" And pumping their fists in the air.

[System Reward: Now You’ve Got The Crowd! +10 Baddie Points, 715]

I gaped at them, and I gaped at Sparo.

"Thank you," I whispered to the man, knowing those two words would never do his action justice.

He nodded at me and gestured back to the hall, "Why don't you go get some rest? I've got things here."

And those words? Damn, I'd never wanted to hear anything more.