Chapter 1: The Woman in the High Castle

❝Mysterious Narrator❞

“Caw!!”

The crow avoided the purple lightning by a hair’s…a feather’s breadth. Cawing, it folded its wings and barrelled downwards, diving at breakneck speed through the cottonous darkness swarming with flashing, thundering death bolts. Each explosion of purplish brightness threw distorted shadows across the swirling haze. “Caw!!” The black bird cawed once more, this time a challenge to the scaled beast chasing it, but no response reached back over the loud growls of thunder.

The bird cackled smugly. It appeared the risky evasion manoeuvre through the storm clouds had successfully shaken the predator off its rectrices. The crow spread its wings and its descent slowed. Soon, it emerged from the sea of clouds—and plunged right into a waiting open maw lined with fangs each larger than a human hand.

“Ca—!!” The pair of massive jaws snapped shut and shut the crow up, in a sickening wet crack and eruption of black feathers. Blood dripped through gaps in the wyvern’s incredible dentition. A bright red forked tongue darted out, licking the gore off green scaly lips.

Wyverns were distant, smaller, and—let’s say it—dumber cousins to the mighty dragons. This one specimen was currently free-falling through the cold night because its acrobatics to catch the cunning avian had put it upside-down and belly up. Two muscular legs were curled over its stomach and leathery wings clung to its sides not to be caught in the unforgiving gusts of the storm. Down below, getting closer fast, ancient woods spanned the entirety of a vast bowl-shaped valley. In the far off distance, cliffs glowing all the colours of the rainbow enclosed the vale in an uninterrupted wall.

Caring little for the awe-inspiring scenery and much more for its precarious and potential lethal situation, the flying saurian righted its large body with a jerk and unfolded its wings. The brutal deceleration and an ascending current pushed the monster back up, right under the thunderous mass. A purple flash bolted out, but the beast evaded the lighting with ease then continued to glide leisurely, filled with the warmth of its meal.

“ROOOAAAR!!” Emboldened by its small victory, the beast roared, daring any creature to come and challenge it.

And challenged it was.

A high-pitched cry was all the warning the flying reptile received. A strange dark cloud detached itself from the bulk above and engulfed the monster in a cacophony of shrills squeaks and flapping of wings. The wyvern bellowed in pain as dozens of tiny voracious teeth tore into its thick hide like hot spikes through butter.

A few heartbeats later, spotless white bones dropped out of the sky towards the forest below.

A swarm of gory bats—this strange cloud’s true nature—followed after the bones.

In a tight formation, they swooped down through a sea of leaves and immersed themselves into a world of near total darkness. What little illumination the purple lightning storm provided couldn’t reach down here. Only scarce bioluminescent mushrooms and lichens tentatively fought off the obscurity. In their measly glow, humongous trees could be seen going on and on in every direction, so tall they would dwarf giants, supporting the high canopy like the ancestral pillars of an impossible vegetal cathedral. On the ground, enormous roots protruding from the humus formed a mossy tri-dimensional maze filled with bramble and ferns and inhabited by countless and diverse ferocious creatures.

The lethal colony navigated the forest, slaloming between the distant trees, unimpeded by the darkness. As bats, this much was to be expected, but none of the creatures dwelling in these sombre woods relied much on their sight. Survival of the fittest was more than a simple idiom in this place. It was an absolute law they all had too live—and very often die—with.

Spotting another prey, the lead bat called out stridently to its brethren and sistern. The whole flock whirled behind it, compact mass of squeaking teeth and wings. Instants later, a monstrous black bear was reduced to a clean-picked skeleton.

Still standing, the whitened corpse cutely titled its head in confusion.

It happened.

Blame magic.

Paying no attention to the random undead spawn, the group flew off, too fast for any to catch them—or escape their bottomless hunger. Within instants, the cry of the leader echoed again. The bats took a sharp turn and all—stopped, in mid-air, flapping their wings but unable to move more than a couple inches away from the positions where they hung like display puppets.

High above, two long hairy legs extended slowly out of a crack in a branch. The crevice looked small, barely a slit in the bark, but in truth, the branch itself was wide enough that someone walking on it wouldn’t have any risk of falling. They could even bring a couple horse-drawn carriage with them—horses and all. The hole really was large enough to contain a big house—a cave more than a crack—and the furry creature slowly exiting filled that wooden cave almost entirely.

A second pair of limbs languidly followed the first, then another, and another. Eight glowing red eyes skimmed over the trapped colony with starving glee. The spinnerets of the giant spider twitched in eager anticipation. Suddenly, its lethargic movement shifted to a frenzied explosion of limbs. It seemingly disappeared from the spot it was standing at and materialised right under the leading bat, hanging upside-down from the invisible web.

The winged mammal shrieked in panic. The arthropod shrieked in mad hunger. The pretty flower shrieked to fit in. The bat and spider froze. The flower ate the bat and the spider. Nobody was really sure what had just happened.

It happened.

Letting out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a burp, the carnivorous vegetal glided away on its countless tentacle-like roots, leaving behind the remaining distraught bats. With the demise of their Commander in Screech, the group was momentarily saved…

…as saved as anything could be, glued to a nigh indestructible web, defenceless in the middle of a forest where every living creature wanted to kill you—as well as a few not living too.

And, as if to prove a point, hundreds of eggs began to stir in the wooden cave that had served as lair to the giant spider.

Soon, eight-time as many red glowing eyes as there had been eggs dotted the darkness, their owners pouring out of the large crevice. They were hundreds of ravenous newborns, whose instincts to feast on their brethren’s flesh were temporarily subdued by the proximity of better, easier preys. After all, why waste precious energy in fratricide hunt when perfectly acceptable sources of proteins literally waited to be plucked? Even murderous monster babies knew this simple truth.

Before long, high-pitched squeals of terror and pain rose into the night, quickly swallowed by the overwhelming obscurity—a few inconsequential notes lost in a bloody symphony.

All throughout the forest, and the skies above, and even deep underground, the frantic death ballet never ceased its morbid performance. In this secluded valley, in this hell long forgotten by the living of the outside world, every instant more creatures were birthed, killed, maimed, eaten, and slaughtered in every imaginable way—as well as a few you probably wouldn’t think of.

In this forsaken vale of gore, one place, and one place only was spared from the endless massacre.

At the very centre of the perilous area—at the bottom of the bowl if you will—stood a crumbling fortress covered in creeping ivy and bramble, made of old ramparts and intricate building, surrounding a single tower that spired towards the menacing heavens. The tower was made entirely of pitch black stone which seemed to suck in the light from its surrounding, except for the bluish glow seeping from a unique window at its top. In the skies above, the dark clouds swirled ominously, with the tip of the black tower as focal for this thunderous vortex.

The ancient castle exuded and aura of dread and death. And despite the decrepit walls, monsters rarely approached the eerie ruin, and they certainly didn’t enter it.

The only notable exception was a tribe of goblin living inside the outermost courtyard. The short green-skinned humanoids were just intelligent enough to understand the advantages of this relatively safe area, and just dumb enough not to wonder why nothing else dared to approach. Their animal instincts weren’t much operational either. Poor bastards. Goblins were little more than a hiccup of evolution. But damn did they breed fast. Probably the only reason they were still around actually. That, and the god of chaos had a weird sense of humour.

Lightning split the sky, thunder exploded and another scream of agony rippled through the dark woods, rising from somewhere nearby. Atop the walls, patrolling hideous green midgets flinched at the awful noise. Inside the courtyard, a couple of half-asleep, two-storey high, and chained mountain trolls blinked dumbly and looked around in confusion. Although the goblins were long accustomed to the different cries, howls, and other dying squeaks that shook the valley daily, recently a new type of creature seemed to have appeared in their closed ecosystem. And boy did that species kick the bucket often, and noisily.

Leaning on a crude metal spear, a peculiar-looking greenie exchanged a wary glance with his neighbour, who was nervously tapping a wooden mace against the ground. Compared to the other goblins, the pair’s appearance reminded less of deformed children and more of ugly teenagers—pimples and everything. A very, very attentive observer might also notice the slight curves of the mace wielder’s body. This one was indeed a female, though really this fact wouldn’t be obvious to anyone not a goblin. To anyone goblin, however, she was an exquisite beauty—mostly by virtue of having all her teeth and a very prominent…bottom.

Goblins had their own standards.

Both hobgoblin mates—because that’s what those two were—eventually shrugged and returned their attention to the surrounding trees and to protecting their small community. Their recent brush with death, at the hand of a heavily armoured killing machine of hammer-wielding swordsman, had raised not only their levels but also their level of awareness. Well, that’s what happened when you ranked up and gained more than only a couple of neurones to rub together.

Behind them, a tall gate of rotten wood led to a second, inner courtyard. On the dirt ground, tens of skeletons were playing…dead—which wasn’t hard for a skeleton. They laid in ambush, waiting for the next fool to step in their domain. Hopefully for them, said next fool wouldn’t be a fire wielding paladin like the last one. It was extremely hard to kill something when your bones were erupting in flames hotter than the surface of the sun.

Past another decaying portal, a large hall was filled to the brim with stumbling cadavers wearing crude armours. They erred aimlessly in the dark, amongst the silhouettes of fallen statues, growling menacingly without purpose.

A sizeable stone detached itself from the cracked ceiling, landing violently on one member of the horde, crushing its left foot. The undead swordsman eructed a guttural wheeze and slashed blindly with its rusted weapon. Lacking any semblance of motor coordination, it missed the rock. But it did hit something, namely another walking corpse. The latter riposted, as clumsily, with a spear, and accurately pierced…a one-armed zombie next to its target. This started a chain reaction, ultimately resulting in a gruesome brawl, although slow-paced and…overall pathetic.

We’re talking about creatures which miss stationary rocks here.

Leaving behind the hall of shame, after several winding corridors, smelly sewers, clogged toilets, and dusty chambers overrun with all kinds of undead monsters, in the innermost part of the castle, a long hallway lead to a thick black door. Oddly enough, this door was decorated with elegantly carved roses. Moreover, unlike the rest of the castle so far, this place was relatively well-preserved. It was also lit, albeit faintly. Ethereal blue flickering flames burned atop the empty candle holders lining up the walls.

Two massive armoured figures stood guard at the end of the hallway, each holding their severed helmeted heads underarm. They were dullahans, fallen knights unable to find peace in the afterlife, shackled to the mortal plane by regret, unfulfilled duties, broken oath, or the evil will of a necromancer. Their decapitated heads served as a symbol of their shame.

Next to the two undead sat a cookie jar, empty of its content.

Two pairs of red eyes regularly cast irritated glances at the container but neither dared remove it. They both remembered the cunning knight who had tricked them with duplicitous words of friendship and used the dreadful pastries to fulfil his nefarious purposes! Such dastardly evil! To the two ancient warriors, there was no greater humiliation than death by cookies!

…Humiliation had never tasted so good, though, nor come with chocolate chips.

The knight, they could only assume, had gone through the door whilst they laid temporarily dead. However, neither even thought of giving chase, for beyond that gate laid the throne room.

That vast chamber was filled with damaged colonnades and sculptures, some already fallen, some soon to follow, all barely distinguishable in the darkness. Tattered pieces of charred cloth hung from the high vault, vestiges of banners representing long forgotten powerhouses of a once mighty kingdom. Large claw marks marred the stone floor, walls and even ceiling. Armoured skeletons laid in the shadows, bones blackened, unmoving and truly dead, their molten equipment enclosing them in steely sarcophaguses. The thick layer of dust, which covered everything in this sinister castle, was here mixed with ashes.

At the end of the central aisle rose short flight of stairs, on top of which sat a shattered marble throne. And at the bottom of those stairs, a giant abstruse magical circle slowly pulsated a nauseous bluish glow, ready to summon the ancient nightmarish beast haunting these walls.

Behind the vestiges of the royal seat opened a once-hidden passage, a narrow and obscure corridor leading to a spiral staircase. Climbing up, one would pass several landings, each with a locked door. Ignoring those, they would eventually reach an archway obstructed by nothing but a thin blood-red veil embroidered with a single elegant dark blue rose.

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Past the archway, they would enter a circular, lavish, well-furnished, and well-kept bedroom—one suited for a young lady of noble birth. The chamber of pristine appearance seemed strikingly out-of-place at the top of the tallest tower of this cursed, ruined, and corpse-filled keep.

Everything inside the chamber displayed tones of red and blue. A chandelier of rubies and sapphires hung from the ceiling—the sapphires giving off a faint but warm glow. Wine coloured carpet and eerie tapestries with intricate patterns covered the black stone floor and walls. Carmine curtains with duke blue lace hung on each side of a shutterless window. The furniture was of rosewood with cobalt ornaments.

A large vanity occupied the space left of the sole window, opposite to bookshelves heavy with sets of identical thick red tomes. All their spines were decorated with the same graceful dark blue rose. A large wardrobe took the other side of the window, next to an elegant four-poster bed stocked with a ludicrous heap of pillows. The decor was completed by a cheval glass set in a subtly engraved frame, a single beautiful cushioned chair, and a small round table. On the latter stood a simple crystal cup amongst stacks of parchments, open books and one elaborated quill of blue shade crisscrossed with garnet-red venules.

Nothing moved in the quiet bedroom and, at first, it would seem the place was deserted.

* * *

Suddenly, from the heap of pillows burst out a pair of slender arms, their skin the colour of milk and as smooth as a baby’s. They ended with delicate hands made for playing the harp, or turning the pages of volumes of poetry, or holding porcelain teacups and wineglasses, or sensually caressing a lover… One simply couldn’t imagine those hands doing anything strenuous or harmful.

The arms flailed about for a short while, like twin albino tentacles having a seizure—albeit a very elegant seizure—before stilting then clapping sharply. The crystals on the chandelier responded to the clap by switching from the dim warm blue glow of the sapphires to a much brighter ruby red, bathing the room in bloody light.

With a groan, the pile of cushions began to wriggle. Soon two pale mounds broke the fluffy surface, taunt teats standing proudly at their summits. The rest of a lean torso followed suit, then shoulders, a neck, and lastly a head topped with a long mane of bone-white hair. The girl sat up limply on the luxurious bed, swaying slowly, akin to a narcoleptic corpse rising from its coffin. Her head bobbed forwards and thigh-long hair covered her face, creating a picture worthy of any horror story.

A blood-curling wail suddenly erupted from her mouth, daunting enough to make the legions of the underworld turn tail and run in fear. It was the call of a tortured soul waking from its millennia of slumber, a wretched being raring at last in order to unleash death and terror onto the unsuspecting world, a lament of madness and hatred…or just a yawn. Waking up in the morning is hard for everybody.

And truthfully, far from millennia, or centuries, or even days, this girl had only slept for about eight hours. She really wasn’t a morning person—and that this was the middle of the night was a moot point.

The banshee’s howl soon dwindled down to a series of groans as the girl stretched languorously, relishing in the sensation of bones popping back into place in her spine and shoulders. With a hand and a jerk of the head, she pushed back her flowing white mane, banishing the vision of nightmare and revealing the face of an impossibly beautiful young woman at the dawn of her twenties.

Her traits mixed the innocence of youth with dangerously enticing seductiveness to a perfect level. High cheekbones, kissable lips, and a mouth made for smiling, a cute nose and narrow white eyebrows, almost invisible against her equally white skin. Discreetly pointed ears peeked from underneath her hair. She was so flawless it became a flaw in itself. She looked like a doll, an unreal masterpiece carved by a slightly evil god…who’d have forgotten about pigmentation.

Then she opened her eyes, and it was like all the colours missing from her body had concentrated in her irises. They appeared like two maelstroms of bright reds, encircled each by a crown of blue that seemed to bleed inwards. At their centres, deep black pupils twitched faintly, oscillating constantly between the roundness seen in humans and the slits of a feline beast. Anyone looking into those eyes would undoubtedly succumb to their mesmerising attraction, caught in fascination like moths to a flame.

Then she smiled, and twin fangs poked out from under her pale upper lip. Part of the illusion was shattered. Any soul who possessed even the tiniest sliver of self-preservation—no matter how bewitched by her enticing jewels—would be shaken out of their daze by that predatory grin. But one look at her eyes would renew the spell. Her nakedness didn’t help those hypothetical poor souls either.

From fascination to dread in a heartbeat, then to fascination again, in a nigh endless cycle. Vampires naturally incited these conflicting feelings.

Moreover, although this young-looking beauty was technically only a half—a dhampir, part human, part bloodsucker—her aura rivalled and even surpassed even the oldest so-called “pure-blooded” vampires, overwhelming her surroundings. People would lose their ability to think before her, torn between the urge to flee and the desire to throw themselves at her feet.

For now, however, she remained alone in her chamber.

These dreadful contradictory feelings she elicited vanished abruptly as soon as she started moving. She raised a balled hand and tiredly rubbed her tired eyes, pouting childishly and letting out small puppy-like whimpers. As if a mask had fallen away to reveal the person behind, her aura dropped from the heights of fear and attraction and crashed brutally into the realm of debilitating cuteness.

In either case, she would turn onlookers into mush.

“Yosha!” With this odd shout, the girl slapped her cheeks. Her hands left red imprints on her white skin, but they immediately started to fade. She swung long slender legs over the edge of the bed and jumped up, scattering several pillows around. “...Oops.” She quickly gathered the runaway fluffies and nonchalantly tossed them back onto the quilt she hadn’t removed from the bed. She was perfectly content with sleeping on top of it. The room was quite warm and, as a partial undead, the cold never bothered her anyway.

However she did feel more comfortable sleeping with something covering her, thus the pillow-hill. But why then not simply use the bedsheets for their intended purpose? Simple. She didn’t want to make her bed every morning. This particular dhampir was quite lazy, you see. But she also enjoyed tidiness, thus leaving the bed undone was also a no. Faced with such a heart-wrenching dilemma, she had chosen to ignore the problem altogether. “Bothersome things are too bothersome,” was one of her many mottos. The one hundred and second out of three hundred and six, to be exact.

Still in the buff, the lazy half-undead girl made her way to the red and blue vanity, dancing lightly and shaking her rear to a tune she was sole to hear. She also idly enjoyed the sensation of the thick soft carpet slipping between her naked toes. Her long cascading mane swayed around her body, providing her with only a semblance of modesty. Reaching the vanity, she plopped down on the padded stool and grabbed a comb and a lock of her hair.

In truth, her immaculate mane didn’t need any care; nor did her skin, eternally flawless; and she didn’t even wear any makeup, rendering this whole vanity pretty pointless. However, she just loved feeling the ivory teeth of the comb scratching against her scalp and the smooth weight of her silken locks in her hands.

But no, she didn’t do makeup. Once, for the hell of it, she’d tried lip paint and a few others of the products present on the vanity. In the wake of that disaster, she’d resolved never to touch cosmetics again until she’d studied the subject in greater depth. If she ever did. In any case, her irises were all the makeup her face needed.

Having enjoyed her little morning ritual, she set the comb down and smiled at her reflection in the vanity mirror. The peerless beauty facing her returned the roguish grin in a display of sparkling white teeth and fangs. She winked and cooed. “Awww~ Who’s drop-undead gorgeous? You are. Yes, you are.”

Likely fearing to overdose on modesty, the girl quickly stopped praising herself and moved to the small round table. She ignored the parchments, books and quill, and lifted the bluish crystal cup to her lips. As soon as she tilted it, thick red fluid flowed out of the previously empty cup and into her throat. She quickly swallowed and returned the enchanted implement to the table as fast as she could without risking to shatter it. Her face twisted in a grimace of disgust.

“Synthetic.” She spat the word, her revulsion resounding melodiously with each syllable. Her angelic voice, like her eyes, cradled one’s soul in the soft but deadly grasp of velvet-gloved claws.

Feeling a trickle of wetness on her chin, she wiped away the magically synthesised blood with her index and middle fingers.

On an impulse, she turned to the mounted full-length mirror standing in the middle of the circular room. Raising her chin but keeping a smouldering eye contact with herself, she ran her other, clean hand along her elegant curves. Her delicate touch glided over her pale skin. A moan escaped her luscious lips when it slowed down ever so slightly over the tip of one of her palm-sized mounds. The caress then continued downwards, across her flat belly, until her fingers rested demurely over the proof that white was indeed her natural hair colour.

Meanwhile, she was slowly, lasciviously suckling and licking her digits clean of the thick fluid coating them. Her pink tongue rapidly turned even redder from the fake blood.

She exuded eroticism…for a whopping two seconds, before she erupted in a fit of snorting giggles, which quickly devolved into full-blown laughter. She stumbled backwards, miraculously avoiding the table and collapsing onto the bed. Holding her sides, she rolled back and forth amongst the pillows, shaken by irrepressible laughter. “Wahahahahaha!! O gods. That’s just so…NOOO!! Hahahahaha!! I can’t believe I just did that! Hahahahaha!! That’s fucked up… Hehehehehe…”

The outburst lasted for several minutes, leaving her shivering, tearful and out-of-breath, sprawled on the bed. Still chuckling nervously, she pushed herself off the quilt and met her gaze in the mounted mirror. What she saw caused her to raise an eyebrow. “Damn, girl. That’s scary.”

She’d just discovered that she cried blood.

And that she was probably anaemic because she was feeling a little faint. “Aw. Come on… There should be a limit to being fragile. Stupid curse.” Annoyed, gore-rimmed eyes moved to the crystal cup. After a moment of hesitation, the dhampir stood up with a sigh. Sluggishly she approached the table.

On the way, she once again glanced at her reflection. Her mind jumped back to what had happened a little before. A shiver only half-faked shook her body. She looked away from the cheval glass and tried to hug her own shoulders, but found her…anatomy getting in the way. Ultimately, she settled for wrapping her forearms around her midsection.

Picking up the magical cup, she quickly took another draft before she could change her mind. The physical relief was almost immediate, strength returning to her numb limbs. As fast, though, her face distorted into a grimace. “Holy munchkin!” she exclaimed and mimicked retching. “Why does that stuff have to taste so bad? It’s a magic tool. MA-GIC, for fudge’s sake! Was it that difficult to add freaking literally bloody flavour?! At least anything other than melted cardboard and rancid cheese?! Gods!”

She was no stranger to how blood should taste. True, she hadn’t always been this sinfully sumptuous predator who had to feed on the stuff to survive. However even back when she’d been but a “simple” human, she’d tasted the irony fluid several times—be it by curiosity or when she was vomiting her own blood while dying in a ditch. She wouldn’t claim she’d loved the taste, but it had been okay—nothing like the disgusting mixture coming from the enchanted cup.

“Chaos be damned!” She carelessly blasphemed. Yet, no blazing lighting came down to smite her. Not that she expected any. Not from that god. Chaos and she had a pretty good—No…a friendly—that’s not it either…a loving—err…nope…a working relationship. Right. A bit one-sided on Chaos’ part, sadly.

Unsmitten, the dhampir continued her rambling, talking to herself in a typical fashion as she walked up to the wardrobe. “If I have to keep drinking that blended rot juice, I’m going to go mad! … I didn’t ask for your opinion, Brain. I’m perfectly sane. … And talking to myself. Yeah. So what? I’m lonely. There’s nothing in this damned tower beside dust bunnies. And their conversational skills leave much to be desired.” She swung the wardrobe doors open.

Inside hung a dozen of strictly identical white slip dresses. She picked one and used it to wipe the blood off her face, then she watched with interest as the cloth absorbed the red fluid and returned to its immaculate condition.

With a shrug, she threw the dress over her head, letting it drop loosely over her nakedness. She had no one to look decent for, but like with the pillows, she enjoyed the silken feeling against her bare skin. The vestment might be simple, but it was still of the highest quality, and obviously enchanted. As expected of a princess’ belongings. And, truthfully, “decent” might be a bit of stretch, considering the light dress stopped at mid-thighs and she wore nothing underneath. In fact, when she pulled her hairs out of the dress, they fell lower than the garment.

Whistling, she twirled and closed the wardrobe door with a bump of her rear, then stepped to the window. Looking out, she contemplated the stormy landscape, the sea of green that extended almost at eye level, and the thunderous clouds so close it seemed she just had to reach out to grab a bolt of purple lightning. She actually extended a hand, but it was blocked by an invisible force about a foot past the window frame. It didn’t feel like a wall, more like the air turning exponentially viscous and making any movement forwards increasingly difficult. It blocked her nonetheless.

With a sigh, she retracted her hand—or more like stopped pushing against the repelling force. After a quick peek down to the castle below and the small green forms dotting its outer rampart, she turned away from the scenery and crossed the room to its exit.

The thin veil parted for her as she skipped through the archway. She started down the staircase. The cracked stone steps were cold under her bare feet. Despite her less-than-alive nature, she was not unaware of the chill, just mostly indifferent to it.

Making her way down, she ignored the successive doors on her right side, having already checked most of them. They’d been locked the first time she’d climbed this tower, back then blissfully unaware of what awaited her at the top. Now, however, she had no trouble opening them. She suspected a runic lock tied to her magical signature, or maybe her blood, but she hadn’t had time to conduct any thorough inspection yet.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she entered the narrow passage leading to the throne room. She didn’t go far, however. Like with the window, a couple steps into the tunnel she started feeling as if countless rubber bands were dragging her whole body backwards. She quickly gave up. “Still no change, uh? Guess I’ll have to find a way myself.”

With a sigh, she headed back to the stairs. On the walls were the same will-o-the-wisps which lit up the hallway guarded by the two dullahans, but she didn’t really need them. Her night vision was quite perfect, one of the many perks of her new race, or half-race. Although she wondered how she would handle the sun when—not if—she finally managed to escape this cursed tower.

“But it’s the same curse that traps me here and turned me into this. So… if I break the curse to leave the tower, will I even still have to worry about the sun after that? Could I just free myself without dispelling the curse entirely? Mmmh…Is it even possible to partially dispel a curse? I guess it is, but…on purpose?” She scratched her head and crossed her arms ponderously. “Do I even have the material necessary to break any curse in this place? I’d need to leave the tower to find more ingredients to…break the curse to leave…the tower. Hmmm. I can see a potentially problematic issue here.” Lost in her thoughts, the girl wasn’t paying attention where she was putting her feet and, unlike her bedroom, the stairs weren’t in perfect condition.

Eventually, her left foot landed on a broken step, about midway to the top. A crack echoed, piercing through her busy mind. She noticed with widening eyes that her centre of gravity was quickly shifting into a less-than-agreeable position. She looked down in panic. Like in slow motion, a small piece of rock was dislodging itself from the stairs, carrying her left foot with it and causing her to lose balance. Fast.

Too fast.

Before her brain could catch up and attempt to devise a countermeasure, her perception of time sped up again and she was falling down the stairs like a mad tumbleweed, multiple red numbers flashing before her eyes. “Ow! Aouch! Bloody hell—OW!! Dammit—”

*crack*

She didn’t fall for long. A fourth of the way down, her head hit the ground at an awkward angle, and with a sickening wet crack, her neck snapped.

*tutu*

You have died.

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You are currently exempt from the twenty-four-hour ban imposed on players in the event of [Death]. You will be revived at the closest registered [Altar] for your avatar in 3... 2… 1… 

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The girl opened her eyes. She was laying on her large four-poster bed, amongst her fluffy pillows, staring at the beautiful blue rose carved into the redwood canopy. Between her and the carving, a rectangular blue window was floating.

Welcome back, Victoria.

“Aw…dammit.”

* * * * *