Reality was… fuzzy and blurred along the edges of her vision, like she was looking through murky water at a picture that was almost familiar. The world was muted, the sounds dulled and faded, like she was trying to listen to a conversation happening behind a closed door. She felt floaty and disengaged, unable to move even an eyelid to blink.
If she could frown, she would have done so.
That so shitty, she thought, the words slowly coming to the front of her mind as if it had to be dragged through thick mud, to not even be able to fucking blink.
And now that she thought that, she could think of doing nothing else. It was difficult to focus but she was nothing if not stubborn. She stopped doing silly things like breathing and threw her entire force of will into moving her eyelids up and down. It was like trying to slide open an elevator’s doors when an emergency had been called – slow, grueling work done by just the tips of her fingernails, but she kept pushing and pulling, scrabbling at the edge to get better leverage. She began to grow afraid that it may never work, that her will was too weak to conquer this task.
But then she finally blinked.
The world snapped into crystal clear clarity in the space of a gasp.
She was in a garden, sitting on a bench at a round stone table. The table was secluded by rose hedges, though dandelions pushed up around the roots, their petals leaning towards the sun as it stole the nutrients from the soil. The grass was long enough to trip people if they weren’t careful.
One of her hands lay flat against the table, her palm vaguely stinging like she had just slammed it down. And in her other hand was a smooth, obsidian black stone that emanated a disorienting heat.
She blinked again, staring at the rock before her brain kicked on and she recognized it. This small rock was the artifact that had corrupted Priscilla in The Destined Ending. An illustration had been included in the sixth book to appease the fans who demanded to know more about what had happened to make Priscilla brainwashed in the first place (a group that she may or may not have spearheaded).
The artifact had no name, just a simple description of it being a “stolen fate.”
“--u alright? I hope that my offer did not shock you that badly.”
The voice was a warm baritone that reminded her of the voice that politicians used, like they had already gotten what they wanted and all you had to do was follow the pied piper’s tune and everything would be alright.
Oh.
She knew what was going on now – she was dreaming of Priscilla’s corruption, a scene that had never been written into the original novel.
A twisted grin spread across her lips. She had never been one to type venom in the comments about the Church of the Violet Moon and all the fucked up shit they got up to, but right now was the perfect time for her to vent her frustrations.
“Oh, dearie me,” she said, leaning closer to the artifact as she knew it was the conduit that allowed the stupid cult leader to speak with her, “it appears I’ve forgotten what we were just speaking about with how surprised you made me.”
There was a pause before the voice said, “We were discussing how to get you what you desired most in the world.”
“And what is that again?” she said in a light ditzy tone, like she was a sorority girl who had too many margaritas and had forgotten her own name.
Another, more pregnant pause this time and she had to fight back a giggle.
“Like so many others, you want the power you have always been denied,” the voice said, speaking in a low seductive tone. “The power to show others that you, too, must be respected as much as your sister, the power to prove that your dedication has not been for nothing all these years. You want the power to matter and I can give it to you, should you only say the word.”
“Really?” she asked, half-curious what he might say next. Her mind was coming up with a wonderful approximation of what this scene might look like and she almost hated to ruin it.
“Truly,” the voice said, softening like she had already agreed. “All you need do is –”
“Well, I actually think you’re wrong about what I want,” she said, taking vicious satisfaction in cutting him off.
“What?” the voice said, the bafflement clear and making her grin widen further.
“The only thing I want in this world,” she said, whispering as she drew closer to the artifact, “is for you to get out of my fucking head and go get fucked by a orichacalum cactus you slimy dipshit.”
There was a brief moment of resounding silence and then pain blossomed behind her eyes, sudden and like someone was trying to take an ice pick to her brain. But she just laughed – she has felt worse after a rough day in her MMA lessons where she took a beating or when migraines graced her with their petty existence.
The stone heated up in her hand but she just kept up her grin.
“Fuck off and die please,” she said happily.
Abruptly, the pain flared to where she couldn’t even see and then faded into a dull throb, but she didn’t mind it. She was pleased with how it all went down, though now she was feeling… quite tired.
She yawned, her ears popping.
Maybe just a little nap, she thought, and then I can wake up.
Her face was pressed against something hard and rough, and her lips felt cracked and dry. She must have fallen asleep somewhere it was inadvisable to do so and would pay for it now.
“Shit,” she groaned as she sat up, not looking forward to the copious amount of stretching it would take to get her body to forgive her.
And then she froze.
She was still at the same stone table from earlier, still sitting on the same uncomfortable bench. The only difference in her dream from before and now was that the stone artifact was no longer a deep and rich black.
The stone was a pearlescent white color that shone in the sun.
“The fuck?” she breathed, leaning forward to squint at it. The story had never mentioned artifacts changing color, especially ones that were meant to brainwash people.
She picked it up in her hand, turning it over. “What the fuck are you supposed to be?”
“I’m a legend killer.” The rock buzzed gently in her hand, letting her know exactly where the tinny voice came from.
She dropped it immediately, letting it fall against the grass because she didn’t fuck with things that talk when they weren’t supposed to.
“Don’t be mean,” the rock whined, “pick me up, pick me up!!”
She rolled her eyes at how pathetic it sounded and then decided this dream as too weird and she pinched her hand to wake up, digging in her nails.
Instead of her waking up on her bed at home, all that accomplished was making her hand… actually hurt?
But… but when you hurt yourself in dreams, that’s supposed to wake you up, goddamn it. Why wasn’t it working?
She was dreaming, she had to be, she was –
For the first time, she finally looked down at herself and saw what she was wearing. She was clad in a floor length formal dress that seemed vaguely familiar. It had a midnight blue bodice that clung to her ribs, laced tight with a black ribbon above a creamy white underlayer. The dress had gauzy, see-through bishop sleeves that were buttoned closed near her wrists. There were several layers to the skirts, though she couldn’t tell how many with just a glance, but she did lock in on the embroidery that went down the length of the skirt. Stitched in a deep red thread that reminded one of blood were countless roses, some clustered together like a bouquet and others just following the vine upwards, showing off their thorns.
The dress was beautiful and well made, there was no doubt, but staring at it filled her with dread.
Because that was not what she fell asleep wearing and if this wasn’t a dream then…
“Aw, shit, am I a fucking isekai protagonist?” she groaned, putting her head into her hands.
She may have read those types of stories on occasion but it didn’t mean that she wanted to star in one! She liked her life, she wasn’t stuck in some dead-end job yearning for a fantasy. She was a fashion designer with far too much money and plenty of friends and people she cared about – hell, she had just gotten the approval from the shelter for her to adopt a kitten, all she was waiting on was for the stupid fancy robot litter box to arrive!
And now all that was gone now. All her hard work, the blood, sweat, and tears, all of it was meaningless.
Shit, she thought as she pressed her knuckles between her eyebrows to fight off the headache that was now coming back from earlier, shit, shit, shit.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Okay,” she said, “I just need to… fuck, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
Sitting on this stupid bench wouldn’t help her one bit, so she needed to leave. She stood, but before she committed to leaving, the white rock caught her eye again. It called itself a legend killer, though she couldn’t remember that phrase being mentioned anywhere in the book before. If it had, surely she would have asked A— about it…
And wait just a fucking second. A—? A—?!
Were her thoughts being fucking censored?
“A—,” she tried to say and what came out was a garbled mess, like her tongue didn’t know how to move to make the sounds she wanted. She took a deep breath in and tried again to little avail.
She looked back at the supposed legend killer on the ground, the pearl white rock sitting pristinely on the grass. It might be the rock that’s causing her to be unable to speak A—’s name and she could try leaving its sphere of influence, but there was a pit in her stomach that told her it wouldn’t be that simple to fix.
She ran her hands down the dress, trying to take comfort in the smooth fabric when her fingers caught on a pocket of all things. Well, that took care of one thing.
The rock began to speak as she picked it up, “Please take me –”
“I am, quit your bitching or I’m going to toss you in a well,” she muttered, shoving the rock deep into the pocket. She didn’t hear anymore whining, so it seemed the message was received. There were several sentient magical artifacts in the book, and some listened much better than others, and it seemed the rock was one of them. For now at least.
There were no more excuses to keep delaying the inevitable, so she put on her big girl panties and left the only entrance she saw. Once she left the little garden nook behind, the dandelions disappeared and uniformly perfect flower hedges lined the stone pathway. It was almost unnerving how different the alcove was from the garden proper, like the alcove was just an afterthought. She shuddered as she walked through the long shadows cast by the hedges and the setting sun.
Luckily the garden wasn’t a maze and she found herself standing before an elaborate trellis archway that had yellow and orange roses threaded through the metal frame. She let out a small sigh and relief and strode through, glad to leave the unsettling garden behind her before night fell.
And she ran right smack into someone who was passing by the entrance. She reacted on instinct, reaching out to grasp the other person by the elbows to steady them and then she froze when she saw just who she had steadied.
Shimmering silver hair was pulled back into a half up-do that accentuated high cheekbones and the gentle curve of a jaw. Long lashed framed golden brown eyes that were currently narrowing and cupid’s bow lips were tilting downwards.
She couldn’t breathe because the person standing in front of her had to be –
“Illnyea,” she said as she stared, her brain short-circuiting as reality became something out of her wildest dreams once more.
“Do you need something, Priscilla?” Illnyea asked, pulling out of her grip. The teen was already half-turned and walking away as the words hit her brain.
“Priscilla?” she whispered, horror growing deep within her as the thought she had been pointedly not thinking about wormed its way out of the depths of her mind. “But I’m not –”
She began coughing, choking on the words as the taste of copper bloomed on her tongue. She pulled away her hand and saw that she had indeed just coughed up blood, the red liquid spreading over her hand.
“I… what?”
“Well, well, what in the nine heavens do we have here?”
She jerked her head around, looking for whoever was speaking. A niggling feeling had her look up when she saw nothing around her.
Perched atop the archway, was an androgynous figure with artfully tousled bone-white curls and a sneer pulling at their shapely mouth. They were dressed in a pristine and perfectly layered purple toga that looked like it was straight from ancient Greece, and a gold laurel rested on their perfect hair as they crossed their legs imperiously. They looked like they were taken straight from a painting, their features perfectly symmetrical and everything perfectly proportioned, down to their purple painted toenails.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked, wary and suspicious as the only guesses that came to her mind spelled nothing but trouble.
The figure snorted, lip pulling up to reveal a sharp canine. “You shouldn’t swear, it’s so unbecoming of a lady, Priscilla.”
Her first instinct was one of denial because she was Priscilla not Priscilla, and then her second reaction was the horrible feeling of confirmation that her subconscious knew what had happened all along.
She tried to deny it again, because she was stubborn and she was Priscilla not…
“I’m Priscilla,” she tried to whisper and her tongue did the same dance as earlier, twisting without her control to form a name that was not her own. With a distant pang, she realized that her name fit neatly into Priscilla’s, and then she pushed that thought away as the figure’s sneer stretched into a perplexed expression instead.
“Yes, yes you are Priscilla,” they said, leaning forward, “but you are a little more than that, aren’t you? An anomaly…”
“And just who are you then?” she asked, belligerence entering her tone as she held back the stream of swear words that yearned to come out. Swearing was comforting but she didn’t exactly want to offend whatever this being was – she’d at least want to get more information before she told them to fuck off.
(Anything to keep her mind off… of everything.)
“Well,” they said, tapping their chin with a finger, “I suppose mortals like to refer to me as a god.”
“Which one?” she asked, crossing her arms. Though she was an atheist in her life, if she was truly in the world of The Destined Ending, it would do her little good to deny the existence of gods when they had such a large impact on this world. There were plenty of beings that pretended to be gods so they were worshiped, and this being could be another swindler hoping to trick her into their service.
(Facts and logic were something to cling to, something to hold close so she felt less unmoored.)
The “god” tsked. “You’re a nosy one, aren’t you? You just need to know everything.”
“Would you rather me just roll over and die?” she drawled sarcastically before she could think better of it.
“That would be preferable,” the god said, perking up, “I can give you a weapon –”
“Fuck, never heard of sarcasm in the heavens?” she spat, backing up at the implied threat.
The god narrowed their eyes at her from their perch and within the space of a blink, they were in her face, mere inches away. This close she could see the god’s eyes were a sickly shade of venom green.
“You speak with such impudence,” they said, sounding as if they were speaking with tens of voices all layered over one another imperfectly, the dissonance ringing through the air, “as if you do not rightly fear those who could cause you untold suffering with the amount of effort it takes you to twitch your pinky.”
She froze, pulse racing as she tried to think up some response, some way to get out of it. It took a few startled seconds with her breathing heavily from fear, but when the god did not immediately smite her, she had a half-cocked idea. She just had to sell it with confidence.
“But you can’t kill me, can you?” she said slowly. “If you could, you wouldn’t have said you’d give me a weapon to kill myself – you would have just done it yourself with, what was it? A twitch of your pinky.”
There was a brief, terrifying moment where the god’s face went incandescent with fury and the air surrounding them grew colder by ten degrees, and then they were perched atop the archway again, glaring down at her. The chill didn’t leave though, wrapping around her like a stubborn winter’s wind.
“Anomalies like you,” the god spat, their voice returned to a normal one instead of the brain-rattling chorus, “always get themselves killed because they go beyond their destined role. I wouldn’t even have to raise a hand, I’m sure you’ll find some other way to court death – especially if you keep trying to speak of knowledge that you shouldn’t have to others.”
The god sneered down at her like they expected her to curl up and whimper at the prospect of her supposedly impending death.
She tried to keep the triumph off her face, and it was made easier by how cold she was. People tended to let information slip if they got riled up enough and, well, she did consider herself an expert in pissing people off.
Firstly: she wasn’t the only one who had come from another world, but by the sounds of it, she may be the only living one left, which sucked.
Secondly: she coughed up blood because… well, she tried to deny her being Priscilla to Illnyea’s face, which definitely could fall under speaking of knowledge she shouldn’t have.
And thirdly: A— had to have known that this was going to happen based on the cryptic ass messages they sent her and advice they gave her. Well, what type of friend would she be if she ignored their sweet advice?
“Fuck having destined roles,” she said harshly and crossed her arms, “fuck the concept of destiny all together, and fuck you too, for that matter. You were the one who made me cough blood, weren’t you? Are you always just hovering around like a slimy creep to see if I’m breaking your rules?”
The god scoffed. “Infractions are dealt with accordingly, you aren’t worth my attention.”
“If I’m not worth your attention, then, why are you here?” she asked, cocking her head.
An expression spasmed over the god’s perfect face before they glared down at her.
“It’s all because you defy fate,” they hissed.
“Fuck fate,” she snapped, “fuck just standing by and letting bad things happen – why would you, a god, want this destined ending to come about? You have to know that if you just stand by and let the path continue as it is, this world is as good as done for, and if the world is fucked, the heavens will be too because you’ll be fresh out of believers.”
The god was quiet, staring down at her with an intensity in their sickly green eyes contrasting the blankness of the rest of their face. The silence stretched between them and she resisted the urge to fidget or say anything else because the longer it lasted, the more she wanted to hear their answer. If the books she read really were the destiny for this world, she couldn’t see any reason why a god would just let it happen. The Church of the Violet Moon wanted their goddess to be the only divine being, which meant they planned to somehow destroy every other divine being that influenced this world.
“You know not what you speak of,” the god said at last, their voice oddly free of inflection.
But before she could respond, they disappeared. She whirled around, expecting them near her again, but found nothing.
“Of course you just ran away,” she muttered, kicking the ground angrily. “You’re the god of cowards, aren’t you?”
But despite her harsh words, the god remained stubbornly gone, so she sighed, shaking her head. She felt her hair move along her back and a sudden urge to see it ran through her. She grabbed the braided ponytail and brought it over her shoulder to look at it.
It was indeed the deep red color that Priscilla was known to have and it was the final nail in the coffin for her denial of reality.
She really was Priscilla now, for better or worse. In one day, she managed to tell the cult leader who supposed to brainwash her into a loyal servant to go fuck himself with a cactus and go die, did something fucky with the brainwashing artifact so it now speaks to her, and she insulted and annoyed an unknown god until they refused to speak with her anymore.
And if her current guess was accurate, there was only one and half short months until the plot was supposed to begin and Illnyea was supposed to almost die for the first time.
“Fuck my life,” she whispered.