Chương 5: Chapter 4 — A Monster in the Mirror

Chelsea's breath caught. She blinked, trying to force the numbers to shift, to make sense of them in human terms.

"Well, I guess I'm fireproof?" she muttered, her voice dry. She let her eyes linger on the empty brackets beside "Current Enhancements".

"I don't see what the enhancement is either. All it shows is that it's soul-marked and locked." She leaned back slightly, exhaling slowly as her mind began to race.

"What is all of this? It measures my strength? How can that even be quantified? Surely a sprinter would have stronger muscles in different areas than a weightlifter. And intelligence… What does three even mean? How can you reduce wit, reasoning, or creativity to a number? And luck? Seriously? What!?" Her hands curled into fists at her sides, not in anger so much as helpless disbelief.

The floating text shimmered, refusing to offer her answers, and for the first time since waking in this strange, summoning-charged world, Chelsea felt tiny. The whole group turned to Roderick as he translated, his lips twitching with amusement.

"She's funny," he said with a laugh that seemed to brighten the otherwise solemn room.

"How exactly are these numbers determined?" Chelsea blinked at the way he said it, half-grateful for a hint of levity, half-irritated that anyone could be so casual about what still felt like a nightmare of stats floating before her eyes.

"We don't need your added commentary," the king scolded sharply, the sternness in his voice slicing through the laughter like a cold blade. Roderick's smile faltered, and he quickly straightened, sobering up, drained the air of levity from the room. Alexi leaned forward, clasping his hands together as if preparing to defend the mystifying system Chelsea had just glimpsed.

"The numbers, from our understanding, are a general overall measure. Additionally, don't take the stat names at face value. My base intelligence is at 3012, but that doesn't mean I'm smarter than you. It's merely a placeholder for effects. In this case the…" The king cut him off with a dismissive wave, his tone brooking no argument.

"Until we know what that buff is, we will continue with our original plan. She will learn all of that during her tutoring. Tomorrow, we will assess her for her proficiencies and work on getting her a class. It has been an extremely tiring day. I can only imagine how exhausted you are, Miss Chelsea. This attendant here will assist with any of your needs." He gestured to the woman who had poured their tea, her posture impeccable but eyes downcast, as though she were perpetually bracing for judgment.

The king's gaze lingered on her strangely, a subtle, unspoken command passing between them.

"I, uh… okay," Chelsea said, caught off guard by the sudden dismissal. She still had a hundred questions tumbling in her mind, each one more urgent than the last. The attendant moved first, gliding toward the door and opening it while keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the polished floor, as if acknowledging Chelsea's presence was too daring for her gaze. Chelsea found herself turning sideways to slip through the doorway, wings brushing against the edges of the frame.

She grimaced slightly, definitely going to have to fiddle with these later, once she had privacy and a mirror. Once in the hallway, Chelsea's eyes widened. Her attention was snagged by a sleek, metallic contraption embedded in the stone floor: an elevator. She had never seen one like it in her world, and the realization made her pause in awe. It was surrounded by gears the size of Chelsea and had a single metal post straight through the center. They stepped inside small gate, the attendant gliding ahead.

Chelsea noticed the man operating the mechanism. He wore an outfit similar in color to the attendant's, muted deep tones, but his posture was stiff, frozen, and his gaze pinned on Chelsea like she was some mythical creature rather than a summoning gone awry.

"Guest wing, please," the attendant said calmly, but the man didn't move. His eyes were wide, fixed on her in what could only be described as fear.

"Charles!" The attendant called sharply, breaking him out of his trance-like state.

"Guest wing?"

"R-right, of course, Miss," he stammered, voice cracking slightly. Chelsea's first impression had pegged him as older, but the youthful tremor in his tone betrayed him… he couldn't be more than a few years past her age. The ride in the small elevator was quiet, the soft hum of machinery and the occasional click of gears filling the space. When the elevator doors slid open, the attendant led her down a long hallway lined with rich tapestries and polished stone floors.

The room they arrived at was lavishly furnished, dominating Chelsea's senses immediately: a dark hardwood four-poster bed with intricate carvings and gold inlays, soft rugs that muffled their footsteps, and heavy velvet curtains that framed the windows, letting in just enough moonlight to illuminate the gilded edges of the furniture. The space felt overly luxurious, like every detail had been crafted to remind her that this world operated on rules far different from her own.

"Is this where I will be staying?" Chelsea asked, her voice bubbling with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. Every corner of the room screamed opulence. The attendant hesitated, her posture stiff, hands clasped neatly in front of her.

"I'm sorry, Miss, I can't understand you," she said quietly, her voice polite but guarded, almost as if speaking too freely could break some unspoken rule. Chelsea frowned, tilting her head. The language barrier still was hindering her. She turned on her heel and faced the servant girl fully. The girl's eyes remained fixed on the polished floor, body tense, as though even looking at her might be dangerous. Chelsea swallowed and took a gentle step forward.

Carefully, she reached out and lifted the girl's chin, her fingers brushing lightly against smooth skin. For a heartbeat, their eyes met. Chelsea offered a small, tentative smile, the kind she hoped radiated warmth rather than intimidation. She gave a soft wave of her hand, then tapped her chest lightly, trying to make her meaning clear.

"Chelsea," she said slowly, then gestured toward the girl with an open hand, as if to say, ' and you are?' The girl blinked a few times, processing the gestures and the strange foreign sounds she couldn't fully comprehend. Finally, a hesitant smile tugged at her lips.

"Oh, my apologies, Miss. You can call me Adriane," she said, her voice carrying a quiet note of relief as understanding finally clicked.

"Adriane," Chelsea repeated, savoring the sound. The name felt solid, human, grounding her in the strange, otherworldly space she now inhabited.

"Yes," Adriane replied, returning the smile with a little more confidence now.

"If you would like to change into more comfortable clothes, I can assist you with that." Her hands remained clasped in front, but her shoulders relaxed slightly. Chelsea held her hands up in playful defense.

"Oh no, no. I can do that myself," she said, her voice light but firm. She glanced around the room, her eyes briefly landing on the intricately carved dresser, the folded garments neatly arranged inside, and the faint scent of lavender that lingered in the air. Then, catching herself, she remembered… they still didn't share a language. She shrugged, tapping her chest again, and tugged gently at her skirt and top, hoping her gestures conveyed her meaning.

Adriane's brow furrowed for a moment, then her eyes brightened. She tilted her head slightly, understanding dawning.

"Are you asking where the clothes are?" she asked carefully, her tone tentative but patient.

"Yes!" Chelsea exclaimed, giving an exaggerated nod and a wide, reassuring smile. The simple confirmation felt like a small victory.

"Undergarments and sleepwear can be found in these drawers." Adriane stepped lightly across the polished floor, her fingers brushing the stone wall as if she feared damaging it. She gestured gracefully toward the built-in drawers, their dark wood contrasting sharply with the pale stone.

"In the morning, you will find formal, casual, and active wear in the armoire across from the bed." She indicated the massive piece of furniture with a slight bow of her head. Chelsea's eyes flicked toward it. The armoire was like a behemoth of polished wood and ornate carvings that reminded her, hilariously, of the talking armoire from Beauty and the Beast. Her gaze then caught something else, something she had wanted and feared since the moment she arrived. The mirror.

It was upright and tall, set against the wall, framed with intricate golden filigree that glinted in the candlelight. Her steps toward it were slow and cautious. As she neared, the reflection staring back made her inhale sharply. The person in the mirror was both hauntingly beautiful and terrifying. Every detail was alien yet there were familiar details. She still wore the plain gray uniform from earlier, the last vestige of her old self, but everything else had changed. You might be reading a pirated copy.

Look for the official release to support the author. Her short, dirty blonde hair had been replaced by thick, long black locks that framed her pale, delicate face. Her eyes were a weird shade of bright orange. Additionally they were impossibly large for her new face. The wings she had been avoiding… black, bat-like, vast and folded neatly behind her, were undeniably real. She raised her hand cautiously, reaching toward the right wing.

Her fingers brushed the surface; the texture was soft, almost velour-like, with a faint warmth under her touch. The underlying bone structure was flexible yet resilient, and she discovered she could curl, flex, and bend it at will. Then, almost without thinking, her gaze drifted… toward her shoulders and upper chest. A thin, pale line traced along her collarbone, almost invisible in the flickering candlelight. Another tiny mark near her left wrist. Chelsea frowned. She didn't remember these.

She ran a finger lightly over the marks; they felt real, raised just enough to notice. What…? Her heart skipped. I didn't get hurt here. She shook her head quickly, trying to push the thought away. There was so much else to process: the tail, the wings, the horns. The scars were just… odd. Something she'd worry about after she was finished processing the demon thing. Chelsea returned her gaze to the mirror, her attention moving upward to her horns.

In the dim candlelight, they were hard to make out, blending with her dark hair. She grabbed a nearby candle and held it closer, casting flickering light over the curved protrusions.

"Oh, uh, Miss, please be careful," Adriane's voice wavered from across the room. Chelsea didn't respond, transfixed by the two horns jutting from her skull. The tops were a glossy black, but the undersides were a deep, blood-red that gleamed as if polished with gemstone precision. She leaned closer, studying the gradient, the way the light caught the ridges and polished edges. A sudden sensation startled her, a wet splash across her cheek.

She jerked back, startled, glancing at Adriane as if the girl had thrown water at her. Adriane's eyes widened in alarm.

"Miss! Are you okay?" Chelsea blinked, her brow furrowing. Slowly, she lifted her hand and looked at the streak on her face. Candle wax. Warm, sticky, and oddly liquid in sensation. She remembered, her pulse quickening in realization, and carefully lowered her hand directly onto the flickering flame of the candle. Nothing happened. Not a burn, not even discomfort. Her fingers hovered above the molten wax with curious awe. Fire immunity.

She could feel the strange, exhilarating edge of power, a sensation she had never imagined possible. Demons must endure harsher, more unforgiving environments than humans. Chelsea turned to Adriane, offering a small, reassuring smile, holding up her hands to show that it was okay.

"See? I'm fine," her gestures seemed to say, though her mind was still spinning, still trying to reconcile the reflection in the mirror with the girl she had once been. The attendant's eyes remained fixed on the candle flame, a mixture of awe and apprehension on her face. Chelsea slowly withdrew her hand and turned her attention to the last lingering feature… the one she had been dreading most. She pivoted slightly, heart pounding, and there it was: a tail.

Long, sleek, black, and perfectly matched to the color of her wings. She swallowed hard, staring at the heart-shaped tip, the concave side merging seamlessly with the base of her spine. It curled and flexed as if it had a mind of its own, responsive and purposeful. Chelsea's mind struggled for words… hooked? Barbed? Forked? She had no vocabulary for this. The tail seemed impossibly alive, a foreign extension of herself she had no clue how to control. Her gaze flicked upward to the reflection in the mirror.

That face staring back was no longer hers. Gone were the familiar features her parents had given her, replaced by something otherworldly and alien. Her jaw slackened as the weight of her transformation sank in. Her mother… would she even recognize her now? Would she even notice she was gone? And Amber… her best friend, her rock. Amber would never see the old Chelsea again. Was Chelsea even her friend anymore, in this form? Tears prickled at the edges of her vision. The gravity of it all pressed down, and she broke.

She wept openly, the sound raw and trembling in the quiet of the lavish room. Through her tears, she glimpsed something new in the mirror: two elongated canine teeth, unnervingly long. Vampire? Snake demon? What else could she be? Her sobs intensified. She was a ball of grief, confusion, and fear. A gentle hand landed on her back, firm and but in a caring way. Chelsea flinched instinctively, curling into Adriane as if seeking safety.

The woman didn't recoil; she simply continued to rub soothing circles along Chelsea's spine, whispering no words, letting the tears fall freely. Slowly, Adriane guided them toward the bed, her movements were careful and deliberate. Chelsea was vaguely aware of the height difference. Adriane towered over her, easily a foot taller, her presence solid. When Adriane settled on the edge of the four-poster, Chelsea allowed herself to be pulled onto her lap.

The young demon rested her head against Adriane's chest, letting herself be cradled, for the first time feeling a small measure of comfort in a world that had just violently rewritten her existence. Even a stranger's touch felt more caring than anything she had recently known, eclipsing the indifference of family and the normalcy she had left behind. Suddenly, loud banging echoed from the door, sharp and urgent.

"Is everything alright in there?" demanded a gruff, unfamiliar voice. Adriane's response was immediate, firm, and calm, projecting authority that contradicted her usually quiet demeanor.

"Everything is fine," she replied, her voice carrying clearly across the room. Chelsea pressed closer against her, letting the steady rhythm of Adriane's hand on her back be the anchor she desperately needed. King Paul – Ten Minutes Prior"Your Excellency, they have made it to the room," the scryer said softly, her voice was careful. King Paul's head snapped toward her. His throat tightened as though the words themselves had choked him.

"A demon? Alexi, why the hell is she a demon!?" His voice cracked, raw with disbelief. He dragged his fingers through his hair until it stood on end, exposing his pale forehead.

"The other kingdoms are not going to be okay with this. They'll burn us at the stake for messing up so bad." Alexi flinched, his face pallid.

"Sir, I don't know. I swear it. I am permitted three requests of the god during summoning. For this, I asked for a child with high intelligence and high morals. I never imagined I would need to specify not a demon. Her Grace, Magalesa, must know what she is doing." The king paced, boots thudding against the stone.

"Magalesa may know, but Valance and Leonide won't care. Our so-called champion, the figurehead who was supposed to unite the people, has just been sent off with the one person who has slaughtered more demons than any other living soul. Do you grasp what that means, Alexi? She'll kill her on instinct if the mood strikes her." Paul turned to the scryer, "What are they saying?" His voice dropped to a low growl, desperate and afraid. The scryer pressed her fingers to her temples, eyes rolled faintly white.

"The champion is speaking in a strange language. I can't… wait." Her voice softened, and then she let out a long breath.

"Adriane is showing her where the clothes are." Both men exhaled, the sound ragged.

"That's better than I expected," Alexi muttered. The silence stretched. The only sound was the king's restless pacing and the faint hum of the scryer's magic.

"It's silent now," she said finally, unease threading her words. They waited, the moments dragging into long, unbearable minutes.

"Still silent. Wait, no. The girl is… crying?" Paul froze mid-step, turning sharply.

"Crying?" His voice sounded smaller now, something close to fatherly.

"She just… started. Neither of them said anything. She's just crying." The king's heart lurched. He sprinted to the door, throwing it open so hard it smacked against the wall.

"You there!" he barked at the nearest guard.

"Hurry to the guest wing. Check on the summoned champion at once!" The guard snapped to attention and sprinted off, disappearing toward the elevator. Paul slammed the door shut and rushed back to the scryer.

"Any change? Speak!" The scryer's hands trembled slightly against her temples.

"She's crying harder, Your Excellency."

"Damn it… what is she doing to her!?" Paul's voice cracked, harsher than he intended. His mind spun with images he didn't want to see: Adriane's hand tightening, a blade sliding free, the girl's life ended before it had even begun here. He swallowed hard, forcing the thoughts back. He hovered near the scryer's table, every second of silence pressing down heavier, the possibility gnawing at him that Adriane might end this herself. The scryer gasped.

"The guard just knocked. Adriane yelled at him."

"Yelled?" The king's face drained of color. His heart hammered so loudly he was certain they all could hear it. Then, silence again. The seconds stretched like hours.

"The girl just went silent," the scryer whispered.

"No, no, no!" The king's shout tore from his throat, his raw panic laid bare.

"The guard just entered," the scryer said quickly, her own breathing ragged.

"They are talking." She paused, listening with head tilted, her whole body tense. And then, finally, relief softened her face.

"Adriane used a sleeping spell on the champion. Her exact words were:'This child was ripped from her world to ours and was turned into a monster. I'd cry too.'" He sank heavily into his chair, but the tension in his shoulders did not ease. His mouth was dry. His heart still raced. Adriane's words cut to the truth he had been refusing to name: the girl wasn't a monster… she was a victim. And yet, in the eyes of the other kingdoms, in the eyes of the people, in the eyes of everyone else, she was a monster.