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Netherwitch - 48
🕑 Added 2025-07-29 16:00:04 +0000 UTC<< Chapter 47 | Table of Contents | Chapter 49 >>
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Chapter 48
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“Do I look alright?”
It was a question Sylvia never thought she’d ask.
She was nervous. A tense conglomerate of fears tumbled in her gut. Was Emmy more like Emily or Esmeralda? Would she be cold and distant or warm and close? What would she think, upon seeing Sylvia after a full year? Would Emmy’s eyes sparkle with that special light?
Or would Sylvia meet flat rejection?
Then there were longer term concerns.
Was this the right choice? Did Sylvia truly love Emily? Perhaps she was deceiving herself. Seeing the illusions she wished were real instead of reality itself. But, even if this were love, was it the right kind of love? Love had many flavors. Sylvia loved Riley….
… but it wasn’t the type of love that made husband and wife.
Wife and wife, she corrected herself.
Because if this panned out, Emmy would have both of them in a bridal dress.
“You’re going to blow her socks off,” Riley encouraged, both thumbs up.
…
“What if she’s not wearing socks?”
Riley snorted.
The two of them were on Gate Point.
No longer were the frames left bare to the environment. Instead, the gates were wrapped by a stone building. Ether lights shined from above, providing bright illumination. A ceiling of gothic arches hid two gargoyles, the beasts leering down with hideous faces.
The floor was smooth stone, polished to a shine. The waygate was set to the right, unshielded. The larger, bulkier interplanar gate was instead shrouded by a rippling ward.
“I still think it’s too much,” Sylvia muttered.
The silver-haired witch craned her neck, viewing herself from different angles.
Sylvia was wearing her Void Raven’s Vestments, complete with their flowery headdress. Once upon a time, Sylvia had complained that the outfit made her look like a doll.
This was more true now than ever.
Cosmetic spells had added color to her nails and lips. She’d contemplated throwing in those pink sparkles Emily so loved, but decided there was cute and then there was cutesy. Therefore, her tails were adorned only by an elegant curl, a pair of earrings glinting beside in the faint light.
To complement sugar with spice, Sylvia had boldly transformed her dress. Her neckline had been extended, revealing swaths of smooth, pale skin. The skirt was shortened, granting a teasing glimpse of her stocking-clad thighs. Finally, Sylvia had modified her shoes. The heeled Mary Janes now met the Ingrid definition of high.
She’d even palette swapped them to pink.
Emily liked it when Sylvia wore pink.
All in all, Sylvia had never felt more like a girl in her life.
“If there’s anything that’s too much, it’s your height,” Riley mocked, making sweeping motions from the top of her head toward that of the other witch. “Just because you have a foot fetish doesn’t mean Emmy has the same.”
“I do not have a foot fetish,” Sylvia said, pronouncing each word distinctly. Her arrogant glare showed her deep disdain. “What I like are legs. Long, sleek, beautiful legs.”
Speaking of legs, hers were very nice. Should she show them off more in the future? With the right shoes and skirt….
No, no, no. Those were the vile murmurs of the abyss. The peak of fashion would always be the hat.
“Uh huh,” Riley sounded. “Which girl was it again who fought all the way across Pyrinas in high heels?”
Lightning crackled in Sylvia’s hand. The freckled blonde jumped back, laughing.
“You’re gorgeous,” the green-eyed witch affirmed. “Now come on. It’s time to meet her.”
Riley made a pushing motion. Sylvia allowed herself to be persuaded.
The two left the hall, the click of Sylvia’s heels echoing in the empty space. Heavy doors opened onto a small island, smooth stone blending with the long path. Since Sylvia had last come to Gate Point, someone had decorated the place by planting trees all around the building.
To her left was Chaos Lagoon. The starry void filled the small harbor, creating a dark pool of twinkling stars. In the distance, Sylvia could see the Utrecht tied to its pier. It’d been a long while since the ship had disembarked.
There was no need to cross the void directly. Instead, a bridge ran over the gap. The other side landed not on the beach but on the peninsula to the right. Between beach and bridge was an outcropping of rock. The hill into which Sylvia had dug her hobbit home.
Now, atop that land, was a white-painted house made of wood and brick.
“I made them this tall because I realized something important,” Sylvia continued to justify.
Riley’s lips quirked. “That you like sexy shoes?”
Sylvia fixed the blonde with eyes of fractal pink. “No. That Emily was perving on me.”
“I’m pretty sure the word you’re looking for is ‘admire,’” Riley returned. The blonde flashed a grin. “And Sylvia, it’s okay for you to like shoes. Just don’t go around projecting your disgusting desires on Emily. Unlike you, she has a pure heart.”
Projecting her love of shoes? Sylvia scoffed. And what was this about a pure heart. Emily was an imp. An evil imp who was always plotting against her.
Her heart fell.
Would Emmy conspire against her like Emily had? Sylvia dearly wished to see the emeraldette’s impish side.
Enough of that. The most important thing was to ensure this trespass against her honor did not stand!
“If Emily was so pure, then why did she have me in stripper heels for most of first year?” Sylvia sneered. She’d seen the truth. Her friend was a black-hearted devil. “Don’t forget, Emily and Esmeralda are the same. And you know how obsessed Emily was about picking out cute shoes for me to wear. Yet, despite that, Ingrid’s misunderstanding was never corrected!”
The conclusion was obvious. Emily had been staring at Sylvia’s butt!
…
Solemnly, Riley patted the silver-haired witch on the shoulder.
“Congratulations, you’ve discovered a terrifying secret,” she said seriously. “Best keep it to yourself, lest you be eternally silenced.”
Har, har, har.
“The good news is, you two are clearly made for each other,” Riley cheered.
Sylvia huffed then gave her tush a proud wiggle. Those one-point-one centimeters she’d gained? It’d all gone to her best part. Her legs!
Two hundred meters of bridge brought them to the peninsula. There the road forked, heading west-north-west and south. The two women followed the path inland, climbing a set of stairs to the crag. The rocky protrusion had been shaped by magic, leaving the top broad and flat. Several terraces had been cut along the side sporting plants and flowers.
Esmeralda was such a traditional lady.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Sylvia banged the knocker three times. Compared to Vallenfelt Manor, this new home was smaller, not much bigger than she’d expect from upper class America. Sylvia wondered how long Emmy would wait before tearing it down and replacing it with a palace.
Nervously, the silver-haired witch waited.
The door opened.
“Little sis!” a cheerful voice called out.
Sylvia gazed down.
Instead of a tall, powerful prisma, Sylvia found herself staring at a cute, chocolate colored girl in a puffy, yellow dress. Golden brown hair spilled down the Belkis’s back in beautiful ringlets. On her head, crooked to the side, sat a little ornamental witch’s hat.
With irises of heated iron, the elemental witch gazed back.
Smiling, Belkis curtsied, her motions smooth and elegant. Sylvia returned the greeting on automatic, debating in her mind whether she could get away with pinching the prisma’s cheeks.
“You look so adorable, little sis,” the tiny witch gushed, leaning to either side to peer at her junior sister. “Master is going to be so excited to see you.”
Sylvia’s gaze turned to Riley, her expression like that of a dead fish.
“My little sister can’t be this cute.”
Belkis’s smile transformed into a cold glower.
“Who’s your little sister?” Belkis demanded darkly. Eyes of molten iron roiled. “I’m a hundred years your senior, brat. I only look like this because master forced me to transmigrate three months ago.”
The concept of age varied wildly between bloodlines. While asteri were born into their late teens and aged up into their mid-twenties over a century, an elemental witch restarted their life in their tween years after transmigration. It’d take a full decade before Belkis reclaimed her height and maturity.
Which gave Sylvia plenty of time to tease her.
“Objectively speaking, it’s clear which sister is big and which sister is little,” Sylvia continued, tone dry.
Belkis turned with a huff. “I’ll bring you to master.”
The little witch lead them into the house. Sylvia followed, her lips curling to show her mirth.
Sylvia’s first impression of Emmy’s new house was empty. The architecture showed a rich elegance, the walls and floors shaped for beauty. The design was a depiction of Esmeralda’s high-class taste. But the interior lacked the expected furnishings. No paintings, few vases, and little art. Even the furniture she had expected was missing.
In fact, the house barely looked lived in at all.
The three of them crossed through two room before stepping out a door and into the back.
A brilliant haze fell upon a broad green lawn. The sun was fiery, the heat of Starlight’s jungle clinging to the air like a sweltering blanket in summer. Sylvia could feel her clothes stick to her skin. The fey did not sweat. This discomfort was symptom of world logic, an aspect of the material world translated into the ethereal without rationality or reason.
Waiting for them was the most beautiful woman Sylvia had ever seen.
Gorgeous hair spilled down Esmeralda’s back, a cascade of emeralds glimmering in the dazzling light. Her skin was perfect, a healthy peach glowing in the sun. The color was just a shade darker than Sylvia’s own. The witch’s figure was flawlessly feminine: slim, sleek leg, the swell of her hips, the curve of her breasts, her delicate frame. Esmeralda was an impeccable princess, an angel captured in an impure world.
The woman smiled. Hers was the face of a cherub graced by the elegance of an aristocrat.
For a moment, Sylvia’s breath stopped.
Esmeralda Vallenfelt.
Emily Clark.
The girl Sylvia had dubbed ‘Emmy’.
Sylvia moved more out of habit than thought. The witch curtsied, her poise and posture the picture of ladylike grace. The tiny Belkis echoed Sylvia’s motion both their voices chiming in concert.
“Teacher.” “Master.”
With light hands, Esmeralda lifted the hem of her white dress. Lady Vallenfelt dipped, returning a curtsy of her own. Her smooth motion was pure elegance. Esmeralda had always been elegant, from her manners to her dress. Even today, her simple white dress hid a depth of embroidered patterns. Blue ties ran up the palette, adding a dash of color and sophistication. On her head was a broad brimmed sunhat, adorned in the back with a beautiful, blue bow.
“Sylvia, Belkis, Riley. Welcome to my home,” she greeted. Her eyes twinkled, pausing on the freckled blonde. She laughed lightly. “Though it seems Riley has forgotten Charm Club already.”
Realizing her faux pas, Riley hastily did her best to curtsy. Emmy replied with another.
Sylvia snickered under her breath.
“Master, you don’t have to – ” Belkis started, looking aghast at her teacher’s greeting.
“Shush, my dear,” Emmy interrupted. “The Cloud Island Wilderness does not recognize anyone as noble. Therefore, I am owed no special courtesy. And, I must remind, if anyone were due such ceremony, it would be Governor Swallows.”
“I don’t recall creating any laws to that effect,” Sylvia commented, eyes half lidded.
She stepped closer. Eyes of umbral green gazed into a universe of fractal pink. Sylvia stared into Esmeralda’s sparkling nebula, captured by an impossible beauty that surpassed the pillars of creation.
“A lady needs not rules to show her manners,” Emmy answered easily, gaze lingering on the silver-haired witch. Then her umbral eyes swept over the group. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Esmeralda Vallenfelt, formerly a baroness of Hell and now the mayor of Starport. Sylvia knew me well as both Emily and Lady Vallenfelt, but Riley and I never properly met except in my younger form.”
“Riley Smith,” the blonde replied. Riley scratched her cheek, wearing an uncomfortable smile. “But you already know that.”
“Indeed. I am even aware of how you splay yourself on the bed every morning,” Emmy commented.
Riley laughed shamelessly. Esmeralda’s eyes skipped back to the silver-haired witch.
“And aren’t you a sight,” she said, swirling a finger. “Turn around, my dear, so I can take a look at you.”
Dutifully, Sylvia span in place, making sure to showing off her altered dress. She nervously awaited the verdict.
“Oh, you’re even more adorable than I remember,” Emmy complimented. Sly, umbral eyes slid over to the blonde tomboy. “Since when does she spin?”
Riley’s lips quirked. “Sylvia’s been getting more and more girly since she Awakened.”
“And I missed it,” Emmy lamented. “What a pity.”
Sylvia nailed the freckled blonde with a glower.
Back turned, the emerald-haired witch led them to a gazebo. The covered porch overlooked the sandy beach. To one side of the pale strip was dense jungle, a sea of deep green hiding all manner of phantasmal beasts. White capped mountains could be seen further to the south. When venturing to Pyrinas, Emily and Sylvia had crossed over their tops, disturbing great flocks of eagles.
To the other side lay Chaos Lagoon, a harbor of night. Further out, past the shield islands, was a stretch of darkness before the Great Gyre. The stars churned, twisting at the boundary of the plane. A seething swirl that marked the edge of this world.
The silver-haired witch pulled back a wicker chair.
A smile graced Sylvia’s lips.
This wasn’t one Sylvia made. Sylvia had brought her old chair with her to Axis. Right now, it sat within the walls of the Starlight Residence. The spell to create it, however, had come from a book bought at the Tomes of Tartarus. Magic she’d shared with Emily.
…
Wait a minute.
Sylvia’s pastel pink eyes narrowed, taking in the slab of textured stone beneath. Around the edges were writ runes, an enchantment to cool the sweltering air.
This was her porch.
The evil witch had stolen her porch!
“Nice view from up here,” Riley commented as she sat.
“It was nicer from the beach,” Sylvia groused.
Emmy giggled. The sudden girlish chime snatched Sylvia’s attention. By the time her head turned, the woman’s face had already been schooled back into cool formality.
However, a slight, impish smile lingered.
Sylvia’s heart thumped.
Emily’s visage overlapped with that of Esmeralda. For a single moment, Sylvia witnessed the distinctions between the two women. The baroness was slighter than before. Her figure a touch more cute and fragile. In her hair, a hint of brown marred her otherwise perfect locks.
“Today, I have summoned you to discuss our relationship,” Emmy said, her words cool and firm like those of Baroness Vallenfelt. “And yes, Belkis, this very much includes you. To start, I request that you refrain from calling me master.”
Belkis pressed her lips, steely eyes stubborn.
The word ‘master’ when spoken by Belkis had a meaning similar to ‘sensei’ or ‘teacher’. Buried in those depths was even a hint of the word ‘mother’. Belkis was very proud of her relationship with Esmeralda Vallenfelt. The prisma had even gone so far as to adopt the surname ‘von Vallenfelt.’
But master had a negative meaning throughout most of the western cultures of Earth. It was a particularly loaded term coming from a black lady directed at a white woman.
Emmy understood this, because she was also Emily who’d grown up on Earth.
When Belkis stayed silent, Esmeralda’s umbral eyes sharpened. The emerald-haired witch called forth the authority of Lady Vallenfelt.
“Enough,” she said sharply. Her dark green eyes were like the vacuum of space. “You have spent sufficient time around the gamers from Earth. You know how uncomfortable that word makes them feel. Furthermore, we are near the same age. We are as much peers as student and teacher. I ask you to treat me as your friend and companion, just as I would treat Riley and Sylvia.
“This is not a request, you will refer to me as Esmeralda or Emmy.”
The little, dark-skinned girl’s head hung.
Esmeralda patted Belkis’s hand.
“Belkis, you are and always will be, my dear apprentice. I am not asking you to surrender my name. Indeed, I was quite happy when you named yourself ‘von Vallenfelt.’”
“Yes…, teacher,” Belkis mumbled.
Emmy sighed.
“Kids,” Sylvia stated, nodding wisely.
Belkis’s head snapped up. Sylvia was impervious to the prisma’s glare. Recently, her level had reached 574. Her cute little sister couldn’t have passed 200, even accounting for her reclaimed soul essence.
Emmy’s elegant titter was as charming as Emily’s giggle.
“Sometimes, I think I made a mistake when designing my bloodline,” the emeraldette said. “Just imagine how it could’ve been. A school filled with cute little witches, all of them growing up as the years passed.”
“Could Riley have endured the trial of being shorter than she already is?” Sylvia questioned. “But it would’ve been fun. We could’ve watched her cling desperately to her dream only to realize the bitter truth ten years later.”
“I’d rather imagine all the ways Emily would’ve dressed you up,” Riley delivered in snide retort.
“Sylvia would’ve been so, so adorable,” Emmy agreed.
Belkis laughed. “My little sister is already adorable.”
Sylvia ignored the vile insults to her character. Instead, she leaned forward and snagged the pot sitting at the table’s center. Golden liquid poured from the spout to fill a charming little cup.
“Tea?” She questioned. Then she gave an expression of approval. “Wise choice. There are parties here who are far too young to be drinking alcohol.”
“Even her defensiveness is so cute,” Emmy commented, conspiring with the elemental witch.
“You should shrink her down and make her wear that outfit you showed me,” Belkis gossiped back. “The one with all those bows and ribbons. What were those for? Magical girls, I think you called them.”
Sylvia froze for half a second, a chill of terror running down her spine.
Riley took the pot.
“I haven’t been to a tea party since I was eight,” she said. She looked around the table. “I’ll admit, I’m feeling a little under dressed.”
Of the four of them, Riley was the plainest. The freckled witch was wearing her old school uniform. The one with navy blue robes and an emerald dress underneath.
“Oh, I’m sure I can find something lovely for you to wear next time you visit,” Emmy observed, nebulous eyes gleaming.
Riley waved her off. “I’ll find a nice sundress or something.” She glanced down. “And maybe some fancier shoes to go with it.”
Sylvia leaned back in her chair, letting it rock. She sipped her tea. Not bad. More flowery than she would have liked, but not bad.
“I helped Mas – ,” the dark-skinned girl winced at the hard glare. “Teacher with the recipe.”
Belkis lifted her own cup, copying the delicate way Emmy lifted both vessel and saucer.
Hell didn’t have a tradition akin to tea parties. Instead, demons were fond of alcohol. Depending on whether the party was meant to be rowdy or sedate, the strength and abundance would vary. The Fey Federation did have something similar, but Charm Club had never touched on the subject.
Thus, Riley’s lucky escape.
Sylvia, on the other hand, had endured several fey style tea parties. Kyna, back then, had been the director, providing lesson every Sunday. It wasn’t until the Sunday Course leading up to the Young Demon’s Tournament that Sylvia was able to escape.
It was because of those traumatic days that Sylvia knew something dreadfully important was missing.
“Where are the biscuits?” she asked.
Biscuits meaning cookies and cookies meaning yum. The lack of biscuits left the witch feeling cheated. This was Sylvia’s first tea party after Awakening. Here she was, a true girl, and there were no biscuits.
Emmy was slipping.
The evil witch should’ve known better. How was Esmeralda going to brainwash Sylvia when she missed out on something this basic? These were formative memories. A perfect opportunity to color Sylvia’s experience.
And there were no biscuits!
“Regretfully, I couldn’t find any that satisfied,” Emmy lamented.
“The plane’s cuisine is lacking,” Sylvia admitted.
The silver-haired witch’s greatest regret was not buying a few cooking manuals back at Tartarus.
Emmy’s umbral eyes fell upon Riley.
“And this brings me to you, Riley Smith,” the emerald-haired woman said in steady tones. “Originally, I thought to make you a disciple in name. However, with the changes brought by the System along with the social differences between Hell and the Cloud Island Wilderness, this act no longer holds any meaning.”
“Then I’m glad you spared me Sylvia’s lessons in etiquette,” Riley joked.
Sylvia didn’t miss the ladylike way the blonde sipped her tea. And Riley dared claim Sylvia was too girly to be her tomboy buddy.
“I’m sure you’d fit in nicely, given a proper education,” Emmy said elegantly. Clack. She set cup and saucer back on the table, expression serious. “However, that is not to be. Riley, you are a dear friend, however our relationship must change.”
Sylvia’s lips tightened. Riley set down her own cup. She didn’t like where this was going.
“Do not misunderstand me. It is fine for us to be like this in private. You may even call me Emmy or Emily, if you wish,” Emmy continued. “However, in public, I ask that you maintain formal distance.”
Riley’s green eyes were intense. “Why’s that?”
“Though you were quite lax in your studies, you’ve always struck me as sharp, Riley Smith,” Emmy said smoothly. “Wealth and power are potent allures. I’m certain you have noticed how these factors influence those who gather around you. And, no doubt, you’ve met those wishing to use you to reach Sylvia and, in the future, myself.”
The freckled blonde grimaced. Riley shot an apologetic glance in the silver-haired girl’s direction.
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Power is like a pyramid,” Esmeralda explained, her finger tracing the rim of her cup. “When you stand at the base, even should the breadth expand, your altitude will not change. But for those who stand at the peak, even the slightest growth will push them ever higher.
“Ceremonies and formalities serve a purpose. They create boundaries and help make important moments distinct. Unless you intend to seek power of your own, it is best there stands a layer between us in public. This is a form of protection, for you as well as myself.”
“You guessed right. I’m not one high society,” Riley admitted. “I’d rather run free doing the things I want.”
“I thought as much,” Lady Vallenfelt accepted. “You will, of course, be welcome in my home. But please refer to me as Esmeralda outside of it.”
“So long as you don’t expect me to curtsy,” the freckled blonde joked.
Emmy laughed gently. “Then it is most fortunate there is no such custom on this plane.”
“I suppose the same holds for me too,” Sylvia inserted.
“No. Your situation is different. You are already a person of public import,” Emmy refuted. Then her gaze switched to the elemental witch. “And Belkis is seen, by most, as an extension of my power. Rather, the both of you should take care to separate yourself from Riley during formal affairs.”
“Governor Swallows, founder of the plane!” Riley declared, raising her teacup as though in toast. “Sylvia’s as public as you can get. She even had a statue dedicated in her honor.”
“And I’m the number one ranker on the merit board and the level charts,” Sylvia added shamelessly.
“Precisely,” Emmy said. “No matter how close we appear to others, it will change little. People will seek power through you regardless.”
The day the Cloud Island Wilderness replaced her as governor, Sylvia would seriously consider becoming a hermit.
Not that it’d help. As Emmy said. She was at the top of the pyramid. Even if Sylvia tried running down the edge, the plane was going to grow so fast she’d be thrust into the stratosphere.
“Now then, let us put these matters aside for the moment,” Emmy said. Her eyes sparkled. “Riley, you absolutely must tell me all the cute things Sylvia has done while I was gone.”
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“I was wondering what you’d done with the place,” Sylvia said.
The asteri’s hand trailed over the wooden planks. They were descending a set of spiral stairs, Esmeralda at the head. The emerald-haired witch had kept the theme Sylvia had set, stone walls covered in a layer of wood. On the ceiling were ether light orbs, set into sockets as though it were a modern home.
“It would be silly to neglect the resurrection pool we constructed,” Emmy replied.
“Ah,” Sylvia noised.
“I sent three of the four basins to Starport,” the woman explained. “One was enough to support myself and the gargoyles.”
Sylvia nodded. Given how tight they’d been on materials, her decision made sense. Back then, there had been two adventurous witches drawing on the pool. Now, it was a lone homebody who wasn’t taking any meaningful risk. Starport’s resurrection pool had to serve greater numbers.
Until the crunch loosened, nothing could be left to waste.
By comparison, Axis had it easy. Sylvia had filled the pool at the Beginner’s Village by piping water straight from Yaalon Lake.
“You stole my porch,” Sylvia said, changing the subject.
The witch giggled. A light happy sound Sylvia never imagined coming from Esmeralda.
“I blocked off the basement entrance,” Emmy explained, hiding the childish mirth behind a mask of seriousness. “Also. It’s my porch. Did you forget who enchanted it?”
In Sylvia’s fantasy, Emmy stuck out her tongue.
In reality, the lady merely looked put out.
“Our porch,” Sylvia relented.
“Our porch,” Emmy agreed before ruthlessly adding, “put to better use.”
Thief!
At the bottom of the stairs was a small room leading into a hall. Beyond was the door to their bedroom. To the right, lay the path that once led to the jungle beside the beach. To the left was the resurrection pool.
Esmeralda opened the bedroom door.
Astral energy hung in the air, thick enough to coalesce into black wisps. The furniture had been stripped, leaving a single bed, a meditation mat, and a set of shelves. A place of memories forever lost.
Like Emily herself.
“You turned it into a cultivation room,” Sylvia said, voice heavy.
“I spent many days here during my seclusion,” Emmy said wistfully. “In part, to reclaim my strength, but also to comb through my memories. I reread my notebooks and diaries, using spells to relive the important moments of my life. I looked into my own heart, gazing deep into the abyss of feeling.
“When two souls become one, you see the world in double. Two thoughts, overlapping. A pair of voices speaking, their time offset. Most often, the words are shared. In others cases, the sentences differ while the meanings rhyme. In a quiet place, the mind grows still like a lake. That is the best moment to unearth the discrepancy.”
A lingering silence stood between them. Her mouth was dry. Her nerves sung. Sylvia had to say it, but she feared what would come after.
“About us,” Sylvia ventured weakly.
“That is precisely why I brought you here.” Esmeralda turned, umbral green eyes gazing into pastel pink. “I know what Emily asked of you. And from the way you have dressed yourself for this encounter, I conclude you intend to seduce me.”
Sylvia’s cheeks warmed. “Is it working?”
Emmy set two delicate fingers on her chin, tilting her head just so. “While your efforts move my heart and I find your appearance lovely, my eye cannot help but be drawn to the patterns misplaced by your sloppy transfiguration.”
…
Slowly, Sylvia’s gaze turned down.
Apple crumb cake.
A little laugh rose in the Emmy’s throat. She stifled it behind a smile.
“You will become more skilled with practice,” the emerald-haired woman appeased. Then the glint in her eyes turned clear. “But I must remind you, I am not the Emily you knew. Nor am I the Esmeralda you remember.”
Sylvia closed her eyes.
This was the truth.
But did it matter?
Before the kiss on Faded Star, Sylvia had never thought to chase Emily. It was only at that moment, with them sitting so close, the fear of loss hanging on the horizon, Sylvia had realized how precious the emeraldette had become.
“I know,” Sylvia breathed.
Sylvia’s path had been clouded by doubt. She’d kept her distance not from pure, selfless desire but because her heart had been plagued with questions. Was this love? Was this what she wished for? By embracing these feelings, would she find happiness or ruin?
Could Sylvia become Emily’s girlfriend when all her instincts insisted she be a boyfriend instead? And was she willing to be with her precious friend, knowing the emeraldette dreamed her a princess?
Then slumber broke.
Awakening washed clean the shadows clinging to her soul, filling her core with the light of the morning sun. Clarity brought purpose, but even that wasn’t enough to resolve all uncertainty. Sylvia still couldn’t say this was the right path. How could she? Many things in life could only be understood once experienced.
But she did know one thing for sure. She’d been in love. And she wanted to reclaim it.
Emmy wasn’t Emily. But Emmy had Emily’s heart. A heart that belonged to her. Just as Sylvia’s heart belonged to Emily.
“Then you are firm in your intent to pursue me,” Esmeralda noted, sounding perfectly like her older self. The witch sat on the bed. With a gentle hand, she patted the spot beside her. “Did I ever explain why it was that I disdained men?”
Sylvia crossed the room, accepting Emmy’s invitation. The warmth and smell were familiar. Yet, there was a distance. A gap Emily would’ve unhesitatingly crossed.
“You didn’t.”
“I remember telling you of the revolution.”
Sylvia’s lips quirked. “Where the evil liberals tried to overthrow the righteous king and install a madness called democracy.”
“Yes. It was seven years past the war’s end. The scars of revolution still clung to the land and therefore all things liberal were considered a foul stain, proof one might conspire to bring back the days of terror,” Esmeralda recalled. “But I knew naught of it. I was but a thirteen-year-old child, the daughter of a count. Sheltered by my father’s domain, I lived in blissful ignorance.
“Like many girls that age, I experienced a crush. Unlike most, my persuasions were to women. A village girl,” Emmy closed her eyes. “I don’t even remember her name, but I can still see her face. She was very pretty. Being young, I conjured all sorts of foolish fantasies. I convinced myself I was in love and that she would love me back. Captured by this illusion, I approached her.”
Esmeralda’s sigh was heavy with regret.
“That was my first kiss.”
Sylvia’s expression turned. Emmy read her face perfectly.
“Yes, as an adult, my error is obvious,” Esmeralda said. “How can a peasant refuse a noble? But remember, back then I was a child. A true child. Not like Emily, whose immaturity hid a wisdom forged by centuries.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Sylvia mumbled.
“It need not be said. The day has haunted me for a century.” Emmy’s hand settled on Sylvia’s. Soft, delicate fingers resting on her own. “What happened next is obvious. My father learned of what transpired and was horrified. For a woman to lust for another woman was liberalism. The merest hint of this perversion could see my entire family sent to the block.”
Her hand clenched, tight and painful. Esmeralda’s distant words turned to ice.
“My father had the girl silenced,” she said with chilling force. “I only learned of this decades after. At the time, I’d been locked in my room. Only my father’s most trusted servants were allowed to visit. I remained there for a month while my father found a specialist to ‘fix’ me.”
Sylvia’s own hand tightened. She didn’t know how things worked in Ayu, but she’d heard enough horror stories about ‘conversion therapy’ to guess.
“Durward was a sick and twisted man,” Esmeralda said with clinical precision. “Even now, it is difficult for me to say it, but I was lucky to be nobility. It was only because of my position I was spared his worst. Nevertheless, he afflicted me with his crude dream magic while engaging in every perversion short of ‘raping me straight.’”
“Wait,” Sylvia interrupted in shock. “He used dream magic?”
Dream was an advanced element of the life domain. It combined the attributes of soul and psychic, altering the core of personality rather than shading the mind with new meaning. If psychic magic was like alcohol, transformative but passing, then dream magic was akin to cracking open a man’s skull and rearranging the circuitry within.
The elements soul, dream, and mutation were the most feared in the netherworld for a reason.
“You heard correct,” Emmy answered, her voice holding an edge of hate.
“How?” she questioned in disbelief.
While on Tartarus, Belkis had been afflicted with a Duat Dream Drop. Not knowing the source of her pollution, the prisma had become convinced her soul had been altered. The witch was driven into despair, thinking her heart permanently bent to serve a man she found repugnant.
Luckily, no dream magic was involved. Despite its name, the dream drop only used the element to dissolve itself into the soul. The influence it projected was purely psychic.
“The Heavenly Will cannot interfere with mortals,” Esmeralda spat, her tone holding an arctic chill. “It was one of the accords struck lest Heaven splinter before the Will could be created.”
Sylvia frowned. Then she sighed, giving Emmy’s hand a comforting squeeze.
“I see. It’s one of the exceptions, like those granted to the orthodox lineages.”
In the Ancient Era, there were both demons and monsters. The two fought brutal, genocidal wars. The word demon, at the time, had a different meaning. Demons were those from bloodlines which were mostly human. Monsters, by contrast, were the opposite.
Inhuman in body. Inhuman in mind. Monsters were twisted abominations. A horror inflicted on the soul, stripping away all humanity.
But where, precisely, lay the line separating man from monster?
This wasn’t a small question. The Heavenly Will had been created to ensure the sanctity of the soul. Werewolves had inhuman form, did the spread of this bloodline constitute a sin? Succubi possessed a heightened libido, was this a harm imposed upon a helpless soul?
Or, to abandon the hypothetical, was it a heinous crime when Esmeralda transformed Eric Swallow into a witch?
Heaven, at the time, was a loose union forged from many tribes. There were purist among them who believed that all lineages beyond the celestial should be purged. Clans from atypical bloodlines rightly feared Heaven’s intent. To absolve these worries, Heaven set down a series of accords. A list of exceptions where the Will’s right to judge karma would be stricken.
As for the monsters still eking out an existence on the far planes? Woe be on them.
“By the time Count Vallenfelt realized Durward’s madness, it was far too late,” Esmeralda continued. “My soul was warped and my world shattered. The thirteen-year-old girl was dead. The only thing left inside of me was a broken creature filled with anger and hate.”
“Given the circumstances, I understand why you came to hate men,” Sylvia consoled.
Emmy lifted a finger and placed it on Sylvia’s lips. Her smile was gentle. The witch gazed into Sylvia’s pastel pink eyes, her own a beautiful nebula.
“You misunderstand. At the time, what I hated was my father, Durward, and the society that despised me. I never hated men in general, not even as Lord of Vallen,” she corrected. The witch straightened. “Knowing not what to do with me, my father had me sent to a convent. There, I recovered and learned my love of magic. Later, I would proceed to the tower to be taught the higher mysteries.
“Alas, Durward was not done with me. Though the man himself had been executed, his magic clung to my soul like a stain. In a manner of speaking, he had succeeded. For a brief few decades, I could see the handsomeness of men. Only, when I felt that desire, it conjured an agonizing pain as though I were grasping shards of glass.
“Souls heal. Death and transmigration heal further. Therefore, as the years passed, the agony became ache. Then, when I gave up mortal flesh, that ache became little more than a noxious feeling. The light I lost returned to me. Women again held their special beauty. But I was already old. The scars of experience ran deep. I had lifetimes where the presence of a man always brought suffering.”
Sylvia nodded. “I see. That’s the real reason then.”
“Yes, which brings us to the Esmeralda you knew,” Emmy confirmed. “But one life remains, Emily Clark. As Emily, I was both cursed and blessed. My mother died when I was two years old. Knowing my past, you can surely understand my reluctance. To be raised by a single father was a nightmare. But Walter proved himself the man Count Vallenfelt was not.”
Emmy gazed up at the ceiling.
“I remember the day clearly. I was drawing a picture,” the witch shot a quick look, silencing a teasing smile. “It is not like you think. I remind you, as Emily, I was both a child and an adult, so my drawing skills were quite adept. My father, being the loving fellow he is, wished to appeal to my ladylike sensibilities. So he drew me a prince.”
A happy, impish smile grew on Esmeralda’s lips.
“I was quite cross. ‘Why do I have to marry a prince?’ Walter, dear that he was, corrected his error. With a colored pencil, he drew over my prince, transforming him into a princess. It was at that very moment I, Esmeralda Vallenfelt, finally healed.”
Emmy turned to face Sylvia, her fingers curling gently around Sylvia’s own.
“Sylvia Swallows, I wish you to know, I am not a woman who has known love. In my first two centuries, I was too damaged. As Lord of Vallen, my position and ambition eclipsed such interests. To be frank, I thought myself above such childish notions. Love? Hogwash. There is no such thing.”
Esmeralda’s eyes gleamed like those of a predatory cat.
“But Emily’s feelings were far purer. You are, my dear, an extraordinarily cute girl. More importantly, you have a trait she found endlessly fascinating. You see, you were a prince she could transform into a princess.”
Sylvia laughed, smile wane. “I was pretty much the opposite of a prince.”
“Ah, but you were a prince in her heart. And the way you squirm when I transform you is such a delight,” Emmy said, smiling like an evil imp. The witch leaned closer. “It seems Durward’s magics have left me with something of a kink. The prospect of fishing out every bit of masculinity inside of you and crushing it excites me.”
Well, now Sylvia knew where Emily’s creepy obsession came from.
But….
“What happens when there is nothing left to find?”
“Then you will be very, very beautiful, my dear Sylvia. And I am fond of beautiful women,” Esmeralda supplied. “Particularly competent ones. And you seem quite intent on becoming my equal.”
Equal? Sylvia fully intended to surpass her.
The woman straightened, smokey tones becoming crisp.
“Sylvia, I am open to a relationship with you. The feelings Emily had, I do not wish to deny them. However, as I am different from her, I cannot say for certain we are fit for one another.” Emmy’s gaze was stern. “Therefore, if we are to pursue this course, let us be betrothed. If, in the years that come, we find ourselves without objections we shall marry.”
…
The silver-haired witch had a weird feeling, like she’d walked her character into a boss arena only for the boss to glitch and die before combat started.
“You don’t have to provide your answer now,” Esmeralda appended, tone falling.
Eyes of fractal pink gazed into a green abyss. Behind the cold, stalwart demeanor of Esmeralda, Sylvia caught a glimpse of Emily’s fragile heart.
Resolved, Sylvia leaned forward.
Their lips touched.
Sylvia would’ve liked to say it was beautiful. That it was perfect. In fact, it was awkward. Sylvia barely knew what she was doing. Embarrassed, the witch drew back. Emmy sat there, frozen, twin nebula’s caught in perfect stillness. A sudden thrill raced through Sylvia’s heart.
“Is that answer enough?” she smirked.
-oOo-
Common Traits
Heart of Wisdom
* 85% Hp
* 125% Mp
* 125% mana regeneration rate
* +15% sensitivity to magic
Nether cores support the stability and function of the phantasmal body. Every core represents a vital organ the loss of which may result in death. Compared to the common core, this one provides greater mana and mana regeneration in exchange for reduced blood essence and ki reserves.
The heart of wisdom is well attuned to the ethereal energies. Those possessing this heart will have a +15% awareness/mysticism bonus to sensing magical forces. In addition, this core will transmute ether into mana more quickly, ensuring faster recovery.
Inner Grimoire
* Rune Storage: 1 rune per a level
* Casting speed: Instant
* Cooldown: 3 minutes
The inner grimoire is a trait common to Hecates Magissa Prisma – the elemental witch. It is also found in the gamers of the mage class – Ouranios Paiktias Magos. This trait allows spells to be stored within the grimoire by priming it. Stored spells may then be cast with trivial effort and thought. There is no limit to the number of spells stored, only to the number of runes. Therefore, an inner grimoire with a 100 rune limit could carry 10 copies of water shield or 1 water shield and 1 lightning lance.
Each rune slot has an independent cooldown. Once the rune slot has recovered, the spell must be primed again. Priming is achieved by mentally completing the rune chain and sealing it in the grimoire. Dispersing an incorrectly formed spell demands a new cooldown. Primed spells require about fifteens seconds of adaption before they can be released.
While the inner grimoire is theoretically instant, requiring only a single action to release the spell, there are many limits to the real world casting speed. Advanced spells often consist of modules, which themselves must be substituted per the situation. Therefore, for the higher level magics, it’s common for a prisma to use their grimoire to complete 70% to 90% of a spell then finish the rest through traditional casting.
Further, advanced magics often demand the runic chain be itself tied or knotted. This action must be completed manually by the prisma, otherwise the spell will fizzle.
Of course, those with an inner grimoire can use the long runic chains found in magic items to avoid these obstacles, but that would mean wasting most of the grimoire’s potential.
Comments
awelonblue
Inner grimoire has its limitations. It's really great for basic and advanced magics, but it becomes less useful for high magics where spells tend to have huge rune sequences and a more modular structure. The grimoire is good at the start of a duel (or with a little breathing time) but each spell in the grimoire can only be used once then must be rebuilt after some delay. Meanwhile, mana regeneration is usually something that occurs over 8 hours. Even a 100% boost won't really impact a duel, only a long term siege or work scenario. Ether affinity, in contrast, can shave critical seconds off the time it takes a staff or inner palace to recharge in a duel. I think Esmeralda was designing Asteri for a strong end game, while Mage is a very balanced foundation.
Mintcakes
Oh, it will be really interesting to see a mature Sylvia with her own style. As a plot twist, it would be hilarious if she ends up becoming Lucifer's loyal secretary and confidant.
MadGod
I feel like mana regeneration is better than ether affinity, and while naturing ether is convenient, it's easily replaceable with items. Astral cores lose out here. Then there's the improved ether palaces and inner grimoires, which are just plain cheats in duels. Except for their eyes, asteri seem inferior to mages in every respect.
