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25 — Corporeal
🕑 Added 2025-07-02 19:09:30 +0000 UTCIshmere
Ishmere woke from her slumber, and not pleasantly. No, waking from her slumber was the last thing she wanted to do, but she was dragged awake. She didn't wake up on a bed but in empty space. She was inside a room, and not just any room—her room. It was darker than the night, lightless and completely silent, not a single particle making noise. Even as she walked around it, she found that her footsteps made no sound, but she could see ripples in the dark where she had walked.
She heard something clink behind her, and a mirror popped into place. Much like her body, she could see reflective light off it, and yet it was clear in all its shape, its color flat. A mirror in the dark, something to avoid, or run from—but no. She approached it.
She stood in front of it for what felt like an eternity. There was something there, something like her shape, but no face. It was featureless, completely wrong. It felt hollow. She tried touching the glass, but her hands would shiver and vibrate when she got close.
It cracked, and a long misshapen streak started tearing through it, and then another crack and one more. Sudden extreme cold chilled her, coming from the mirror. She pulled her hands away and took a step back as the mirror started collapsing into shards.
The thing that represented her was gone, and total darkness stared back at her—an abyss. Faces started popping up: familiar faces, family members from two lifetimes, some were victims of people she had killed, others were lovers she had abandoned and people she had betrayed—and was that a child? No, her child. The child moved, her little hand pushing out of the mirror. Ishmere stood cold and tranquil. The child's hands reached for her face. Ishmere didn't scream, yet she shivered on the inside. She just stared at the small thing touching her.
She did not remember this child, but she knew it was hers. She knew. The faces in the background didn't move; they kept looking at her, not in outrage or accusation but in blankness, futility.
A sharp, piercing object ruptured through her insides. Ishmere gasped, breathless and in shock. A blade pierced her stomach, impaling her. Blood gushed out of her mouth and the child recoiled. She turned her back, and someone stood there—someone familiar, someone she trusted, smiling at her.
***
Ishmere lurched from the bed, shouting and thrashing. She was wet with sweat, gasping for air, hand on her stomach. She lifted her nightgown, placing her hand where the blade had impaled her. It was closed; there was no hole, no gushing blood. It was just a dream and she—she, Ishmere, an immortal—was alive. Alive and well.
She didn't hover or wander; she was tangible, and she was hungry—again.
The door to the tavern bedroom was kicked open. A girl with pitch-black obsidian hair stood in front of her, wearing a dark frock and pink slippers. A broom was held in her hand, gripped like it was a spear, ready to kill. And she was pointing it at Ishmere.
"Why the fuck are you screaming bloody murder? I thought someone bent you over a barrel!"
Ishmere's eyes took some time to adjust—she hadn't been looking through physical eyeballs in a couple of years. Had she hidden behind the state of being a spirit, she'd be a bit more comfortable. But as it was, she was slightly shy and ashamed of her behavior. She had coerced Rennia into doing the deed twice. The first time had been because she had used her magic to egg her on. The second was partial manipulation, part playing to the chessboard.
Ishmere giggled. Rennia was cute, much like Ilna was once. And she was well built—built to serve her, if she was a megalomaniac, which she wasn't. She wondered why Ilna had abandoned her. But perhaps it was time for a change in personality.
"What in the hells are you giggling about? Is this another one of your weird quirks?"
Ishmere nearly choked. Was she referring to the fact that Ishmere was indeed a clinical nymphomaniac? But she wasn't about to tell Rennia that—it would chase her away. "Apologies, I had a nightmare. Haven't had one in—"
"In years, okay, I get it. But there's no need to give me a heart attack. I've had like five yesterday—at least let me rest in peace." Rennia dangled the heel of her slipper. Ishmere could see that she felt awkward or that she was being thrust into an awkward situation. She didn't blame the girl if she resented her. But they had a short term, unofficial, mutually agreed arrangement, at least for a few days.
"I'm really sorry. It's just so strange being alive again, you know? And not wandering and stuff."
"And not fucking goblins and passersby to maintain your connection to the world, yeah, I get it. Totally relatable stuff." Rennia let her broom fall to the ground and then stared at her, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, and silent annoyance on her face. "So what do I call you? Lady Ishmere, boss lady, 'master,' or Matron?"
Ishmere shook her head. "Goddess no, Ishmere is fine. Even if you decide take on a position as a 'student' or my 'companion.'" She sighed. Maybe this arrangement was going to take a lot more work than she hoped. Then there was the fact, that she was still leading Rennia on—the real arrangement has yet to be binded by magic. "Just call me Ishmere, or master if you really want."
Rennia looked away. There was a hollowness in her eyes. If everything she had told Ishmere had been true, then the world she grew up in had abandoned her. And she was practically the only one left, in a sense, or the last thing tethered to her. But there was opportunity in that. If she was going to reach the heights of her ambition, like her last two attempts, she'd need someone loyal, subservient, and trusting.
Rennia was a godsend, and she wouldn't squander any moment of it. But now wasn't the time for that—at least not for a short while. She needed rest, and soon she needed power.
Ishmere's stomach growled, horribly so.
It pained, even, like her body was reminding her that she shouldn't even have survived that long in a preserved body. It was only thanks to the ambient mana that her body reproduced that she survived. The spider likely used her body to milk mana, to sustain itself. Though, it would've been quite the sight to see.
"Rennia?"
Rennia, who was ready to leave her to her misery, turned. "Yes, my 'master'?"
"I'm starving," she pleaded, making sure to make her eyes grow larger than they humanly should, a little bit of magic for sparkling and glossy bits, and the whole affair would be settled.
Rennia tried looking away with a scowl. She scrunched up her nose. "Well, don't make faces like that. There isn't a lot to eat. I have some rations my mother packed for me, and some foraged plants me and Tiamael picked up on the road. So there isn't much."
Tiamael—yes, another one of her former companions and "students" for that matter. Another one that abandoned her after years of separation, not even a hello or thank you. Why did they all abandon her again? She couldn't remember. Selective amnesia, was a bitch. Maybe she was the problem. Something had happened that caused the split, and it wasn't the fact that the kingdom blessed Ilna. It was something else, something personal.
"Are you listening to me?" Rennia asked her.
Wilting her out of her own madness.
Ishmere nodded. "Yeah, sorry, my brain's not functioning. You said something about steak?"
"Steak? No steak. At best I can roast some eggs over the fire, mash some roots and tubers, maybe some flatbread, if you give me half an hour. Not to mention, it's pretty conservative meal. If we're going to be eating tonight."
Now that wouldn't do. Not for long anyway. This place used to serve hearty meals, but of course all the stored food either burnt or got rotten to the core.
"Hmm, okay."
She didn't have much of a choice. Rennia was packed for survival, not comfort. They'd need to head into the city immediately. She did have that stash of money for emergencies underground—here's hoping inflation didn't fuck them over. Money has never worked out for her, even as a centennial. Inflation, taxes, interest rates—it was rigged game.
"Okay? Okay? Okay then, I'll be leaving you alone for a while now. Just stop with the whining."
Rennia shut the door.
And Ishmere worked her jaw—she had so much work to do, and so very little patience.
