Dark World
Panic fills her as Mary painfully slams her eyes open; instinctively, she attempts to inspect the prison she has found herself waking in.
‘Where am I?’
A horrified grimace stretches across her face as her gaze fails to pierce the all-encompassing void that surrounds her.
‘Didn’t I go to sleep in my new bedroom?’
Mary tries to look at the bed that she is lying on, that she had gone to sleep in, and finds instead that she is floating in the twisting void; surreal colours flash across her vision in a cruel parody of the mana vision she had gained experience with.
‘Is this… a virtual reality?’
The shadows above her begin to twist and bend, briefly taking on horrible eldritch shapes that Mary desperately wishes she could forget, but soon the twisting slows, and the worrying shapes start to take the form of a vaguely familiar man.
Mary worryingly notes that the shadow man quickly moves to loom over her.
‘Is that… the mage?’ Mary thinks to herself in dismay.
Mary’s attention immediately snaps onto the comically pointy hat and long, bushy beard, the features that she had associated more with Gandalf than the brief looks she had got of the mage at her birth.
‘Did that mage have a beard?’
As the shadow finishes coalescing into the recognisable shape of a person, Mary feels some unknown force direct her attention to the shadowy mage’s now solidified hands; she cannot help the shudder of revulsion that runs through her body as the twisting form of a sinisterly glowing staff finally takes shape.
‘Why is the staff here?! What’s happening?’
For a moment, Mary finds herself staring uncomprehendingly at the Gandalf-lookalike, whom she now realises is glaring down at her in blatant contempt. However, an evil and foreboding voice steals Mary's attention before she can fully comprehend the surreal form above her.
“Well? Can it be done?”
To Mary's continued dismay, the world shakes violently as the words echo through the void, the words carved into the twisting shadows above, highlighted by what could be magic or might be the unique properties of whatever horrible place Mary has been thrown into.
Another dark towering figure emerges from the twisting shadows above her; Mary instantly recognises him as her father the prince. Something deep within her registers that the question had been asked by him.
Mary feels her young body quivering in fear as the authoritative and aristocratic figure glares down at her in disgust.
‘Why is this happening?’
“Engraving a human enchantment at this age would severely damage its development, your highness.”
The mage-like figure replies.
A terrifying realisation fills her as Mary begins to understand what's happening around her.
‘No. Sylvia said I was safe!’
“Irrelevant. Unlike its trouble making predecessor, this thing needs to be controlled early.”
States a third shadowy figure emerges from the abyss, Mary immediately feels an oppressive and yet priestly aura emanating from the nightmarish figure.
‘Nightmarish?’
Briefly, Mary feels herself frowning at the thought, but her near realisation slips away as she sees another figure emerge from the shadows. Unlike the previous three figures that tower above her, this one, she notes, is kneeling in defeat.
Kneeling between the aristocratic and priestly shadows is the recognisable figure of Sylvia; her once shining silver hair is dim and messy, parts of it apparently burnt off, and her previously immaculate maid outfit is battered, having been strategically torn in ways that cause Mary to grimace in dismay.
‘No! What have they done?!’
Mary stares disbelievingly at Sylvia's once-perfect face, at the glowing runic scars that mar what used to be a flawless beauty, and Mary, with immense reluctance, lifts her eyes from the inspection of her maid to lock eyes with Sylvia's now horrifyingly dead eyes.
Mary allows herself another shudder at the familiar deadness that she had seen once before in her birth mother's features.
‘She’s just like Mother now.’
“Its mind might be irrelevant.”
The aristocratic figure says with disdain.
“But damaging its magic will affect the kingdom's heirs.” He states to the priest firmly.
“Now, can the enchantment be done without causing unnecessary damage to my grandsons?” her father, the prince, asks the mage.
The mage frowns in response to the question, glaring down at Mary, his eyes glowing with a sinister light.
Mary shudders again at this new violation as she feels the mana of the mage invade her body; she flinches as it smashes through her, assaulting her soul directly.
“Its magic is strong, much stronger than it should be.”
The mage informs the other shadows.
“The maids told the truth; it seems that it is a reincarnator.”
The mage finishes grimly, glaring at Mary with a stomach-turning form of disgusted envy.
From the shadows, a group of semi-familiar maids take form, hanging behind the three figures in submissive reverence. Mary feels the maids' eyes raking across her and Sylvia, and she somehow knows that they are experiencing a sickening sense of glee and triumph at the fate they have doomed her and Sylvia to.
“Will that have any impact on my heirs?” Her father, the aristocrat, asks with interest.
“Likely. We can enchant it without worry; any damage done should be minimal in the face of the nature of a reincarnator.” Answers the mage immediately.
“And the nature of a reincarnator won’t allow it to somehow escape the enchantment?”
“No. It is young enough that the enchantment will settle in permanently. No maintenance required.”
Mary feels, instead of sees, the evil prince smile in glee at the prospect of not having to maintain her enslavement.
‘Please don’t. I’ll be good.’ She thinks as tears finally start to spill from her eyes.
“Then get to it immediately.” Orders the prince.
“As his highness commands.”
The mage bows before stepping forward, the sinister light of his staff glowing bright now as he brings it up to Mary's face.
‘No. Please.’
She watches in horror as the runic language pours out of the staff's glowing head before leaping towards her; for a brief moment the runes slither across her tiny body before they start to engrave themselves into her flesh.
White-hot pain spikes through her, and finally, Mary opens her mouth to scream.
Mary jolts in surprise, swallowing a desperate and despair-filled scream as she wakes, her tear-filled eyes wildly racing across a barely familiar room.
Briefly, Mary struggles to get her still panicked breathing under control; that control slowly comes to her as she remembers the eye-catching silver vanity and the unavoidable canopy bed. Mary intensely focuses on those eye-catching reminders that she is still free and still undiscovered by the terrible people who would wish her to suffer as her new mother does.
Once more certain of her surroundings, Mary forces herself to take several deep, calming breaths before thinking.
‘So that was a nightmare?’
Mary grimaces in dismay at the unfamiliar experience.
‘I guess it would have been stranger if I didn’t have a few nightmares, considering… everything.’
Mary reluctantly acknowledges it.
‘For as long as he could remember, Alexander never had any nightmares; clearly, he was even luckier than he thought. I need to find a way to control my sleep; there is no question that it is wasted time, just like people on Earth think.’
Mary allows a bitter smile to twist across her mouth.
‘But, more importantly, I really don’t want to go through that again.’
Briefly, Mary struggles to examine herself. Her short examination immediately brings two things to her attention; the first is that there is a void in her stomach that makes it clear that she needs food.
‘Back to drinking breast milk again.’ Mary comments to herself in a strange mix of comfort and dismay.
The second, far more worrying sensation is the solid, blocky wetness in her lower region. Mary takes a hesitant, confirming deep breath through her nose, and her dismay deepens as she notes the putrid smell that follows.
‘This is my life now. Even in the best case I will have to rely on Sylvia for months.’
Mary thinks to herself; for a moment she allows the dismay at the humiliation that she will be enduring for the months to come to dominate her totally.
Swallowing her humiliated indignation, Mary moves to summon her maid for help.
“Waaaa!” ‘Sylvia! Where are you?’
Seconds pass quickly as Mary reluctantly cries for help.
As the seconds pass without any answer, Mary forces herself to continue to cry, even as a frown comes to her face.
‘Yesterday she answered right away. Is something wrong?’
As the seconds pass by, Mary’s frown continues to deepen, but just before the seconds had become a full minute, the servants' door swings open, and out comes a new worrying surprise.
Briefly, Mary stops her crying, expecting that Sylvia would be rushing to attend to her.
But instead of Sylvia entering her room, it is an entire group of semi-familiar maids.
Mary feels a spike of confused worry lance through her as she watches the gaggle of maids begin to spread out.
Where was Sylvia? Had she not claimed that she was supposed to be Mary's primary caretaker?
‘Damnit. How are babies supposed to act?!’ Mary panics as she experiences a flash of memory, recalling that Sylvia had told her she hadn’t acted like a baby previously. Worse, Mary’s recent nightmare was a grim reminder of what might await her if people found out that she was a reincarnator.
Before the panic could show on her face, Mary rushed to adopt an absent and confused expression instead.
‘Continue crying; you don’t know them!’
“Waaaa!”
With a potential threat to her free will present, Mary's insistent crying instantly becomes deeper and more sincere.
But even while panicked, Mary is still cognisant enough to track the faces of the maids who are now entering her room, desperately searching for some form of salvation. She feels her crying face begin to harden as they continue to file in.
Mary feels sweet relief as she finally spots that salvation marching out of the door last in the form of Sylvia.
Instantly Mary feels the ball of stress in her gut unwind, a smile coming to her as she finally stops her now very genuine tears, the relief obvious in her expression as she looks at the semi-familiar appearance of the Sakuya look-alike.
“Wa!” ‘Where were you?!’ Mary barks at the maid in dismay.
Her maid blinks at her in response before giving her a bright smile and responding.
“Good morning, Princess.”