She looked awful.
I couldn't stop thinking about her. Her bags under her eyes. Her face, which had become thinner. Her clothes, which hung looser than before.
Not that I cared about her. Obviously, I didn't care. She was my ex, the woman trying to murder me, the woman climbing a hundred floors every day to collect a bounty on my head so that she could marry someone else. Whatever was going on with her and her sleep schedule was her business.
"Your Wickedness?"
Spite and Malice were standing in front of me. They had been there for several minutes watching me stare into space. Between them they were holding props.
"We prepared something to lift your spirits, Your Terribleness!" Spite held up the wig. "Shall we?"
"Whatever."
They scrambled into position. Spite fastened the wig onto his head, took the wooden staff, and opened his eyes wide.
"She's MY kill!" Spite shrieked, stomping across the marble. "Mine!"
Malice stood near the throne, playing me, examining his tiny claws with exaggerated boredom.
"And then —" Spite pivoted into Ayla's big moment. He straightened up and puffed up his chest, his face bright with desperate triumph. "I'M AN ORPHAN TOO! I'm an orphan! Too! Me! I qualify! So—ha!"
He looked at Malice-Lily expectantly.
"Uh. Okay," Malice replied flatly.
Spite clutched his chest. "Okay?! Just OKAY?! It's cool when SHE'S an orphan but not me?! Why because she's got perfect hair and perfect teeth and perfect —"
I could see the effort in every exaggerated gesture and the love in every terrible impression. They gave their all to bring joy to their queen. They waited expectantly, but I couldn't force a smile. They exchanged a look, a worried one.
"It's not working," Spite whispered to Malice.
"More energy," Malice whispered in response. "Do the part about 'for us.'"
"This isn't about the performance." I sat up. "It didn't work. So she got upset. So she yelled. So she threw a tantrum about Sami. What did that actually accomplish? She's still in love with Victoria and none of this—I motioned to the throne room, at the setup, and Sami, who was sitting against the wall filing her nails. "—None of this changes that. She doesn't care about me. She cares about killing me. That's it."
"If I may," Sami said from the floor, not looking up from her nails. "I thought the performance went beautifully. The tension in that room when I called you beautiful? Electric. The chemistry between us? Palpable. I gave my finest work and the mage girl absolutely lost her mind."
"It would've gone great if you hadn't gone off script! Instead, you pulled out some ridiculous orphan plotline. 'I never had beautiful things growing up.' What was that? Where did that come from?"
"Backstory! I was building my character."
"Your character doesn't HAVE a backstory. Your character is you. Being flirty. That's it!"
"Every character needs depth."
"And twelve siblings? Where did twelve come from? Last week you had two! And then suddenly there are twelve orphans and a rescued cat and this weird speech about the beauty of the tower? She definitely saw through that. Nobody talks like that. It was so forced."
"It was VULNERABILITY. It was a woman baring her soul —"
"She didn't buy any of it!"
Sami shrugged. She examined a cuticle. "She was emotional. Mission accomplished."
"The mission was not to make her emotional. The mission was to —" I stopped. What was the mission? Make her jealous? Make her hurt? Make all of this mean something? "This isn't working,"
"Maybe the problem isn't the performance," Sami suggested. "Maybe the problem is the role."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean, I don't understand this character. I don't get why she flirts with you. I don't get what her motivation is. I've been doing this for days and I still feel completely disconnected from the part. It's unfulfilling."
"The role is: you make Ayla jealous."
"Boring. It's one note. There's no arc. There's no growth. My character walks in, says some flirty things, and walks out. I trained at the conservatory for this?"
Sami arrived on my floor just like every other adventurer: armed, armored, and doomed. Her eyes were bright with determination. She had drawn her sword and had a speech prepared.
Then, the Aura of Dread hit her, and the sword clattered to the marble. She followed it, dropping to her knees with her hands in front of her.
"Wait wait wait wait wait." Both palms up. "I surrender. My father is Lord Uasal of the Silver Vanguard. He sent me here because he has no sons and wants a hero in the family. I told him I wanted to be an actress and he said that wasn't a real profession and NOW here! I am too young to die! I'm not ready to be obliterated by a demon queen—." She pointed at her own face. Tears were already streaming down. "Please don't damage the goods!"
I stared at her as she sobbed, her hands attempting to wipe the tears as she sniffled.
I should have blown her up. Every other adventurer had exploded. But she was kneeling there and I was so bored. So empty and so tired of feeling hollow that the audacity of this woman made me forget, for a moment, that I was miserable.
"Stand up," I said. "I'm going to spare you."
She stood so fast that she wobbled.
"But in exchange, you're going to do something for me."
"Okay," she said, nodding fast. "No biggie. I'm progressive. I support monster rights. My family has imp servants. I went to a diversity lecture." Her fists were clenched at her sides; she was psyching herself up. "You're very beautiful. For your kind. And I'm an actress. I can commit to anything." Her voice trembled. "I'll tame your dragon."
"What?"
"Y'know. I'll explore your dungeon? I'll delve into your dark cavern?"
"What are you talking about?"
"It would be a sacrifice, obviously, because you're a—a... but I'm willing to make that sacrifice! For my life. My face. Art, even. What happens in the tower stays in the tower. I will plunder your treasure room."
"Oh. Ew. No. I don't want to sleep with you. Ew."
The fragile smile gave way to genuine bewilderment.
"You don't?"
"No."
"But I just did a whole internal journey."
"I need you to do something else."
"Something else?"
"There's this..." I hesitated. My tail curled around my ankle, revealing my nerves. "There's this person. She comes here. She fights me. She dies. She comes back." I stared at the floor. "It's a whole thing."
"Okay?"
"And I need to —" I swallowed. It was humiliating. Asking someone to pretend to flirt with you. Asking someone to act interested in you because you couldn't make the one person you desired even glance your way. "I need you to make her jealous."
"A role," she breathed.
"I guess you could call it —"
"You're offering me a role!" She grabbed my hands, and I didn't resist because I was so caught off guard. "A part! A performance! With a live audience! What's my character? Who am I? What's the dynamic? Am I the rival? The temptress?" She gasped. "Am I the femme fatale? I've always wanted to play a femme fatale!"
"You just have to flirt with me. In front of her."
"Flirt with you." She released my hands and started pacing, swishing her cape. "I can flirt. I've been flirted with my whole life. I know how it works on the receiving end. The smoldering gaze, the accidental touch, the laugh." She spun on her heel. "What is she like? How old is she? What triggers her jealousy? Physical affection or verbal intimacy? Because those require completely different approaches."
"Just be charming. Be confident. Call me beautiful. Piss her off."
Sami stopped pacing and stared at me. Her big blue eyes were pretty, but they were also completely devoid of any semblance of depth.
"Easy." She flipped her hair. "I can do that... and in exchange, I get your endorsement!"
"My what?"
"Your endorsement, as the demon queen! For my audition portfolio." She had started writing it in mid-air with just one finger. "'I, Morrígan, Demon Queen of the Hundredth Floor, hereby endorse Sami Uasal as a performer of extraordinary talent.' Do you know what that would do for my career? An endorsement from the most feared being in Muir? Casting directors would lose their minds. My father would finally be proud of me!"
"Fine. After."
She clapped and skipped with excitement. "My first real role!" She had already started towards the exit, speaking while turning her head. "I need to prepare. I need to pick an outfit. The leather makes my shoulders look amazing but blue brings out my eyes. I'll do research."
That was two weeks ago. Sami had been coming to perform her role every day with commitment since then. Admittedly, even though she was super annoying, she convincingly manufactured chemistry from nothing.
However, the complaints continued to increase.
"I don't resonate with this character," Sami said now.
"You're playing yourself. I've told you this."
"Ha!" Her laugh rang out. "My character is involved with a monster. I would never. I'm very progressive, like I've mentioned. I support your kind having rights and stuff, but dating one?" She scrunched her nose. "Silly. Obviously. But the flirting feels hollow because I don't understand the motivation." She propped herself on one elbow. "What if we had sex?"
"Why would we have sex?"
"Method acting. I immerse myself in the experience, find the emotional truth, and then the performance becomes real. It would be disgusting for me personally but that's the beauty of the craft, isn't it? Suffering for the work?"
"No, Sami."
"Ugh, fine." She flopped onto her back. "What about a backstory change then? What if my character watched her village burn? What if she has amnesia? Oh! What if she's a disgraced princess, exiled from her kingdom, and she wanders into the tower and meets the demon queen and their love transcends the boundaries of species and —"
"No."
"What about a limp? Audiences love a limp."
"No."
"A patch?"
"What you are doing is fine. I need you to keep doing exactly what you're doing, minus the improv."
"Ughhhhh." She kicked her legs against the stone floor, throwing a tantrum. "I want a monologue! I want a death scene! I want creative freedom! You are STIFLING me as an artist." She rolled onto her face. Her muffled voice came through: "I'm going to write a letter about this."
"Write all the letters you want."
"A strongly worded letter!"
"I look forward to it."
Pebble padded over and sniffed Sami's hair. Sami jerked upright.
"One of them is touching me! Lily! The creature is —"
"His name is Dewdrop."
"It has a name?"
"They both have names. Pebble and Dewdrop."
"That's actually kind of cute," she sniffled. "For a monster. But tell it not to touch the hair. I haven't gotten the chance to insure it yet."
Dewdrop looked up at Sami. His enormous eyes blinked once, then twice. And then... he spoke.
"Your hair looks like shit."
"Holy shit, you can talk?!" I sat up now, shocked.
"Yeah, bro of course I can talk. Just didn't have anything worth saying til just now." He yawned. Stretched. His stubby little legs extended and his back arched. "Also, can you guys stop calling me Dewdrop? I got a reputation to uphold. That name is killing my street cred."
"Your... street cred?"
"Yeah brah. The other tower creatures hear that and it's like, instant loss of respect. I worked hard to build my brand down on the lower floors."
"What... is your name then?" I asked.
"Brody."
"Brody," I repeated.
"Sick name, right?"
Sami had not recovered from the insult. She stood on her feet, shaking her finger at Brody and her face was crimson. "How DARE you! My hair is professionally maintained! It's been treated with enchanted oils! I have a dedicated stylist in the capital who charges 800 gold a SESSION and you... Well, you're a freaking CAT! You're a janitor! You mop floors—"
"I mop floors AND I keep it real." Brody licked his paw. "And keeping it real means telling you that whatever your stylist is charging, you should ask for a refund. Cause that's tragic, brah."
"It is LUSTROUS! It is my BEST FEATURE! I am a daughter of House Uasal! I have FANS! People buy PAINTINGS of me!"
"They painting the hair?"