Subaru needed cleaner clothes.
Her gown, once elegant and foreboding, was now a filthy rag. The hem was torn, the fabric stained from whatever rotting horrors she had walked through. It was unacceptable.
But asking for new clothes? That wasn't very villain-like.
A proper final boss didn't just walk up to their underlings and say, "Hey, so, I smell like death. Mind getting me a fresh outfit?"
No.
That wouldn't do at all.
So instead, she did the next best thing.
She called for a servant, let the mist flare slightly, and in the most cold, regal, commanding tone she could muster, she said:
"Bring me the finest garments available."
The servant bowed so low their hood nearly touched the floor, then scurried off like they had been given the greatest mission of their pathetic little life.
Subaru crossed her arms, pleased.
This was how a villain handled things.
Soon enough, the servant returned, arms overflowing with dark, flowing, dramatic clothing.
All of it was black.
All of it was elegant.
All of it was so, so Witchy.
Subaru stared.
The gowns were elaborate, made of silk, lace, dark velvet, draped in a way that screamed otherworldly horror and face of death.
But…
As a former boy, there was no way in hell she could wear them.
Not comfortably. Not mentally.
But could she ask for pants?
No.
No, she could not.
Because asking for something normal was more suspicious than just going along with the goth nightmare wardrobe.
So, she suffered.
Silently.
Pretending she totally loved the ominous, ethereal, dark queen aesthetic and not at all wishing for a simple pair of sweats and a hoodie.
Then came the next problem.
The servant had forgotten underwear.
Subaru sat motionless, staring at the lack of any kind of undergarment, lips pressing into a thin line.
Could she ask for them?
"How dare you forget to bring me panties and chest holder!"
Absolutely not.
Could she just go without?
Because while the cultists were not perverts, the sceptical looks from Pandora and Regulus, the grins from Gluttony and Lust were far too much.
Also no.
So, she did what any self-respecting, desperate, formerly-male Witch of Envy would do.
She used dark magic to create them.
She grabbed a curtain from the room, let the mist coil around it, and willed it to shape into something usable.
The fabric twisted, shifted, reshaped, until—
Underwear.
And a chest holder.
Sliding them on, she felt significantly more comfortable.
Finally.
Small victories.
Ē~Ē
The fact that Pandora was observant enough to provide anti-decay gloves was honestly kind of awesome.
Subaru almost muttered a thank you before catching herself.
That would've been out of character.
Witches didn't thank people. Witches were above gratitude.
So instead, she took the smooth, black gloves from Pandora's hands with a slow, regal motion, sliding them on as if she had expected them all along.
Inside?
She was thrilled.
Finally—finally—she could touch things without them disintegrating into dust.
No more rotting food in her hands.
No more accidentally withering furniture just by leaning on it.
No more destroying everything she came into contact with like some overpowered existential plague.
For the first time since waking up in this nightmare, she felt like she had some control.
...Though that didn't apply to mirrors.
Because the moment she glanced at her own reflection, the glass cracked.
Again.
Subaru sighed.
Of course.
TBC
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