The Dark Blooded Duchess. Ep1
Why are you wearing a human

The body was upright. The blood, flowing. Muscles, strong. Lungs, breathing (yuck though, hell air) And the fingers and toes wiggled when I told them to.

Weird. Toes are weird.

What do they do? Asks my first shadow.

Are they like ape hands? The second adds. Like you can do stuff with them?

Fuck, I hope not. I say. We’ll figure everything out later.

I had to think, stick to the plan. The problem is, the plan is hazy though. The magical energy I’d just used to fuse my demon and human bodies, was extraordinary and it had taken a lot of my strength - physical, mental, and otherwise.

I step forward dizzily, to look in the mirror. I tried to ignore how it felt absolutely humongous compared to this body.

‘Holy hell fire’ I blink rapidly (my eyes were still my original gleaming gold but my pupils had changed) ‘I did it!’

This body is shorter, smoother and-

You’re fatter. The first shadow finished the thought for me.

She isn’t fat, the second said, she’s compact. Like that canned meat humans like.

Do not call me meat. I warn them.

Sorry. They say.

My human skin starts to feel sticky, jittery, and just wrong.

But what- Oh right! I realize it must be reacting to hell, humans don’t do so well here, my skin must be protected right away.

I pile the clothes onto the workbench, which is now a lot taller, and select an outfit. Plain black pants, a long-sleeved blouse, and a jacket that I zip up to my neck before I flip the large hood up and over my head. Then I pull on the shoes or try to, those toe things have a mind of their own, separating like spastic worms when I try to get the shoe on. Eventually, I do though. I find full black gloves in the piles of clothes, along with a mask that can cover my nose and mouth. The hood falls over my eyes so they should be fairly protected.

My skin instantly feels soothed and the mirror reveals that this outfit covers most of my humanness.

On to packing.

My cloak, the only thing that was not made of hell fabric but instead real black wool inside and red silk on the outside, was rendered hell-proof by means of magic. It is an absolutely exquisite creation, burning like liquid fire in each ripple I smooth out yet remaining mysteriously cold. Or cold for hell, at least.

The cloak, neatly folded, and my grimoire are the first two items I pack in my bag, my most precious if you will. Then follows a few books on earthly magic- regular books, wrapped in hell fabric for protection. Then I add the extra clothes and provisions, in case something goes awry. I nestle the box with Zagan’s soul along with a few jars of my must-have spell ingredients in between the clothes. And finally, I pack a slew of hex bags, that I premade for various purposes. I take care to place the defensive ones, the blood-red ones, at the top, carefully. And the last one, a strength spell, I crush onto my chest.

Power surges through my very soul, my human limbs, and hums around me energetically.

Now for the tricky part - a suitcase filled with magical equipment needs to be packed in a bag that is smaller than the case itself.

Why do you do these things to yourself? Says my second shadow.

I sigh. I really don’t know.

I place the case on an empty space on my work table.

I encant: 'Minora fac, apta fac. Ita sit. ita sit. ita sit!'

The suitcase shrinks to a tenth of its size and weight.

That'll do. I pack it immediately, pleased as piss that the spell worked this time.

Now. What next?

I mentally recall the plan in my head, as I’d done so many times before.

A shaky breath wracks my body but I manage to steady it almost at the end.

Calm. I tell myself. Stay calm. This is the perfect plan.

Except you’re the one who always says there’s no such thing as the perfect plan. My 1st shadow says.

You’re not supposed to correct her. The second shadow hisses.

Shut up, both of you. I snap.

Sorry. They chime.

‘Right.’ I say. ‘Let’s get this done’

As I stick my head out the door to yell something that will make everyone avert their eyes, I was met with a pale, square face set in what seems like two straight lines of pure disbelief. It was really quite extraordinary how Cora could look like a demon and an inanimate object at the same time. Oddly enough that’s exactly how I thought of her - demonic and stern, like a rock, with shiny scales and an oh-so-sharp tongue.

My insides twist.

Shit. My shadows say in unison. ‘Shit’ I echo them aloud.

A perfect plan my ass.

‘You fool!’ says Cora by way of greeting.

‘Or Morgen works too’ I say, annoyed.

‘What in the great grey god’s hell are you doing here?’ she demands as I pull her giant ass into my workroom, which she straight out refuses to call as such.

It is merely a cave with rugs and fancy books, she’d say.

Cora towers over my human form by 4 feet easily.

Didn’t she use to be smaller than you? My shadow asks.

Yeah. I say. Her temper used to be worse than mine too.

Kind of comforting that that’s still the same. The second shadow says.

I wouldn’t bet on it. I warn.

‘I knew you’d be here!’ Cora hisses ‘In this ratty cave, getting ready to run. And -’ she blinks. Once. twice. Then resets her confusion into rage ‘Why in Lilith’s name are you wearing a human?’

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