A mirrored realm on the other side of her reflection.  

Seraphina had grown up with these kinds of stories. The young girl who had inadvertently flown too close to the rabbit hole and subsequently hunted by a guiltless queen clad in red who handed out beheadings like coins to bedraggled paupers. But that surrealistic, underlying sense of suspicion that beleaguered her every waking moment; the monotonous routines, the unfulfillment, the expressionless crowds, and the living corpses that paraded those stifling streets—  

... She wondered now if her asphyxiating lifestyle was ever anything more than a delicately woven lie.  

It was hard to say given that she had very few context clues to work with at this moment in time. In truth, the deductive process was but a thinly disguised waiting game. It consisted of gradually building on your foreknowledge overtime to assemble a consistent theory and required expendable patience alongside the ability to problem-solve and suspect others, the latter a particular skill that she was more or less conditioned to master. Seraphina knew how to adeptly detach herself from emotion and manage her expectations to mete out unbiased judgment, arbitering proceedings at face value like a hardened adjudicator while also safeguarding herself from would-be manipulation.  

In lieu of deferring to blind trust, it was safer to assume that there were hidden agendas sequestered between the lines of every page. It was a key survival tactic that has since enabled her to maneuver through life while remaining relatively unscathed, whether it was in this world or the next.  

She supposed she should thank her father for her intrinsic sense of wariness.  

Seraphina nibbled absentmindedly on a buttered bread roll they filched from the marketplace prior to their abscondment. While touring the open roads, they had come across a farmhand who was returning home from selling his goods in town and was thus offered an express ride on the back of his ox-drawn cart. Her shoes dangled off the edge of the hold as it wheeled along the roadside, engirded by a stroke of ramshackle fencing with hills overlooking the countryside. Pasturelands of mythical cerulean grass flecked by colonies of apparently docile dragon-looking animals dozing or playing amongst each other in a myriad of colors and sizes, featuring a handful that were traditionally scaled while others were birdlike or resembling heaps of fluffy clouds. White deer-like creatures glanced up where they were grazing as if they had noticed her staring with majestic, curled antlers that vaguely echoed the likeness of crescent moons. Earlier, the demon had told her that it was for that reason that they earned their namesake, moon deer, alongside their pale complexion.  

Seraphina hastily wolfed down the remainder of her lunch and polished off her fingers, then turned to reassess her current inventory as she unzipped her backpack. She discovered therein her copy of the latest Dark Ode edition, her wallet, albeit she has since learned that the currency, or what little she had to begin with, was inapplicable in this country, believe it or not— and her smartphone with its dark, rosy case, which was blessedly still charged but she had a feeling that that would not last for long lest she miraculously came across an outlet but that also seemed unlikely at best. No reception as well, of course.  

She then set her belongings aside for the meantime to reevaluate the hefty tome that was seated in her lap. Which, to her current understanding, was sentient as unbelievable as that sounded, she decided that it would be counterintuitive to question anything at this point and simply accepted anything that came her way henceforward as fact— even if it was about as outlandish as falling into the abyss and resurfacing in a fantasy world.  

... Well, unlike before at least, it has since quieted down exponentially, which honestly caused Seraphina to consider if she hallucinated their former interactions but imaginably, it had simply calmed down now that they were no longer fighting for their lives on the metaphoric frontlines. She introspectively brushed her hand along the pristine cover— the Gold Grimoire— outside of shattering that aforementioned veil and invoking demons from the furthest reaches of Hell, she theorized up and down what else it might be capable of given the explosive reaction its acquisition elicited amongst the authorities of the Holy Consortium.  

On that note, her unforeseen traveling companion revealed that he was privy to its existence as well and assumed that its solicitation might aid him in resolving his own debacle. After he admitted that the King of the Hells had purportedly disappeared, Seraphina has been... curious to say the least, but she was concerned about whether it would be responsible to account for a demon’s word when historically, they have consistently contributed to disingenuous dealings and deceptions, and she had no hard proof to validate whether this so-called pact of theirs was anything more than a convenient sham and he had every intention of stabbing her through the ribs the moment her back turned. Determining whether he was loyal to her cause or a simple opportunist vying for a leg up in this proverbial race was the first hurdle she would need to sort out, needless to say.  

The well-dressed man painted a disjointed image where he was reclined against the hay bale with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed. A warm breeze sluiced through his unkempt locks in a picture of peacefulness, and Seraphina would have never suspected that he was a fiend of the under-earth if he had not confessed as such given that, by all accounts, he seemed to distinguish himself as a perfectly normal person on the surface; that is, outside of his pitch-perfect jawline, excellent posture, and conventional beauty. He appeared as if he had been hewn in the crucible of a daydream, and Seraphina supposed that that description did not necessarily miss the mark after he declared that he had literally picked her brain and preyed on her preferences to create her ideal man.  

Well, he was certainly more gentlemanly than Regulus, in which case. Honestly, from a self-declared prince of the Netherworld, Seraphina would have expected a bit more broodiness or vitriol on his account, but it could be exactly so: a meticulous and patient facade. And when a scarlet eye cracked open after the demon had doubtlessly caught her staring, an undismayed smile spread across his face as he straightened his posture and yawned loudly, taking a minute to stretch his arms and pick stray bits of hay out of his hair. After which, Malphas shuffled up to enthrone himself next to his mistress and propped his knee up to perch against as his face softened with curiosity.  

“I suspect that you must have questions.”  

“Many. But,” Seraphina peeked around the cargo to interrogate the hoary driver, but Malphas held his hand up to appease her concerns. 

“I already cast a ward of silence. Please, feel free to speak at your leisure,” and she took note of the illuminant aftereffect of the magic; the tips of his fingers aglimmer, earmarked by silverish sparkles. Seraphina then returned and balanced her closed hands atop the tome as a makeshift handrest and took a moment to reorganize her thoughts, wondering what subjects were safe to breach and what she should be cognizant of, trusting her instinct to study his body language as she cautiously reviewed the entity from the corner of her vision.  

“... What is Paradiso, exactly? Why did the... Holy Consortium nullify magic?”  

“That is a bit of a long story. For now, I’ll have to give you a brief summation,” Malphas understood as he busied himself by surveying the surrounding plains. “... It occurred around a thousand years ago following the death of the Eld Witch, Lilith. She was... the original leader of the Far Reaches and the spiritual ancestor of the elves, as well as the first individual who learned how to wield magic after the Ascendant, Samael— a demiurgical being the Holy Consortium worships as their storied forefather, shared its secrets with her. But when Samael’s adherents decided that it was unconstitutional for the elves to evangelize their newfound teachings, they attempted to intervene with their god’s wishes, thus culminating in a war that eventually extended to the depths of the Inferno wherein the debts of sinners are monitored by the Sleeping Pleroma's parallel, Satan. And after the Eld Witch sacrificed herself to create the veil... it was decided that, in order to dissuade further fighting, our respective worlds diverged... thus, Paradiso was born to satisfy the Holy Consortium’s thirst for orderliness...  

... Whereas the denizens of Veritas are direct descendants of the elves, their half-blooded brethren encompassing the breadth of the witches’ core society, “humanity,” was created by the seraphim. With their innate potential to learn magic suppressed, I suspect that technological advancements unlike anything the Witch Realm has ever seen flourished in its place, enabling your kin to build your vast metropolises and superweapons, but... as per our established treaty, witches and demons are not permitted to cross into the “Other Side” under any circumstances... in order to maintain that flawed delusion of harmony. And yet...”  

Malphas eyed the Gold Grimoire. ”... The Gold Grimoire, which was said to have disappeared following the cataclysm that leveled the Witch Capital of Silverwood... ended up on the other side of the veil somehow... and in the hands of a rare pureblooded elf who managed to conceal her characteristics and sequester herself amongst humankind. I foresee the telltale signs of a conspiracy in the making…” 

Seraphina flung out her arms, shrugging. “Well, I assure you that it was by no means intentional. I mean, I always felt like I didn’t necessarily connect with the world, but I had presumed it was because of my,” she prematurely interrupted herself as she glanced down to interview the fallacy that she had been forced to wear. A comfortable lie. A scratchy, suffocating layer of extra security of wordless acquiescence. “... What was the cataclysm?”  

“... As you might have guessed already, the Gold Grimoire... alongside its counterpart, the Argent Grimoire, which unlike the former remained within the Witch Realm... while I did not personally attend the event, my investigation revealed that the disappearance of my former master, Lord Satan, is most likely linked to the disaster in Silverwood... but acquiring the Argent Grimoire, or that is to say... tracking down its current wielder, who was also undoubtedly the mastermind... I have had my reservations,” Malphas professed as he shuffled to the left to prop himself against the side of the wagon and crossed his arms. “More so about this individual who you claim you've met in your dreams... the cornerstone of our pact. But I assure you that I have little intention of blindly rushing into danger until we have a loose idea of our objective. For the time being, we ought to take this one step at a time. If anything, I’m only surprised how easily you have… accepted your circumstances.”  

“Oh, I promise you that I’m not nearly as calm on the inside. But I’ve become rather adroit at managing my expectations,” Seraphina suggested as she absentmindedly swayed her legs. “... It isn’t like I have much that I’d theoretically need to rush back to any time soon; I’ve already been long deprived of everything and everyone I ever knew. This may even be a blessing in disguise, whether it is a matter of life or death… I have an active goal I get to work toward now,” a mirthless smile danced across her face as she unconsciously reached up to readjust her hood.  

“... And now that I’ve been forced to acknowledge my latent desire to “live,” I can’t very well go back to ignoring it as I have been, can I? I’m all about catching fate by the horns... is what I would say if I even had a choice. I’m an outlaw now, after all... and I doubt those people would let me return to my everyday life even if I groveled.”  

“... Well, I certainly do not intend to criticize your ability to adapt. Still, I should warn you ahead of time... even if we find the means to obscure your identity, there is a high probability that you will be ostracized by your fellow witches regardless, as stipulated by our longstanding agreement with the Church of the Ascendant. Regrettably, our contract is what the Witch Embassage would consider illicit. If one desires to study the art of magic, they must first undergo an extensive application process that comprises of tests, interviews, background checks, and years of rigorous education to gauge your compatibility and resourcefulness... ... Magic in itself is inherently sourced from the Hells, to which witches are able to invoke their innate potential through a demonic channel, otherwise a “familiar.” But only qualified individuals who have graduated from the Conservatoire of Magic and its respective subdivisions are permitted to don the hat, as it were. But unlicensed witches... as in you, Lady Seraphina... are treated like criminals and are either killed on sight or have their magic taken by the top brass of the Embassage... With the unworthy purged without trial, criminality, and would-be anarchy has reduced exponentially... which is how the Kingdom of Yatrye has maintained its fragile stability.”  

“Well, that certainly isn’t very reassuring... but hey, silver linings, as they say... when you put it into perspective, it’s honestly kind of thrilling— almost makes me feel like some kind of celebrity, hehe,” she mused.  

“I certainly would like to understand your definition of “fun.”

“If you intend to hold up your side of the bargain,” Seraphina wagged her index in his direction. “... Then I won’t have anything to worry about, now, will I?”  

“Hm,” Malphas scrutinized the girl minutely as genuine intrigue burst through his placid exterior. “... Well, if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion,” he straightened his posture. “I believe that we should first focus on teaching you how to harness that potential of yours, my lady. Otherwise, I’m afraid that my assistance will be virtually useless should we find ourselves in the heat of battle. After all, this is a mutually beneficial arrangement, and I am as dependent on your ability to wield my boons effectively as vice versa. That is why... I recommend that we stop by Bluefield.”