The only wall Jade appreciated was the one with a window.

She had tried, she had shouted, she had shrieked out its name, but Spirot never appeared.
The cell was probably a fucking anti-magic one; they wouldn't have left the killer of someone so highly placed in hierarchy with a chance of escaping.

Jade had brain, certainly, but apart from that...
Let's say muscles were at lack.
So, as magic had disappeared of the few possibilities, she just gave up, sitting down on the rocky, uncomfortable ground.

That was the first time she prayed Gaila, this slightly ridiculous in her taste since the deity didn't exist, or as any God did; that's what she came to believe after years wasted in a hot-n-cold relationship.

Tentatives of explaining herself haven't been acknowledged, leaving her as the culprit of the homicide since the trial would only take place the following day.
Thus, she had been threw in a cell.

Sir Dad probably didn't decipher her letter.
Fuck, she shouldn't have done it so complicated; she would have already been out of here.

Every brick forming this prison was either gray or dangerously leaving their place.
It could have been a convenable home if there wasn't only one window without glass sixteen feet higher which let the chilly air of night in, maybe more furnishing than a commode and a cover on the falling to pieces slats, and also not a door with a wide square hole for guards to yell at the prisoner.

And for what was she prisoner by the way?
FOR A MURDER OF WHICH SHE WAS ONE OF THE ONLY WITNESS.

Three knocks rang at the door, on which she immediately straightened.

"Hey, bitch, get up." A growl at the other side of the door. "Someone wants to see you."

Blood starting to boil, Jade knew that man was attractive to her fists.
The second he opened the gate, she wanted to jump and make him taste the true violence even children were capable of, but an innocent woman passed the threshold in his place.

"Stand up." She seethed, the clicking sound of the exit echoing in the empty cell.

Jade wanted to land a cup of tea or make a quick joke, just to loosened her a little, but nothing in the cell could have endorsed the role of mood-lifter.
She obeyed on the very order, a dire face-to-face with a woman breathing rage not being a pure dream.

The celeste hair crowning the woman's head stretched to her knees, contrasting with the deep, navy blue of her uniform; a classy one, with tons of buttons, on the vest, pants, end of the sleeves, everywhere. Only a little inch of her white blouse peeked out on her bust, matching her mane.

"Why—" the word fell all alone in the silence. She inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, all of her features loosening. Before clenching back again. "Who paid you?"

"W-what?" Jade managed, panic drowning her mouth and mind at the sudden bark.

A shining blade flew to her throat.

"WHO PAID YOU TO KILL HIM?" The woman yelled again, an untamed rage searing in her eyes, her lips twitching in pure wrath.

Was bad.
Jade could clearly identify the growing feeling in her throat—fear—and the sword on her neck wasn't what defined the word 'pleasant'.
It was sure she believed Jade was the culprit. She'll beg, she'll weep, she'll offer a puppy look, nothing would change this lady's mind. Explanation would have been utter nonsense.

Yet, she couldn't just stay in silence, ignoring the split being carved on her collar. "I don't know."

The steel invaded her skin, deeper than the epidermis.

Shit, it had been predictable, at the mercy of someone enraged, that she'd get injured; however, a miniature corner of her mind still hoped. Hoped she'd get her body back, hoped she'd get to choose her personal servants, and hoped she'd read that fifth hundred book Sun offered.

Deeper, her eyes shut. Deeper, her jaw clenched. And deeper, the steel marched. Burning more and more and more; each inch slit flamed with pain.
Longer, hold the scream longer. Let it out only if the blade finishes its trajectory. Let it out only if your throat is wide open and you can't escape it.

The swishing noise came to her ears. The sword had joined again the woman's sheath in a swift movement. "You won't spill it, won't you?" Her hoarse voice sounded so much like a melody. A broken one.

Jade shook her head, or more exactly, bobbed it, the ache of her neck still blazing as if the steel had never left it.

The lady's hair messily hovered on her face, locking her facial features away. She slumped, somewhere, in the shadows. "How much?"

Jade's brain bugged. "Pardon?"

"How much?" Her reddened eyes met hers as her voice rose once again.
All the tears of her body had leaked from those eyes, seemingly, if the redness wasn't altered by the embracing darkness of this damn cell.
"How much you got paid for killing him?" She asked, her sentence flickering on the last word.

Wait, the duke of Bjørn was dead—the reason Jade was here. And the reason this woman was also here, assaulting her, trying helplessly to find answers where Jade couldn't give any.

Who was she?

Was it his lover? His wife? The duchess of Bjørn?

This lady needed a hug, a smile, or anything lighter than meeting the possible murderer of her husband. Yet, she was here, all by herself, face-to-face with Jade while she needed reassurance.

Nothing our girl could offer now.

"A lot." Jade made up, attempting to evade the lady's stare as she could.

Unfortunately, not for long.
The instant their glances crossed again, all the woman's sorrows flooded on Jade.

The grief, the love wasted into thin air, the eternal fleeing of the only one who mattered.
It came by clashing waves in her violet eyes, all sweeping away the gorgeous smiles that may have folded her face once, the calmness that may have slicked her face twice, and just left emptiness in this total mess.

The woman veiled her face with the same soulless expression again. "Nothing compared to his real worth."

Jade swore to have seen a drop fall from her cheeks, but handing a handkerchief revealed itself impossible in this cell.

The lady delicately passed her sleeve on her face. She approached, escaping the shadows, a freezing serenity painting a curious expression.
Her palm finished grasping Jade's cheeks with unpredictable violence, on which our Jade could do nothing but jolt.
"I just want you to know something. Death will be too sweet for someone like you. You'll suffer so much you'll wish to die. I'll make sure of it."

In a flash, the woman released Jade's face and quit slamming the door, shaking the walls.

No matter how painful her body was, Jade couldn't help but sympathize with the one who made this bruise. The one who hurt were often the most hurt themselves.

●●●

Twenty-eight thousand eight hundred seconds.

It had been twenty-eight thousand eight hundred seconds since the woman had left Jade all alone.

The air had grown cold, and the Sun had left his place for the Moon.

No meals appeared to stop her stomach from rumbling, and the only thin, too thin, cover she had didn't even stand a chance in front of the rocky ground.
The cut on her neck was still burning, but it was the only warm thing around here.

Chilly.

Why did she choose to execute that plan when all those events happened at the same time in the castle? She should have waited, patiently, although that may sound like madness for someone impatient like her.

Cold.

Perhaps teleporting to Xander would have been better.

Icy.

Perhaps daydreaming in her room would have been better.

Freezing.

She didn't feel her fingers anymore.
Her eyelids were so heavy.
How about sleeping?
Who knows?
Sleeping on those problems could have helped.
Sleep never hurts anyone.
Maybe she'd feel her toes tomorrow?

Frigid.

Wait, she was dying.
Dying of cold.
Could have been cooler for a death, she thought, her eyes not battling with staying open anymore.

After all, sleep never hurt anyone.

Lights glimmered, shimmered, glittered in a new manner.

Bricks flying, floating, and exploding around.

Every inch surrounding her sizzled.

The air, the stones, her cover.

All crippling her.

Oh shit, that was fire.

Before she could realize it, Jade was escaping the cell in someone's arms.

●●●

Warmer.

She felt her fingers and toes. Feel them wiggle, scrapping the light fabric of her dress.

Better.

Her eyelids fluttered open.
Or she thought so but she couldn't distinguish anything, apart an overwhelming dark.

At least she wasn't dead.

She was alive and tied like a chicken.

Tied like a flipping chicken.

"HMMMHMHMMHHMHMH!" Her blocked mouth shouted.

She slid in the end of the cheap old caravan, hitting with force the hard wood of its wall as it rattled.
Because that's where she was.
In a slow, dull, stupid caravan where she just badly injured herself.

"You're awake, sacrifice?" A man shifted in his seat, glancing as if she had transformed into a disgusting lombric.

Her responding grunts sounded small between the incessant rattles of the medieval carriage.

This man shifted again as another next to him contain a giggle.

"Good." The driver squawked to the other members. "The great Diagol won't have to wait."

Wait, wait, wait. Were those people the ones of that teleportation time? The weird sect?

This world had various religions, but one stood out, with believers all around Telin.
Shivani.
It had a book relating the creation of the world and, as a consequence of the number of believers, a Church.
As in all religions, you had the good, represented with Gaila, the deity of wealth, lush, prosperity, health, and everything like that, and the bad, represented with Diagol, the fallen deity ruling on Sorre—alter ego of Hell.

At the ascendance on the throne of Jade's parents, the Church had been banned from the empire for various reasons; Gaila's worshipping declining in the population.
But visibly, Diagol's one didn't.

"His evilness will probably be satisfied with a magician." The driver pursued, this time eyeing her down as he said that. "Erasing that fucking princess of the surface of Telin will only do good."

Princess.
That's not a thing she'd thought to hear undercover.
But that meant they knew. Everything.

One of the Diagolists shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting. "I told you as soon as that slut climbed to the throne she'd bring problems to our Empire."

A silent anger grew in Jade's throat.

Another drooped. "We had to give her a quick chance. Look, she still gave ten kids to our empire by spreading her legs. Ten dirty kids for our imperial blood, surely, but that's why I thank Gaila that our plan is ready."

His partners shot him a deadly glance.

"D-Diagol. Thank Diagol."

Asshole, that's what they were. Not Diagolists, not dumbasses, just assholes with some fucking plan.
Honestly, if the situation was different, Jade would have made a club of dorky plans that are made for trash.

The driver shouted. "We're far enough."

The Diagolists grabbed her like the chicken she actually was.

Trees, flowers, leaves, enlightened by the feeble cold moonlight could have been oneiric if she wasn't suspended like a caught animal, bobbing at each of their untidy steps.

Her throat was a tight knot still ablaze with the slice.

What were they going to do? Gutting her, burning her, or dismembering her?

Her bones cracked when they let her hit the ground.

"Should be the time to undo your transformation, witch." One said above her, seemingly resisting his urge to spit on her.

Witch, bitch, let her crawl in a ditch, and Jade would finally feel better.

"Told you, she's useless." One of them bobbed his head. "Like Mother, like Daughter."

Another wave of rage took over. Growing.

"Yeah, that hoe really dirtied our imperial blood."

Growing.

"Right." Another chuckled. "She should have died giving birth to that witch. Or to that 'crown prince'. Alexander would have marry someone with a pure blood at her place."

How could Telin support idiotic, close-minded, and fucking stupid people?

Dead. They would be better off dead.

Her eyes locked, just to not see anything anymore.

Just so all this shit dies somehow.

Die.
Die.
Die.

[Gaila {God of Telin} has heard your request.]
[Gaila {God of Telin} will now access your request.]

"Wha—"

Die.
Die.
Die.

Screams echoed through her brain. Not loud enough to reach her mind.

Die.
Die.
Die.

Quiet. Everything turned quiet.

Dead?
Really?

Her eyes unlocked to see.

Dead.

They were thankfully dead.

●●●

She wiggled a last time. Finally free from the ropes.

Something afar glowed and glowed even as it grew close.

"JADE!" The flying ball of light hurtled to her. "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

The corpses disseminated around the glade slept.
They seemed to do, at least.
Just throw some toxic berries here and there, and if somebody fell on this, it would be an accident.

She marched toward a random bush full of flashy dots.

Maybe she should feel guilty about killing those people without even knowing how.
Maybe she just couldn't feel guilty about eradicating shit, which really looked like dead flies right now.
Right, they were flies. Useless, invisible, annoying flies.

Nothing to feel guilty about in the end.

She dusted out her maid dress.

"Yes, Spirot." She answered with a kind smile, leaving the last berries in a swift throw. "Just wish anti-magic things would be less common."

She offered a last glance at the murder scene before trotting away, Spirot coiling in its usual place, on the collarbone.

Better being back home by sunrise, so she could explain everything, or make a tentative at least.
Better being back home by sunrise to forget about all of this.
Better being back home before sunrise, so she could cry, and nobody would know about it.

"Why did those anti-magic ropes stop me from casting spells but didn't undo my transformation?" She asked, raising a brow as she clambered a path, her legs screaming for her to stop.

It did a spin before nodding. "Anti-magic doesn't mean it annihilates it. Just stop the magician from using it at the moment. If you want to stop the effects of the rope for good, you could just put a perpetual protection spell on."

Her legs weakened again.

Think of home. Think of your room. Every possible detail. See yourself there. Visualize.

But, fuck, it didn't work.

She was still on the dark path traced amidst the verdure with that swirling feeling of her brain and not in that comfortable room of hers.

Her hands found a large rock to sit on in the omniscient shadow. "Why are you only a white ball today?"

"What do you mean?" It tilted its head, as her butt nicely set on the hard stone.

"I mean, you aren't a bunny as habitually." She remarked. "And you spin, a lot, too much even."

It floated around. "That's worse than I thought..."

"Worse what?" Her arms had trouble maintaining her straight.

"Your magic deficiency." It spined another time. Or maybe not. "Your magic vessel is empty, and as you couldn't borrow any mana in mine, it has consequences."

"What kind?" She caught her head in extremis, praying for the carousel her body was to stop.

"Physical."

It hurt. Her body. Harder at each second now that it mentioned it.

She frowned.

On which, Spirot did too, with worry. "Magic has a price."

So that was the reason of every headache.

She shrugged with a sad smile. "Guess so—"
And her arms failed and left her blackout in the middle of nowhere.