“Stupid kit!” I shouted as soon as I materialized on the market plaza of the nearest village. My voice echoed across the cobblestone square, drawing the stares of elven NPCs and players alike. Their expressions ranged from bemused to mildly concerned, as though they were watching a drunkard stumble through the street. I wasn’t drunk—just furious.
“At Katherine!” I hissed, throwing my hands in the air. “Why… Why can’t she listen to me just once?”
My frustration boiled over as I paced the plaza, muttering under my breath. How many times had I sent her strategies? Detailed plans to avoid getting PKed or tips for snagging better equipment. She never followed them. Never. All that mattered to her was content. That was a king—or queen—or whatever. Whatever.
I opened my interface, scrolling through my friend list to see who was online. The screen flickered into view before me, displaying the familiar names.
And… not a pleasant sight.
<table style="background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 75, 122, 0.93); margin: 10px auto; width: 90%; border: none; border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 2px; padding: 0">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center; margin: 3px; padding: 5px; color: rgba(218, 213, 206, 1) !important; border: 1px solid rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.25) !important; background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1)">[Your friend Lucas is offline.]
[Your friend Lisa is offline.]
[Your friend Ry4n1 is offline.]
[Your friend Tramar is offline.]</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
I sighed, my frustration morphing into fatigued resignation. Midnight or not, this is Rimelion’s early days! How could no one be online? This was the game everyone escaped from our reality, yet I stood alone in the middle of the square, glaring at a screen that didn’t care.
Sorry, you care, I know.
“Talking to a blue-screen,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. My gaze shifted around the plaza until I found a nearby bench.
Architect designed it from a smooth stone, its edges full of faintly glowing runes that hummed with magic. I ran my hand along the seat as I sat down, feeling the gentle warmth radiating from the enchanted words. Nice touch, Uncle.
He can’t be my real uncle, can he?
I leaned back, letting my eyes wander over the market. In a few weeks, maybe less, Irwen would crawl her way through here, conquering everything in her path and turning it into her property.
Well, she thinks it was always her kingdom; I guess. Future Charlie’s problem, I told myself.
Right now, there was still a sliver of hope that Kit—Katherine with her shiny new prestige class—could win. She always loved proving people wrong.
A bard played softly near the fountain, grinding the skill, the melody spreading in the cool night air, over the quiet chatter of players haggling with vendors, trying to sell wolf’s pelts for pittance. Overhead, twin moons shone, inviting me to sleep.
I waited, watching the comings and goings of the crowd.
Players in mismatched armor, their weapons glowing very faintly with enchantments, darted between stalls, showing off their new acquisitions. A trio of elves in emerald robes paused by a player’s potion stand, fellow alchemist, and they exchanged vials of shimmering liquid.
After a while, I opened the friend list again, though I already knew what to expect.
<table style="background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 75, 122, 0.93); margin: 10px auto; width: 90%; border: none; border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 2px; padding: 0">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="text-align: center; margin: 3px; padding: 5px; color: rgba(218, 213, 206, 1) !important; border: 1px solid rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.25) !important; background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1)">[Your friend Katherine is offline.]</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
I let out another long sigh, my shoulders slumping under the weight of disappointment. Of course, she’s offline. Kit could never win. Not this time. Not without backup or a miracle. Draw at best.
Maybe it’s time to call it a night.
Log out for a few hours, clear my head, and try again later. The thought of the real world didn’t exactly appeal, but sitting here, stewing in frustration, wasn’t helping either.
I glanced back at the glowing fountain, the cascading water catching the light of the moons. Its steady flow seemed to mock me with its calmness. How could anyone mediate… Yeah, alright. Tomorrow’s a new day, I thought, standing and brushing off my revealing robe.
As I woke up from the capsule, a sharp pain hit me low in my abdomen, beaming outward in waves. At first, I thought it was just the lingering disorientation from the immersion, but no. This was different—intense and real, a twisting ache that pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat.
What the hell?
I winced, gripping my stomach instinctively as I sat up, my body still half-entangled in the capsule’s interior.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The pain wasn’t sharp, like a cut, or blunt, like a bruise. It was deeper—this dull, throbbing pressure that churned and knotted in my belly. Worse, it brought with it a strange heaviness, making every movement feel like I was dragging an invisible weight.
“What the hell…” I muttered groggily, swinging my legs over the edge of the capsule.
“Welcome back, Miss Charlie,” came Tin-can’s annoyingly chipper voice.
“Argh!” I growled, frustration bubbling up. “Not now!”
And then I noticed the wetness.
At first, it was subtle—a damp, uncomfortable sensation that made me freeze, my mind scrambling for an explanation. I reached down instinctively, my fingers brushing against something warm and sticky. Pulling my hand back, I stared at the smear of red on my fingertips.
Blood.
The realization hit like an Italian with a stool. My heart raced, panic and confusion swirling in my mind.
Am I injured? Did something happen in the capsule?
But the pain wasn’t sharp enough for a wound, and the bleeding didn’t feel like it was from a cut or scrape. It felt… internal.
And then, like a slowly dripping faucet, the memories started trickling in—half-forgotten biology lessons, vague anecdotes overheard from Lucy. No. It can’t be.
“Miss Charlie, what you are experiencing is a biological reaction,” Tin-can said in that infuriatingly monotone voice.
“Holy Nathan, Tin-can, I know what a period is!” I yelled, glaring at the stupid capsule. “Shut up, I’m a mess!”
“I understand, Miss Charlie,” it continued, unbothered by my outburst. “Online sources suggest that during—”
“Shut up!” I snapped, cutting it off. “Just stop talking, okay? Not. Helping!”
Of course, I had nothing at home to help with this. Why would I? So, the first thing I did was to hit the shower. As the water cascaded over me, it felt like heaven—pure, blissful relief. Hah, is that frozen lake a heaven for the Ice-Blood God followers? The thought made me chuckle despite myself.
Feeling clean and somewhat human again, I went to hunt for something presentable to wear.
Wait… I left it all in bags, didn’t I?
I groaned and facepalmed as I dragged myself to the pile of neglected shopping bags. Digging through them, I finally pulled out a cute white short dress with rose-gold accents. The dress had a soft, flowing design, with lace trim at the hem and… some embroidery on the bodice that looked just… right. Damn, I need to learn more about clothes. Just to describe them.
It felt airy, perfect for a day that needed a bit of brightness...
I glanced out the window at the night shrouding the streets and grinned. Perfect for a night that needed light, I corrected myself. So, where does a girl like me go to get what she needs?
The pub, of course.
I grabbed the bag Katherine suggested and stuffed things like keys or a holo-phone inside.
Without hesitation, I reached for the high heels Katherine had insisted I buy.
Wait.
Why did I go with her suggestions?! Oh, right—her smile. That damn radiant grin could convince anyone. Shaking off the thought, I slipped them on and headed out.
Thankfully, I lived close to the pub—a very conscious choice on my part. Lucy would always grumble about being afraid to walk alone at night.
Me? I wasn’t.
Well, not until now. The quiet streets had their own charm, with faint pools of golden light from the old-fashioned streetlamps breaking up the shadows. They still used these old things, city had to cut somewhere to have that new City Hall, right?
The crisp night air carried a faint scent of rain, though the cobblestones beneath my feet were dry.
Walking on cobblestones with heels? Not ideal. The worst part wasn’t the walk; it was fighting with myself—more specifically, the cramps. Every step was a battle, no less heroic than slaying the demon lord.
Soon I finally burst through the wooden doors of Patrick’s bar.
Warm light and the faint hum of conversation greeted me. As always, the stale air smelled of old wood, whiskey, and something smoky, like the remnants of a fire. Probably the Italians again.
The familiar creak of the floorboards beneath my high heels felt oddly comforting as I made a beeline for the toilets, nodding quickly at Patrick as I passed.
“Welcome back, Charlie!” Patrick called out with a grin, showing off his yellowed teeth.
“Be right back. Make it a strong one. Rocks, please,” I shot over my shoulder before disappearing into the restroom.
Inside, even older lights buzzed faintly, showing the worn tiles that told stories of years of patrons passing through.
I hurried to secure what I needed—and to my surprise, there it was.
Loot! And free!
God bless Patrick for always thinking ahead. With my new condition under control, I took a moment to straighten my hair and dress in the mirror and returned to the bar.
Patrick had already prepared my drink, sliding it onto the counter at my usual spot. “Here you go, John,” he said casually, the glass glinting under the one bright bulb.
“Thanks. Been one of those days,” I replied without thinking, taking a long gulp. The whiskey burned in the best way, half the glass gone in a heartbeat.
Then his words registered. “Wait! Patrick? How?” I blinked at him, setting the glass down slowly. My voice rose, confusion clouding my thoughts. “How… how did you…”
Patrick leaned back with a knowing grin, his expression as casual as if we were discussing the weather. “I knew it when you first came in. Still checked the age, of course—but you’re still you, no matter how you look.” He nodded to himself, as if confirming some unspoken truth. “When you were drunk, you used to tell me stories about wanting to be…” His finger jabbed vaguely in the direction of my chest. “A girl. Now that you are, tell me—what’s changed?”
I paused, swirling the whiskey in my glass as I thought about his question. What had really changed? Was I acting differently?
Not really.
Was I doing things I wouldn’t have done before? Sure, I was a bit more impulsive, moodier, but aside from that?
Not really.
“Nothing,” I said finally, the word rolling out as smoothly as the burn of the whiskey.
Patrick’s grin widened, like I’d just handed him a spear of destiny. “Told you, lad,” he said, his tone triumphant, as though he’d been waiting years for this moment. “People, at their core, are who they are. Trying to be someone else is… unnatural.”
“Patrick, don’t,” I said, shaking my head and setting the glass down with a soft clink. We’d had discussions like this before, and we always landed on opposite sides. Very different sides. “Just another on ice, please.”
He chuckled, already reaching for the bottle. “Right away… lassie.” The faint emphasis on the last word carried a teasing tone, but his grin was warm as he poured.
I sighed, glancing around the bar while he worked.
The dim amber light cast long shadows across the polished wood, and the quiet murmur of conversation hummed in the background. A dartboard hung crookedly on one wall, its edges riddled with stray holes, and a couple of Italians were hunched over a game of cards in the corner.
When Patrick slid the drink across the counter, I took it with a nod, letting the cool glass rest against my palm for a moment. The chill seeped into my skin, grounding me. The world is right again.
Or so I thought.
Of course, it was in that moment of peace that my phone buzzed sharply. I groaned, already feeling the edges of my irritation flare as I fished it out of my handbag.
Lucas.
What happened now? Sold his soul? Made another dumb bet? Both? With Lucas at this hour, it could be anything—and none of it good.
Resigned, I swiped to answer. His face popped up on the holo-display, projected in a soft light above the phone. As disheveled as ever, Lucas’s hair stuck out in chaotic directions—same mess I’d spent forever trying to tame earlier today. He isn’t trying! Typical.
“Charlie, I’m in trouble,” he said, his voice frantic. “Can you come?”