This Magical Girl is Mine

6.2 This Magical Girl is Mine

“Rise and shine, cutie! Breakfast is almost ready.”

The voice of an angel stirs me from slumber. I roll over in bed, basking for a groggy moment in the sweet, soft, perfect sound of my beloved Sophia speaking to me. Any morning is a good morning with her by my side.

Still, annoyingly, I’m not quite in the good mood I should be. Something about the dream I was having has stuck with me like a burr. I can’t remember the dream, but it must have been something terrible; I wake with a pain in my chest, the kind of psychosomatic ghost you get when your dreaming brain hallucinates being stabbed. It takes me a few seconds to ride the wave of disorientation, curled up and clutching at the covers of my bed—of our bed.

“Love?” Sophia calls. “Are you awake?”

I could always make her come over here, I muse to myself. I could stay here, swaddled in blankets, to lure my beautiful wife to my side. She’d come over and say something warm and exasperated, and I’d pull her down onto the bed and we’d laugh and tease each other and drown in each other’s eyes until at least, painfully and inevitably, we’d leave our play behind to eat breakfast before it got cold. It’s happened before.

Alas, on this of all days, I should at least try to be responsible. “Be there in a minute,” I call back to her with a yawn. I slowly push myself upright and rub my eyes.

Okay, big day, big pressure. Gotta look my best. Normally I could coast on being in mahou form for all the important stuff and dress more relaxed in my human form, but not today. What was it she said? All masks will be laid aside. The world is about to see more than just Archon, and that means I need to present the best possible version of Rachel Emily. I’m sure Sophie feels the same.

With a final effort, I crawl out of bed and get to getting dressed. It has to be something nice, but I’m still me—a bit of fandom is quite literally my brand. Pinks, purples, a low-cut top, a pleated skirt, and to complete the image: an official Visage merch jacket with the whole west coast roster on the back. I’ll get Sophia to help me with my makeup after breakfast; I want glitter and glam today.

I step out of our spacious walk-in closet and give a halfhearted attempt at fixing the bed, but the siren scent of breakfast calls to me and I quickly give up.

Sophia is plating the food as I make my down to the kitchen from the second story of our house. It’s still kind of surreal having a house this big after so many years stuffed into a small apartment together. We actually have separate living space and dining space, now, and a study for Sophia to read in, and my streaming room, and even a guest room if we ever wanted to invite someone over, not that we have.

“Looks wonderful,” I compliment. “And the food, of course.”

Once or twice, Sophia’s teased me by cooking in just an apron and nothing underneath. This morning, she’s wearing shorts and a blouse, which still gives me plenty of beautiful Sophia to covet and admire. She laughs at my little joke and flashes me that angelic smile of hers. Her golden curls are already perfect—she must have gotten up much earlier than me and had time to do her hair—and her sparkling green eyes are a bit more seafoam than emerald today.

“I love you,” I say easily.

“Love you, too,” she says back.

We eat our breakfast on the balcony. Sophia’s made a delicious medley of eggs, sausage, hash browns, and french toast, the last of which I drown in syrup and butter. She smiles at my taste, and laughs at my defense, and we slip into an easy rhythm of light banter. It’s been so much easier to make her smile and laugh since she left her work behind to live with me. All our days have been brighter since that happened.

And today is truly gorgeous. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and rose petals dance on the breeze. Our balcony gives us a perfect view of the city as it sprawls from the mountains to the sea, vast and glittering, aglow in the warm light of its patron and protector.

“It’s a beautiful day,” I sigh. “I wish I didn’t have to spend it working.”

Sophia pats me on the shoulder and gives me a sympathetic smile. “It’s only for a short while, right? A few hours at most, even if things run long. And once the ceremony is complete, we’ll have endless days to spend together in paradise. That’s what was promised, right? So there’s no reason to worry.”

“You’re probably right. Still.” I feel an odd sense of unease. That terrible dream is still lingering, like a burden on my shoulders, a shadow cast over my mind. Maybe it’s just nerves about the ceremony and what it entails. But, surely, everything will be fine. I’ll get to enjoy an idyllic life with Sophia.

My attention is drawn by something on the street. Someone is waving, and it looks like they’re waving at me. From this distance it’s hard to make out detail, but they look familiar. Something about their shape, their face, or maybe what they’re wearing? It’s odd. I can’t figure out why they look familiar, or who they remind me of. Or rather, it’s like they remind me of too many people, and I can’t sort through the list.

I turn back to Sophia, who’s looking at me with concern, and ask, “Hey, does that person waving look familiar to you?”

I point at them, but when Sophia turns to look, there’s no one there. She frowns, looking even more concerned. “Are you okay, love? You’re probably still sleepy. Let me make you some coffee so you can wake up.”

I hesitate. I was sure I saw someone. I remember it clearly, only, clearly isn’t the right word, because the image of them is so hazy in my mind. Were their eyes brown or green? Was their hair blonde or red? I think it was a woman, at least, but even that is fuzzy. “Yeah, maybe coffee is a good idea,” I admit.

So we have some coffee, and I try to forget what I saw. I can’t afford to be distracted chasing phantoms.

“Let’s take a walk,” I tell Sophia. “I know we could just fly there, but I’m craving the scenic route.”

“More scenic than flying?” Sophie teases, but she acquiesces quickly with a nod. “Sure, whatever you want. It’s the last time we’ll be able to go out in public together without being swarmed by fans, so I understand.”

All masks will be laid aside. The secret identities we’ve hidden behind won’t mean anything after today. When the veil is gone, discovery will be inevitable—and we aren’t waiting for the inevitable; what kind of celebrity would I be if I didn’t work to control the message?

We leave the house and take a winding, leisurely path to the Spire. We pass other couples taking romantic walks for Valentine’s, and Sophia starts clinging to my side after the third, as if to show how much more devoted she is than any of those other girlfriends. It’s cute. She lets me talk—rambling, really—about all my interests and my uncertainties and what tomorrow might hold. She mostly listens, encouraging me whenever I stop for breath.

Again, that odd feeling stirs in me. Is this right? Am I doing something wrong? Shouldn’t she be more... active, I guess? But, no, Sophia always enables me like this, indulging my bad habits with a smile. It’s just nerves.

Then I see the woman again.

Her eyes are sparkling and keen, though I can’t really make out the color. Her hair is dirty blonde, maybe, or maybe that’s just the light and it’s only near that tone. She’s tall, I think, or maybe those boots are heels, and I can’t really make out her figure beneath that coat, though it almost looks like a cardigan. Beige tones, or browns, or something else autumnal.

This text was taken from novelhall. Help the author by reading the original version there.

I know her. I know this woman, I’m certain I do. We’ve met, we’ve spoken, we’ve laughed together, we’ve—I can’t remember. There’s a hole missing a name. How odd.

Her face lights up when she sees me, and then a certain urgency enters her expression. She’s across the park from us, on the other side of a little pond, and she has to take the long way around to get to us. She’s waving, and her mouth is moving like she’s calling for me, but all I can hear is a buzzing in my ears and an itch behind my eyes and something crawling beneath my skin screaming for me to—

Sophia twirls me around and kisses me. My mind goes blank, my train of thought crashing into the familiar bliss of my beloved’s lips. Her mouth melts into mine, sweet and tender and perfect. She’s so warm.

When she separates, I see hunger in her eyes, and a hint of something darker and more primal. Her face softens quickly, eyes becoming doe-like while she adopts an innocent expression. In a pleading tone, she says, “Carry me? I’m done with walking, love. Let’s fly and get there early.”

“Sure,” I say breathlessly, the word slipping out before my brain’s caught up. I’m still rebooting from the sudden, pleasant intensity of that kiss. “Anything for you.”

Sophia graces me with another angel’s smile. “Thanks, Rachel. You’re the best.”

We leave the park quickly and find a safe place for me to transform. The secrecy doesn’t really matter, but I’d hate to ruin our big moment by letting it out early. I scoop up Sophia in a princess carry and we take off.

From above, it’s easy to see the whole of Forks. The city is so much bigger than it was just a few years ago, thanks to our work expanding it. It’s almost unbelievable how much the city has grown, how glittering and golden it is now, how the air hums with power. Our city stretches to the sea, to the mountains, to the forests, to the endless fog beyond...

Hmm. How long has that been there?

The wall of fog is thick and impenetrable, surrounding Forks on all sides. It’s like the world just stops about a mile past city limits. It swallows everything. And, in the depths of the gray, if I squint my eyes and focus, I can almost see something moving. The back of my neck prickles and goosebumps raise on my arms, like I’m being watched. Like a bug in a snow globe.

Then Sophia presses herself against me and the feeling scatters. Her warmth, her physicality, her closeness, that’s far more important than a bit of strange weather.

God, I love her. I love holding her. I love being with her. I love that she chose me.

I feel so comfortable with Sophia in my arms... yet, still, I can’t fully shake the strange mood that I’ve been in since I woke up. Bidden by impulses I don’t understand, I ask her softly, “Do you ever regret leaving that life behind?”

“No,” she answers easily, her smile unchanged. “Being the hero was awful. All that responsibility and pressure... it was too much for me. The day I gave it up was the best day of my life. And... it let me focus on you. I’m so much happier as your wife than I was as Strix Striga. Now, I can just leave everything to you. It’s worked out so far, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thank you, love. For everything.”

Something is wrong, but I don’t understand what. My heart feels warm and full in my chest, but it feels too warm, too full, like it’s burning and bursting. My skin doesn’t fit right. My vision is too sharp but I can’t seem to focus.

I’m just stressed. It’s just nerves. I’m here with Sophia and everything is fine.

It’s not fine, but it will be. It has to be. Right?

Where am I?

I keep flying. It’s a short journey to the Visage Spire, where Memento and our patron goddess have worked to reshape the golden orb into a rose in bloom, the tower its long stem, its petals curling around a wide open space and a central platform where my peers are already waiting. A crowd has assembled, brought here by magical girl or helicopter, featuring a mix of reporters, influencers, the well-connected, and a scattering of lucky fans.

I set down on the stage and let Sophia find her footing. She’s far from the only partner here, though she’s probably the only one that used to be a magical girl. Almost everyone’s here—of the Visage girls on this coast, the only absentees are Agatha, Glamour, and Maenad. Agatha was feeling under the weather, but it’s pretty strange not to see the latter two. Maybe they’re waiting to make a bigger entrance.

For some reason, I was also expecting to see a few non-Visage magical girls here, or witches, but they’re not present either. Well, I’m sure they’ll show up eventually, once it becomes clear what’s happening.

It isn’t long after my arrival that the ceremony starts. Pearl Princess steps forward, Memento and Radiance to either side, and she spreads her arms to welcome the crowd.

Pearl Princess smiles, and it’s Venus who speaks.

“Thank you, everyone, for tuning in. You’re giving us your time and your attention, and we’re very grateful. This is a momentous occasion. Today is the most important day in history—yes, even more important than that first spark of magic. We’re broadcasting to you live, all across the globe, on every channel, on every streaming site, to every corner of the world, because you need to see this. You need to be watching. You need to listen.

“For ten long years, this world has been beset by war and uncertainty and confusion. That will end. For ten long years, this world has teetered on the brink of change without truly taking the plunge. That will end. For ten long years, the truth of the world has been kept hidden. That. Will. End. A new world is about to dawn, and all masks will be laid aside.

“Pay attention. Watch closely. Lend me your eyes and ears, for you are about to witness an act of revelation. The veil that has shrouded your idols is about to be lifted. You will know their names and their faces, and in time, the names and faces of all who bear the mantle of magical girl or witch. The veil has served its purpose. It will come to serve another.”

Pearl Princess returns to her human form. She says her name. Memento follows, and Radiance, and then through to the rest of us.

“Rachel Emily,” I say clearly.

“Sophia Lane,” says my beloved beside me, and then she winks at the crowd. “Though for a while, you probably knew me better as Strix Striga.”

And so it goes. The hum in the air is getting louder and I can feel it in my teeth. There is magic in the air, and worship, and miracles. This is an act of revelation, and that carries weight—weight that the goddess will use to change the nature of her veil, I’m sure. Because it is her veil, of course, as it always has been; the power of Venus, goddess of beauty, and what is beauty but the eye of the beholder? What is love but an act of perception?

The veil concealed our identities, but that game is over. Now it will be put to grander purpose. With this ceremony, it will seep into the very bones of the world. Now it will answer a certain question: if the World of Glass reflects the beliefs of all who inhabit the world of mortals... what happens when you make everyone in the world believe the same thing, all at once? What happens when perception and reality become one?

“Hey, Rachel! Can I get your autograph?”

I blink, caught in a reverie, and see the girl from before, the girl from the street and then the park, standing right in front of me. She must have clambered onto stage from the crowd.

“I know you,” I say absently. “Why do I know you?”

I should know her name. Her features are clarifying, the blur sharpening, the haze clearing, colors muting and brightening. Her name should be on the tip of my tongue.

Agatha? Ferromancer? Bombshell? Mordacity? Howl? Lilith? Sophia?

She laughs and claps her hands together, seeming almost childlike in her whimsy. “Aww, you know me? Well, I’m pretty famous. I bet your little girlfriend knows me, teehee. You can know me, too, if you’d like that. I bet we could do some really fun things together. But, you’d have to wake up—”

Sophia cuts her head off.

She carves through the stranger’s neck with a glittering gemstone blade—a blade of green, blue, and pink, a blade of twisting striations and shifting color—and flicks her sword to the side, scattering blood. The stranger’s head tumbles away and bounces off the side of the stage, toward the crowd, while her body collapses like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

Sophia grabs my hand, pulls on it hard, and looks me in the eye. “Run,” she says, and there’s fear in her voice.

“What’s going on?” I ask, shaken and horrified and lost. For a moment, I exist in the terrible world that my beloved wife has just murdered a random fan asking for an autograph.

The headless body stands up. Its neck boils and bubbles and extends, forming bone and muscle and fat and cartilage and skin, lips and a tongue and a nose and eyes, hair falling last, and the familiar stranger pouts.

And then, at last, I recognize where I’ve seen this woman.

“Well,” says Echidna, Queen of Beasts, “that wasn’t very nice. Mm, I guess I’ll have to take away your toys. Hehehe, well, I was gonna do that anyway. They’re mine now.”

Where the severed head fell, a woman in the crowd starts to convulse and shift and change, and as she stumbles into someone else they scream and begin to writhe, and in seconds the entire mass of gathered humans is bleeding and retching as their bodies twist and are reshaped—becoming the monstrous children of the Catastrophe who rules flesh.

Echidna is here and we’re all going to die.