They've failed the trial

“The trial has been failed,” she said in that same calm, empty voice. “You did not provide tea adequate for master’s tastes.”

As she spoke, the silver door at the far end of the garden shimmered into existence. The number 2 was etched across it in the same flowing script as before. It swung open silently, revealing another silvery portal beyond.

Chell’s ears drooped further. Elizabeth hugged herself, orbs dipping lower like they were ashamed too.

Dheris straightened up slowly. She looked at the golden statue of Genevive, at the open mouth, the arched back, the spread thighs and something hard settled in her jaw.

“We’re not leaving her like this,” she said. She bent, hooked one arm under Genevive’s golden knees and the other behind her shoulders, then lifted. The statue was heavier than she expected, solid metal, unyielding, but Dheris’s muscles bunched and she got her balanced across her broad back like a trophy carried home from battle. Genevive’s frozen ahegao face stared blankly over Dheris’s shoulder, looking ridiculous.

“If the dungeon master’s at the end of this,” Dheris grunted, “then he can fix her. Or I’ll make him. Come on.”

She started toward the open door, boots leaving wet prints on the moss.

Chell hesitated, then followed, glancing back at Roisin.

Elizabeth swallowed hard, gave the nearest orb a **** smile for the viewers and fell in behind Chell.

Roisin lingered.

She sauntered over to the porcelain maiden, hips swaying in the tight leather. The maiden didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stood there with that unchanging smile.

Roisin reached out, slid one grey hand down the front of the maiden’s crisp apron, cupping the curve of her small breast through the fabric. She leaned in close, tongue flicking out to trace the edge of her own lips again.

“See you around, doll,” she murmured.

Then she turned and walked through the portal last, tail flicking lazily, leaving the maiden exactly as she’d been, unmoving, untouched in any way that mattered, smile still perfect.

The second room was even more confusing than the first.

Dheris stepped through the portal first among the three still themselves, Genevive’s golden statue balanced across her shoulders. The weight was starting to ache in her traps, but she ignored it. She lowered the statue carefully to the floor, propping it upright against the wall near the door so the frozen sorceress faced the table. Dheris straightened, rolled her neck once and scanned the room with narrowed eyes. Her hand stayed close to the hilt of her greatsword.

While the first room had at least been somewhat mystical with its overgrown vibe, vines and flowers trying to swallow the mirrors whole, this one looked exactly like a high-class dining room. Polished dark wood floors, crystal chandeliers hanging low enough to catch every flicker of candlelight, walls lined with more mirrors framed in heavy gold. In the center stood a round table made entirely of crystal, edges etched with swirling gold filigree that caught the light and threw it back in sharp prisms across the room. Chairs upholstered in deep burgundy velvet were pulled out at even intervals. Plates, cutlery, goblets, all crystal and gold, were set with military precision.