Rest Before the Journey

I shut the hotel door behind me and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. I now had seventy-five skill points and one more skill I didn't want: High Stepper. I already had Effortless Elegance, which was more of a curse than anything else. Add High Stepper to that, and I was starting to feel like someone's idea of a joke.

When I died—when I was pulled into this weird, off-kilter world—I thought I'd be picking up sword fighting, magic, stealth. You know. Useful things. Not learning how to glide in heels and look like I was made up for fashion week.

Not that I was gliding. Twice on the way back to the hotel, I stumbled. I caught myself both times, but it was close. And to top it off, when I wasn't stumbling, my feet had started moving on their own, rising to the balls of my toes without me even realizing. I caught myself doing it three separate times. It was... distracting. More than distracting. Disturbing.

And then there was the other thing. Every time I passed a woman, my brain shifted gears. I wasn't checking them out—I was analyzing. Their makeup, their style, the way they blended or didn't. I would catch myself thinking bold choice on the lip color but she needed a warmer contour or wrong undertone, honey. I didn't want to be doing that. I didn't want to know that.

I sat on the bed and put my head in my hands.

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

There was a knock at the inside of my brain. Like something wanted out.

I hesitated, then said, "Skill points menu, open?"

To my surprise, it worked.

A shimmering overlay appeared in front of me, just like earlier. But now, under High Stepper, there were more options.

• Fit to Fantasy – 50 SP
• Click-Clack-Confidence - 100 SP
• Stiletto Slam - 175 SP
• Heelborn – 200 SP

It went on from there, each item making my stomach do flips. I hovered my fingers over a couple of the options to see what they meant.

• FIT TO FANTASY - LEVEL 1 - 50 SP
  Instantly reshape your foot to fit any shoe, no matter the size.

Weird. I selected another one, one that I couldn't afford.

• HEELBORN - LEVEL 1 - 200 SP
  Transform any shoe you touch into a high heeled shoe. Upgrade for more shoe selection.

I stared at them, hardly able to comprehend the changes that had visited my life.

Fit to Fantasy. Heelborn. I could feel the pull of the words. Like they wanted me to say yes. Like they wanted to happen to me.

I closed the menu.

No.

Not yet. Maybe never. There had to be a way to get rid of these things. Or trade them for something normal. Something with a blade or a fireball or—anything.

I spotted what looked like a remote control on the nightstand. It didn't look like any remote I'd ever seen. It was carved from wood, or maybe grown, the edges soft like bark. But the buttons were there, clear as day. Power, volume, channel.

I picked it up and pressed the power button.

The wall rippled. It moved like fabric caught in a breeze, then melted open to reveal a glowing, shimmering screen.

I sat up straighter.

Magic. Definitely magic.

On the screen was a beautiful elf woman, her voice smooth and polished as she read the evening news.

"Tonight, authorities urge caution after a loaded wand was discovered at a public playground. Three children were taken to the emergency ward to remove minor hexes. Parents are reminded to keep their wands secure at all times."

Her expression was a perfect balance of concern and poise. Her cheekbone highlight was flawless. She'd used a gold-based shimmer, subtle but powerful. Her liner had the faintest flick at the outer corner, not too dramatic. Her lipstick was a matte rosewood, understated and commanding.

I blinked. I shouldn't know that.

"Meanwhile, tensions are rising in the northern pits, where the ogre's union has called a strike over unsafe conditions and lack of blargin protection. Management insists the blargins are 'a fact of life' and accuse the union of being unreasonable."

A new image appeared on screen—a group of ogres waving signs, one of which said Give Us Helmets or Give Us ****.

"In other news, police were called to the home of the Mountain Oracle after multiple noise complaints last night. No arrests were made, but local residents say this is becoming a regular disturbance. A city spokesperson has promised to quote 'have a talk' with the oracle."

The newswoman gave a slight smirk. "Good luck with that."

Then, a heartwarming clip rolled. "And finally, a touching reunion in the village of Clearpond, where seven-year-old Milo was reunited with his fairy godmother after an extended magical sabbatical. She says she's proud of how far he's come. He says he hopes she never leaves again."

I clicked the remote. The screen rippled shut.

The Mountain Oracle. That was near where we were heading tomorrow. That might be something. But the rest—I didn't know if I was supposed to laugh or cry.

I lay back, arms behind my head.

This world. This life. I wasn’t ready for it. Not even close.

I closed my eyes.

Behind my eyelids, I saw the elf anchor again. Her face. Her lashes. Her glow. I knew exactly how she did it.

And I hated that I admired her technique.