Eliza In The Flesh!: the call of godspawn. II

The belly of the beast was a lot more antique than she imagined. The building was very prestigious and sizable, but in her opinion, it didn’t even come close to being compared with Rainford. The entrance of the home was filled with broken mirrors. Strangely enough, the only person reflecting in its frames was Eliza. Everyone else was banging on the glass, translucent bodies with expressions screaming in anguish and rage. In front of her walked the incarnate of evil itself, smiling wickedly and so alien. Like some sort of extraterrestrial ghost. Eliza blinked and her reflection changed. Suddenly, she looked pale and ghastly, her face sickly and fearful. She reached for the handle of her swiss sabre sword in her scabbard, knuckles paling. On either side was a particular door-shaped mirror with a jagged golden knob.

 

Beyond that, the wooden floors continue and spread out, creaking under her steps as she goes. The girl in front of her made no such sounds at all. She was led to a large hall and a crossroad at her feet. The girl turned sharply to the right, leading her further down, down, and down. She stopped at a large, splintering and crooked door to their left. The door opened on its own, and Eliza stepped inside.

 

She was met with a dark, empty room. Despite the many windows outside, none of them were present. “Take a seat,” the girl said, her smile unchanging. A table and two chairs were dragged into the center. Eliza hesitated, but her body had other plans. She was suddenly thrown into the chair, a tower of pastries appearing seemingly out of nowhere. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, swinging to and fro, to and fro, to and fro.

 

“Return what belongs to me, godspawn,” Eliza hissed at her. She shook her head, still grinning so villainously. “Finders keepers,” she sang, the only door out closing. “Losers weepers.” Everything began to stretch around her, or perhaps she was getting smaller, and smaller. Maybe her vision was warping. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe this was the embodiment of doom itself, the conqueror of death paying what’s due. Whichever one it was, the girl began to warp. Her arms stretched like elastic, widening more, and more. Eliza could not feel for her legs and hands. Somewhere in the girl’s chest, something cracked. Her pupils began to widen, eyes turning pitch black. The arms snapped and two more were produced; raw red flesh with white tissues connecting the joints.

 

“What must I offer, then?” Eliza began to grow anxious as she stared up at her. “I’m sure you saw the mirrors,” her voice echoed throughout the room, like a thousand voices whispered to her. “It gets lonely sometimes. You’d fit right in.”

 

Eliza could not imagine how she could possibly be lonely, but it suddenly dawned upon her that she had bigger problems to deal with. Like whatever was up with the girl who was floating in the air with pitch black eyes, strangely deformed torso, and the first set of arms twisting into serrated limbs, like vines made of steel.

 

She stood up from her chair, dizzy, but alas, stubborn. And also arrogant. And maybe reckless. But hey, rich! So she took off one of her gloves and wrapped her necklace around her wrist, latent stone entwined in her fingers. Her hand produced a quiet crack as a crevice formed down her palm, blazes of orange and blue sparking with ignition. Eliza steadied her crown, fashioned her stance, and drew her blade in her other hand.