The wine tasted of betrayal. A familiar vintage, really. Elara had served it herself on countless occasions, a subtle, cloying sweetness that masked the bitter almond aftertaste of nightshade. A classic. Almost poetic, in a dreary, unimaginative sort of way. She'd expected something more… theatrical for her grand finale. A dagger in the heart, perhaps. A dramatic fall from a balcony. Not this slow, ignominious slide into oblivion at her own banquet table, the murmurs of her guests fading into a dull, syrupy roar.
She managed a final, contemptuous smirk at her treacherous captain of the guard, his face a mask of feigned grief. The fool. He probably thought he'd be king of the castle now. He'd be lucky to last a week. Her last coherent thought was a rather satisfying image of his head on a pike, a crow feasting on his left eye. Then, darkness. A thick, velvety, and blessedly silent darkness.
It didn't last.
A chime, high-pitched and offensively cheerful, shattered the peace. It was the kind of sound that would make a songbird want to fly into a window. Elara's consciousness, which had been quite content with its non-existence, was dragged back into a state of… something. Not life, not death, but a strange, disorienting in-between.
[Congratulations, User! You have been selected for the Redemption System! Please press 'Continue' to begin your journey of atonement and self-improvement!]
A shimmering, translucent screen hovered before her, the text glowing with an ethereal, nauseatingly blue light. Elara stared. She blinked. The screen remained. It was, she decided, the most tasteless thing she had ever seen. Worse than the Dowager Duchess's chartreuse ball gown. Worse than the jester's off-key love ballads. Worse, even, than the taste of betrayal.
She did nothing. The screen pulsed, the blue light intensifying. The chime sounded again, this time with a hint of impatience.
[User is not responding. Initiating… motivational measures.]
A jolt, like a thousand icy needles, shot through her. Elara gasped, a phantom breath in a body she no longer possessed. The pain was exquisite, a sharp, clean agony that was almost a relief after the dull, creeping poison. Almost.
"Fine," she snarled, her voice a hoarse whisper in the void. "Continue. Let's see this farce through."
The screen flickered, the text changing.
[Welcome to the Redemption System! Your journey to becoming a better person starts now! Your first quest: 'Befriend a Commoner.' Good luck!]
Elara stared at the words, a slow, cold fury building within her. Befriend a commoner? A commoner? She, who had brought kings to their knees and made queens weep with a single, well-placed rumor? She, who had bathed in milk and honey while the common folk scrabbled in the dirt for scraps? The absurdity of it was almost enough to make her laugh. Almost.
"And what, precisely, happens if I refuse?" she asked, her voice dripping with the venom that had been her most trusted weapon.
[Quest refusal will result in penalties. Penalties may include, but are not limited to: physical discomfort, mental anguish, existential dread, and a persistent, untraceable itch.]
An itch. They were threatening her with an *itch*. The sheer, unadulterated audacity of it was almost impressive. Almost.
"I see," she said, her voice dangerously soft. "And this… 'System.' Who, or what, are you?"
[I am the Redemption System! Your friendly guide to a better you! My programming is a complex and proprietary blend of ancient magic, cosmic justice, and a surprisingly large amount of cat videos. It's… a work in progress.]
The screen flickered again, a brief flash of a kitten playing a tiny piano before returning to the quest description. Elara's eyebrow twitched. A work in progress. That explained the itch.
"So, I'm dead, and my eternal punishment is to be tormented by a deranged, cat-loving, holographic… thing?"
[You are not, technically, dead. Think of it as… a probationary period. A chance to earn your way back to the land of the living. Or, you know, not. Your choice, really. But the itch is very real. And very, very persistent.]
Elara considered her options. On the one hand, eternal damnation. On the other, befriending a commoner. It was a close call. But the memory of that icy jolt, and the threat of an itch she couldn't scratch, was a powerful motivator. And besides, she was curious. This 'System' was a new kind of game, and Elara had always been a master of games.
"Very well," she said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face. "Let's play."
The darkness dissolved, the blue screen faded, and Elara was unceremoniously dumped back into the world. Not her world, of course. Not the world of silk sheets and gilded cages she had known. This world was… brown. And smelly. The scent of unwashed bodies, stale beer, and despair filled her nostrils. The ground was a muddy, uneven mess, and the sky was a dreary, uniform grey. She was in the slums. Of course she was.
She was also, she noted with a grimace, wearing a dress that looked and felt like a burlap sack. Her hair, once her pride and joy, was a tangled, matted mess. And she was barefoot. Barefoot. In the mud. The indignity of it all was almost too much to bear.
[Quest: 'Befriend a Commoner.' Time limit: 24 hours. Reward: 10 Redemption Points. Penalty for failure: A plague of boils. On your face.]
The System's voice, now a disembodied whisper in her mind, was as cheerful and as irritating as ever. Elara gritted her teeth. Boils. On her face. The System, it seemed, was not playing fair.
She scanned the street, her eyes, accustomed to assessing threats and opportunities, quickly sizing up the locals. A gaggle of street urchins, their faces smudged with dirt, were chasing a rat. A drunken man was singing a lewd song to a lamppost. A woman with a face like a collapsed pudding was trying to sell a basket of wilted vegetables. It was a veritable smorgasbord of misery and desperation. And she had to befriend one of them.
Her gaze landed on a young man, no older than twenty, sitting on a crate and sketching in a worn leather-bound book. He was… clean. Ish. His clothes were patched but not ragged, and his hair, though shaggy, was free of the lice she could practically see crawling on everyone else. He had a focused, intense expression, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was, she decided, the least offensive option.
She approached him, her bare feet sinking into the mud with a squelch that made her want to scream. She plastered a smile on her face, a smile that had charmed princes and disarmed assassins. It felt… wrong on her face now, a grotesque parody of her former self.
"Hello," she said, her voice a carefully modulated purr. "What are you drawing?"
The young man looked up, his eyes, a startlingly clear shade of blue, widening in surprise. He blinked, then a slow, shy smile spread across his face. "Oh, uh, nothing much. Just… the street."
He held up his sketchbook. The drawing was… surprisingly good. He had captured the dreary, chaotic energy of the slum with a few deft strokes of charcoal. He had talent. A useless, pointless talent in a place like this, but talent nonetheless.
"It's… charming," she lied, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. "My name is… Elara."
"I'm Liam," he said, his smile widening. "It's nice to meet you, Elara."
[Progress: You have successfully initiated a conversation with a commoner! 1/10th of the way to friendship! Keep it up! Or don't. The boils are still on the table.]
Elara's smile tightened. This was going to be a very, very long 24 hours.