Jasper took a step back, the air around him shimmering with an imperceptible heat as if the very space was being warped. From his body, a greasy, black smog began to emanate, not unlike an oil slick on water. It writhed and coiled around him like living shadows, a subtle, greasy smoke that slithered from his every pore. With each puff of the black smoke, his already pale skin grew even more translucent, the veins on his hands and neck becoming more prominent and purple against the alabaster. It was a tangible piece of his soul made manifest, a magical copy that stood in his place, its eyes glazed over, its movements stiff and repetitive, a silent sentinel that allowed Jasper to escape these tiresome rituals. He knew his parents would scold him if they caught him slipping away from this "most honorable event."
His father, Michael, a stern man with a permanent scowl, would threaten to throw him back into the dark realm. His mother, Dahlia, would simply ignore his defiance, her hand going to the small tattoo of a twisting vine on her wrist, a silent reminder of her earth magic. It was a well-established fact that Jasper had become the family's embarrassment, and were it not for his overwhelming strength and violent nature, he would have likely been cast back into the pits of hell long ago. Dahlia's eyes constantly darted around the room, her gaze sweeping over the polished marble floors and the towering columns as if she expected a spy to be lurking in every shadow. Michael kept a hand on the hilt of his blade, his body tense and coiled, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. They spoke in hushed whispers, their heads bent together, their voices too low for anyone to overhear.
Danielle's knees hit the cold stone floor, the sudden impact a jolt to her senses. Her breath came in ragged huffs as if she had been running for miles. She hated this moment, this painful reunion with her past. The first memory that came was always the same: the last moments before her death, flashing before her eyes in a brutal, chaotic sequence. Her mind, a whirlwind of fragmented scenes, was a torrent of images, sounds, and emotions that were not her own, yet they were intrinsically tied to her soul. She could feel every nerve ending being stretched to its breaking point, her mind being packed with another lifetime of memories. It was as if she had no more space left, her mind screaming for a release from the overwhelming pressure, her head feeling as if it would explode.
She stayed kneeling on the floor as she absorbed the new information, the memories of the other Danielle settling into her mind like a heavy stone. She was definitely not on Earth. She was in some weird fantasy fever dream, a world where women could use magic and men were made of magic. And she was the big titty cripple.
She wanted to scream, to rail against the injustice of it all. In a world of fantasy where for once she would be able to fight back, to burn Eric alive or freeze him to death or blow him away, all she had were her big breasts. It was infuriating. And to make matters worse, she had spent her life being friends with the monster who would soon kill her. In this world, she and Eric were great friends. He had tried to marry her so many times, but this gloriously stupid body had always turned him down because she felt like she wasn't worthy. As much as she knew she had the worst luck on the planet, she was so happy this version of herself was pathetic and had no self-esteem. If this girl had even a drop of self-esteem, she would be dealing with a marriage to an absolute monster.
"Small victories," she hummed to herself, a grim smile on her face. The only interesting thing to her, at least, was the bead of divinity in her chest. It's why this body was always weak and tired and unable to walk for long periods of time. It was a gift she was given at birth from the gods that would ultimately kill her. But it seemed with her new soul intact and all of her lives stacked on top of each other, she wasn't as weak as the previous host. Which is why she could withstand the effects of the bead.
Though in all of the memories, it was made very clear to her that she couldn't tell anybody about it. It was valuable. Her father knew that people would try to dissect her for it, that they would do horrible things to get it out of her.
Getting to her feet, she adjusted her dress, the silk rustling against her skin. She smoothed out the wrinkles, making sure she was fully covered as she thought about her situation. She realized that she wasn't as screwed as she thought she was. This was definitely a different life. Certain things were the same: her sister still ended up getting engaged at a big ceremony, and her parents and sister looked the same.
In this life, it seemed that there were more dangers. But Eric might not be the biggest one at the moment. Though her status as a powerless cripple might save her for the time being, she just needed to find a prince who would accept her while avoiding Eric at every turn.
She now knew how dangerous this marriage market would be. But it would be just as difficult to catch the attention of any of the princes. Everyone knew she was crippled and weak. She would definitely have to stand out. Pacing a few more times, her footsteps echoing on the stone floor, she finished giving herself the internal pep talk. She had to try to find the silver linings. She had a chance to escape Eric. Her cup size had gone up. And she knew how to flirt and was far more sexually experienced than any of these princesses who were raised to be chased little hens. She wouldn't be bound by the same types of morality that would hold the other princesses back. If she had to suck a few cocks to survive this life, then that's exactly what she would do. Survival over everything. It was the only word she lived by.