Natalia stood before a tall crystal mirror in her dressing room, clad in a gown that seemed like an exquisite prison of cream satin and gold.
The corset's fabric gripped her torso so tightly that every breath felt like a struggle, and the intricate gold-thread embroidery, arranged in floral motifs, shimmered in the lamplight. Three massive sapphires surrounded by diamonds sat proudly at the center of the neckline, and the heavy, cascading skirt with a wide train swept the floor with every nervous movement she made.
She approached the vanity and grabbed a brush, looking at her reflection with a growing sense of alienation.
Instead of delicate movements, she began to tug at her glistening gold hair with the brutal force of the man she had been only a week ago. The brush snagged repeatedly in the thick tresses, and Natalia's face contorted in a grimace of genuine pain as she mercilessly ripped out strands. Every stroke was clumsy, devoid of any feminine intuition, turning the elaborate hairstyle into a disheveled battlefield.
Next, she reached for the heavy sapphire earrings. She tried to guide the wire into the small piercing in her ear, but the metal slid across her skin every time. She winced when she pushed the jewelry too hard, wounding the delicate lobe, until finally, in a fury, she threw the jewelry onto the marble countertop.
Last was the lipstick in a deep, purple shade. Natalia turned it in her fingers with consternation, as if holding an unknown mechanism, before bringing it to her lips.
She began to apply the color with violent, heavy-handed movements, missing the contour of her lips entirely. Midway through, the stick slipped, leaving a thick smear trailing all the way to her cheek.
Staring at her ruined face in the mirror, Natalia snapped.
Her body, despite its high charisma, radiated pure rage. She pressed her lips together so hard they turned white, and her fists clenched into hard knots, digging into the folds of the expensive fabric. Grinding her teeth until the echo carried through the luxurious room, she erupted in a sudden, raspy scream:
"I CAN'T DO THIS! HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO PUT ON MAKEUP?!"
Furious, she wiped her dirty cheek against the sleeve of her gown and turned away from the mirror, not caring that the heavy skirt tangled between her legs. Every step was heavy and full of rebellion as she left the dressing room in a flash, heading straight for the exit of the luxury home.
Suddenly, as Natalia took another step toward the exit, the world around her violently cracked.
A blinding darkness flooded her field of vision, and the silence of the luxury home was torn by familiar, terrifying whispers and screams. She felt as if her body were losing its mass, collapsing into a bottomless abyss where neither gravity nor time existed.
In terror, she fell to her knees, clutching her head.
"No! No! Not again?!" she sobbed, her voice drowning in the rising babble of voices.
Since her reincarnation, Natalia regularly felt as if she were losing her mind. Every so often, reality would warp, showing her macabre images and nightmares which, despite her awareness of their unreality, paralyzed her with fear every time.
***
A moment earlier, in the headquarters of the Order of the Dark Star in the city of Zalris, in one of the damp, dark dungeons, another drama was unfolding.
A man in his twenties named Albert lay on dirty straw. His entire face was covered in pulsating black veins that looked like dark vines taking control of him. Albert was muttering incoherent things, tearing hair from his head in a fit of rage.
Opposite him, behind bars, stood a woman who watched his downfall with mounting terror.
"Albert, please, calm down!" she begged, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Don't let it take control of you! Please, don't fall into madness!"
Under the influence of her desperate voice, Albert suddenly went still. His body stopped trembling, and his breathing became steadier. The woman sighed with immense relief, opening her mouth to say more, but the words died in her throat.
Albert unexpectedly burst into demonic laughter. In a fury, he bit his finger, tearing the skin to the bone, and began to write terrifying, unintelligible bloody signs on the stone wall of the dungeon with his gore.
At that same moment, a man in his thirties entered the dungeons, his appearance contrasting with the darkness of the cell. He wore an impeccably tailored, elegant suit and matching trousers, and in his hand, he held a luxury cane with an intricately crafted finish.
Seeing him, Weronika flinched and looked at the newcomer with sudden enthusiasm.
"Captain?! You've returned!"
The man nodded, though his face remained serious, almost sad.
"We received information about the movements of the Sect of Calamity and immediately set out on their trail," he said in a voice full of resignation. "However, it all turned out to be a trap. We had to fight our way through a massive swarm of resentment ghosts."
The woman froze, looking at him with undisguised concern. "Captain, are you alright?!"
The Captain nodded again, this time with a slight smile of appreciation for his subordinates.
"No, Roland was extremely helpful. Since his puzzle-core evolved into Conductor of Phantoms, no kind of ghost scares him."
Weronika sighed with visible relief. "That's good, because lately..." she began, but did not finish the sentence.
A deep sadness appeared in the Captain's eyes for a fraction of a second. He let out a heavy sigh and shifted his gaze to Albert, who was still writing in blood on the wall in his frenzy.
Seeing the macabre signs, the man whispered in disbelief: "Albert... So it has really gone this far..."
He turned to the woman, a demand for explanation in his voice.
"Weronika, what happened? I was only gone for two weeks; how is it possible that Albert has almost fallen into madness?"
Weronika shook her head, desperately searching for an answer.
"I have no idea, Captain! Everything... everything was fine. After he advanced to the higher Phase a month ago, nothing disturbing happened, neither with his body nor his mind. However... for over a week, his condition has deteriorated drastically. For several days, he has completely lost control of himself."
The Captain felt his heart break at the sight of his comrade-in-arms' downfall.
"Step back a bit," he said shortly, a steely firmness appearing in his voice.
Weronika wanted to protest, opening her mouth to say something, but ultimately she only nodded in silence. With fear, she watched as the Captain, slowly and with dignity, approached the very bars of the cell of the maddened Albert.