[Winx Club] The Fairy Godmother (Anti-Hero / Reincarnation)

[VitahAR]

Title: The Fairy Godmother
Fandom: Winx Club
Tags: Anti-Hero, Transmigration / Reincarnation, Crime, Magic, Darker Themes

Synopsis:
Madam Lefevre never dreamt of becoming a fairy. She dreamt of selling them. Her plan was simple: acquire the full rights to the global Winx franchise and make millions off the merchandise. Just business. But a ruthless business rival's bullet made some unexpected corrections to her grand design. Now, her prestigious seat on the board of directors has been replaced by a room with pink wallpaper in Gardenia. Instead of a custom Maybach, she's stuck riding the school bus. And instead of competent subordinates, she is surrounded by a group of hysterical teenagers. She is trapped in the body of Bloom, but the mind and ruthless corporate experience remain all hers.

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[VitahAR]

In a vast, lavishly furnished living room with a panoramic view of the shimmering Eiffel Tower sat Dominique Lefevre. A third-generation aristocrat and head of an international holding company. She took off her thin-rimmed glasses and placed them on a stack of documents labeled Rainbow Media. For two months she had studied this company, locking onto it like a hunter stalking prey. The ability of these people to make money practically out of thin air commanded her genuine respect.

Dominique walked over to the tall window and stepped out onto the terrace. Nighttime Paris, sprawling beneath her, always brought on a strange melancholy, but tonight she had no time for contemplation. She just needed to clear her head, to take a breath of cool air before another session of madness. Oh yes, she knew perfectly well what madness was. Madness, as a certain video game character used to say, is doing the exact same thing over and over again, hoping for a change. That was exactly what she had been doing all day, and now she had to keep going.

She returned to the room and sank into a deep armchair. She needed to understand what their phenomenal success was built upon, and what had caused its current decline. The remote was already at hand. One click, and the room filled with sound.

"If you desire, you can become one of us..."

A familiar melody poured from the speakers. On the screen, five girls, drawn as if the animator was in a massive hurry, began to sing their simple little song. The intro finally ended, and another episode began.

Three witches in equally tasteless outfits appeared on the screen once again.

Here go these three hysterics again, Dominique thought, swiping her fingers across the touch panel on the armrest with mild irritation. Next to the main hologram of the cartoon, several smaller windows flared to life.

The reports from all her analysts merged into three clear conclusions for her.

First: the transition to 3D graphics did the cartoon no favors. The fans universally trashed it. The picture had lost its naive charm, becoming plastic and lifeless.

Second: the fourth season became the point of no return, after which the show apparently stopped being interesting. The plot started running in circles, cannibalizing itself without bringing anything new to the table.

And third, the most obvious thing that she could see on the screen right now—the villains. The exact same three witches that everyone was already sick to death of.

The picture was clear. The formula for success was brilliant in its simplicity, but its creators had gotten lazy. They stopped developing their flagship franchise and started mindlessly milking it.

Dominique smirked. They were sitting on a gold mine and couldn't even mine it properly, even though the solution was right on the surface. These fairies weren't created for cartoons; they were created to sell. Absolutely anything.

The toys were just the tip of the iceberg. Clothing lines replicating the outfits from the show, school supplies, sparkly kids' cosmetics, video games. An entire empire built on the wings of these animated idiots.

You just had to pull the right lever. And there was only one lever here, and it never failed—the childish "I want it!". A child doesn't ask; a child demands. And a parent's job is either to give up and buy it, or endure hours of screaming tantrums. The majority, as practice showed, chose the former.

At that moment, the light on her personal communicator softly blinked on. She leisurely touched the sensor.

"Madame Lefevre, I apologize for the late call," came the slightly tense voice of Antoine, her lead attorney. "I'm calling about Rainbow. Their board of directors just caved. They are accepting all our terms."

"Excellent, Antoine," she smiled. "I expect the full packet of documents on my desk by Wednesday."

"Yes, Madame. Of course."

She cut the call without waiting for goodbyes. Silence reigned in the room once more. And only now did a genuine smile slip across her lips. Another victory.

Her gaze returned to the holographic panel.

"Well then, little fairies," her whisper was barely audible in the vast room. "I hope you make your new mommy a lot of money."

Dominique lazily rolled her shoulders, and the expensive dress, losing its support, slipped silently to the floor. She stepped over it, heading toward the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged, enveloped in a cloud of expensive perfume. She walked over to her walk-in closet, her eyes skimming the rows of garments before settling on a flawless black dress. The perfect choice for an evening that belonged entirely to her.

She could have called her driver, but she immediately brushed the thought away. This was her triumph, and she didn't want anyone else around her in a moment like this. The slight dizziness of success pleasantly tickled her nerves; right now, she just wanted to be alone, to take a drive through the night city, listening not to the breathing of a chauffeur, but only to the roar of her Maserati's engine.

Decided.

Dominique went down to the underground parking garage. She drove out onto the empty streets. The city slept, unaware that one of its queens had just grown even richer and more powerful.

Her supreme self-confidence had always been her trump card. And her only weakness. She considered the people she had just devoured to be naive idiots, but she failed to account for one thing—that even idiots, when backed into a corner, can snap back.

A black SUV without license plates lunged out of the darkness of an alleyway. An ugly brick on wheels with its headlights off blocked her path.

Dominique didn't even have time to curse; only one thought flashed through her mind: An ambush.

There was no time to think. Her body, trained by years of discipline, reacted on its own. A sharp lunge to the right, onto the passenger seat. Her right hand was already flying toward the glove compartment, where her compact Glock lay. Her little personal argument.

Bang-bang-bang...

At that moment, a burst of automatic gunfire shattered the silence. The tempered glass exploded into a thousand shards. She felt a hard impact in her shoulder, felt a warm, sticky patch spreading across the fabric of her dress.

And right then, her fingers finally found the cold grip of the pistol. Adrenaline burned away the pain, and pure hatred gave her strength. She fired three times, blindly, toward the muzzle flashes. A short, gurgling wheeze came from the SUV. She hit someone.

Another burst stitched across the door. Her chest exploded with agony, and blood poured out of her mouth. The world tilted, and all sound vanished, replaced by a thin, high-pitched ringing.

I can't die this stupidly.

That was her last thought.

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly, clinging to torn scraps of memory: the roar of the Maserati engine, the screech of brakes on wet asphalt, and then... pain. She remembered the automatic fire turning her body into a sieve. But now... nothing. There was no pain, no cold, no metallic taste of blood in her mouth. On the contrary, she was lying in warmth, under something incredibly soft and light. And this smell... God, what was that stench? A sickly-sweet, cheap scent, like a three-euro peach shampoo from a discount supermarket. A smell that triggered a subconscious irritation. In her penthouse, even the floor cleaner smelled more expensive than this.

This is definitely not a private clinic. And certainly not a morgue.

Her eyes opened on their own, and the first thing that struck her was a white ceiling and a tasteless chandelier shaped like a plastic flower. The morning sun pierced through pink curtains, flooding everything around her with a light that made her want to squeeze her eyes shut.

At first glance, an ordinary room, except...

The walls were covered in wallpaper dotted with fluttering butterflies. Posters of some pretty-boy bands hung on the walls. The desk was buried under notebooks and textbooks. A plush unicorn sat on the dresser, staring at her with its glassy button eyes.

It was a teenage girl's bedroom, decorated with a complete lack of taste or sense of proportion. What is this nonsense? Where am I? Kidnappers? No, that makes no sense. Who would hold a hostage in such a ridiculous room?

Panic rose in her throat. Dominique forced herself to take a slow, controlled breath, just as her yoga instructor had taught her.

Inhale, exhale. Calm down, Dominique, you don't panic. You never panic.

The ringing in her ears faded. She tried to move and realized she was lying in bed. The movement came surprisingly easily; no agony in her shot-up chest, no crippling weakness from blood loss. She threw off the blanket with a jerk and froze, staring at what she saw. Two long, slender legs.

Her legs remembered hundreds of kilometers on the treadmill, remembered the best spas in Europe. These, however, were smooth and thin, without a single trace of laser hair removal. Her body was clad in pajamas covered in smiling cartoon bunnies holding carrots. She slowly raised her right hand to her face. But it wasn't her hand, either. Long, delicate fingers, smooth skin devoid of any age spots, nails painted with pink glitter polish and half-bitten off.

A coma. Right, these are near-death hallucinations, her mind desperately clung to the last straw of rationality. I was shot. My brain is dying right now and showing me some kind of delirious nonsense. The doctors will come in a second, hit me with adrenaline, and I'll wake up in intensive care.

But the world around her was too real, too detailed for a simple dream. She could feel the softness of the sheets, hear the chirping of birds outside the window, sense a light draft from the cracked window. The door to the room creaked open, and a middle-aged woman with a kind, slightly tired face appeared in the doorway. She held a stack of fresh laundry in her hands.

"Bloom, honey, it's already half-past seven!" The woman set the laundry down on the dresser, shoving the unicorn aside. "You're going to be late for school."

The word "Bloom" hit Dominique in the gut harder than any bullet. It was a name from that idiotic cartoon she had been watching before that fatal drive. The name of the redheaded girl with wings and magic, the one she was planning to make millions off of.

"Bloom? Are you listening to me?" The woman stepped closer and sat on the edge of the bed. "Sweetie, is everything okay? You look pale."

"I..."

"Stayed up all night on your phone again?" The woman shook her head and placed a cool palm on her forehead. "No fever, it seems. But you really don't look well."

"I... I'm feeling a bit sick," Dominique blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Can I stay home today? My head is splitting."

The woman frowned.

"Again? Bloom, this is the third time this month. What's going on? Are you having trouble at school? Did you get into another fight with Mitzi?"

Mitzi? Who the hell is Mitzi? Oh, right... I think there was some girl with that name briefly shown at the very beginning. A friend, maybe? Dominique didn't really remember such minor, episodic characters.

"No, it's just... I really feel bad. Maybe it's a migraine?"

"Hm. I used to get migraines at your age, too," the woman sighed. "Alright, stay home. But no excuses tomorrow, got it? You have a history test."

A test. In history. I am thirty-eight years old, I run an international empire, and this woman is telling me about a test.

"Thanks, Mom."

"Will you come down for breakfast?"

"A little later."

"I made your favorite pancakes with maple syrup. And there's fresh orange juice."

Pancakes with syrup? Seriously?

"Sounds... great."

The woman smiled and adjusted the blanket.

"That's my good girl. Dad already left for the station, told me to tell you he loves you. He said he'll bring pizza tonight from that Italian place you like."

"Pizza. Super."

"And please finally clean up your room, okay? It looks like a tornado went through here. How do you even find anything in this chaos?"

"I'll definitely clean it."

"I'll hold you to that!" The woman stood up, heading for the door, but turned back. "Bloom... is everything really okay? You can tell me if something's bothering you. Is it about boys?"

"No. Really, just a headache."

"Alright. Call me if you need anything. I'm going to the shop soon—a new shipment of orchids arrived, I need to sort them out. And then those supply invoices... the flower business isn't as simple as it seems."

The woman left, gently closing the door behind her. Dominique was left alone in a deafening silence. Bloom. She called me Bloom. This is impossible. This is madness...

It was too absurd even for hell. No, she had to see everything with her own eyes, to prove to herself that this was all some delusion. Throwing her legs—which felt slightly clumsy—off the bed, she tried to stand up, and immediately almost collapsed back down. She swayed, grabbing onto the headboard, took one step, then another. Staggering like a drunk, or like a person learning to walk all over again, she moved toward a door with the word Bathroom spelled out in pink glitter. Even the bathroom. Even the damn bathroom door has glitter on it.

Every step was an effort. Her brain, accustomed to commanding the body of a successful businesswoman, issued its usual orders, but this new body executed them with a delay and frightening inaccuracy. Like she was trying to control a marionette with tangled strings. She pushed open the bathroom door and froze. The towels—pink. The heart-shaped bath mat—pink. The shower curtain with dancing flamingos—pink. A mountain of shampoo and shower gel bottles was lined up on the shelves, all with idiotic names like "Strawberry Dream" and "Peach Paradise." But Dominique was only looking at the large mirror above the sink.

She walked up slowly, feeling her heart clench painfully in her chest. Reflected in the mirror was a girl of sixteen, no older, with a shock of long, fiery-red hair scattered over her shoulders in picturesque disorder. With huge blue eyes, so blue they looked fake, drawn-on. With a sprinkling of freckles across a straight nose.

Bloom. The very same one from the screen. Only now she wasn't drawn by some amateur artist for pennies, but real, alive.

"Fuck," slipped from her new mouth.

She raised a trembling hand and touched her cheek. The girl in the mirror perfectly mirrored her movement. The skin was soft and warm, without a single trace of expensive cosmetics. She pinched her arm.

"Ow! Shit!"

"Bloom?" her mother's worried voice called out from behind the door. "Are you okay in there?"

"Yeah, Mom! I just... bumped into the shelf!"

"Careful in there! And don't forget to take something for your headache. There's aspirin in the medicine cabinet."

The footsteps faded away. Dominique looked into the mirror again, then at her hands. This wasn't a dream, or a coma, or a hallucination. Dominique Lefevre, a third-generation aristocrat, head of a corporation, a woman who struck fear into boards of directors across the globe, stood wearing pajamas with smiling bunnies, looking into the mirror with the eyes of a cartoon fairy.

They wanted to eliminate me? she thought, and Bloom's lips in the mirror pressed into a thin, cold line. Well, they've really outdone themselves.



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[VitahAR]

Dominique stood in front of the mirror for a few more minutes, trying to accept the new reality. Gradually, the strange feeling of alienation began to recede. The body still felt unfamiliar, but no longer so uncontrollable, as if an invisible cramp was slowly releasing her muscles.

Alright. I need information. Where am I? When am I? What the hell is going on?

She returned to Bloom's room, moving with more confidence. Her legs were no longer getting tangled; her hands obeyed her better. Pacing the room, Dominique took a closer look around.

A calendar featuring kittens hung on the wall above the desk. May 2004. A few days were circled with a pink marker, and the 15th had "History Test!!!" scribbled on it with three exclamation marks. 2004? So this is time travel, too?

She walked over to the desk, which was a natural disaster of textbooks, notebooks, and pencils. Setting one notebook aside, she began methodically sorting through the school-grade wastepaper. There was algebra homework, a weekly school schedule, and even some drawings. Dozens of drawings of fairies with multicolored wings, sketched quite skillfully, with obvious talent. She draws fairies. Of course she draws fairies. Under the stack of drawings, a book revealed itself. "Fairies: Reality or Myth?" Dominique snorted, opened the book, and flipped through a couple of pages detailing various types of fairies from world mythology, from Irish Sidhe to Slavic ones.

At that moment, something rustled under the bed. She froze. The rustling repeated, louder this time. What now... A rabbit darted out from under the bed. A completely ordinary, gray rabbit about the size of a large guinea pig.

"Jesus Christ!" Dominique grabbed the first thing that came to hand—namely, the math notebook—and hurled it at the animal. "You scared me, you little shit!"

The rabbit nimbly hopped aside, and the notebook smacked against the floor. The little beast stared at her with beady black eyes and twitched its nose. Wait. There was a rabbit in the cartoon. But it was... different. Dominique remembered a bright blue, cartoonish rabbit with huge eyes. A typical marketing gimmick designed to sell plush toys. This one, however, was just a standard pet rabbit, probably bought at the local pet store for twenty bucks.

"Kiko?" she called out uncertainly.

The rabbit twitched an ear and hopped right back under the bed. Fine. I'll deal with the rabbit later. She found a phone on the nightstand, a simple Motorola flip phone. Dominique opened it, staring at the tiny screen and keypad as if it were an artifact from another universe. She hadn't held a device like this in twenty years. Internet. I need the internet. She found the browser—WAP. God, she had forgotten this even existed. Loading the homepage took an eternity.

The browser history showed the last visit was to the Gardenia city website. Dominique clicked the link. She waited a full minute for a page with a couple of low-res pictures to load. "Gardenia's 50th Anniversary Celebration! Don't miss the main event of the year! May 21-23, Central Park..." She tried to find something about the Winx. Nothing. About the fairies of Alfea? Empty. Magical schools? Only Hogwarts from Harry Potter. Honestly, it was to be expected. A cartoon about the Winx couldn't exist inside the Winx universe. It was absurd, but worth checking.

Throwing the phone onto the bed in irritation, Dominique flopped down next to it, pulling the blanket over herself. Closing her eyes, she began massaging her temples, just as she always did during intense mental strain. Her eyelids grew heavy. The events of the morning—death, resurrection in a stranger's body—had drained all her energy. She didn't even notice when she drifted off.

She woke up to a weight on her stomach. Something warm and soft had settled right on top of her.

"What the..."

She felt fur. The rabbit. The little gray shit had climbed onto her and was sleeping peacefully, its whiskers twitching.

"Bloom?" The door cracked open, and her mother peeked through the gap. "Oh, you're awake. Sweetie, it's already two in the afternoon. You never came down for breakfast."

"I... fell asleep."

"Does your head still hurt?"

"It's better."

"That's good. Come down and eat. I'll heat up some pancakes. And get dressed, finally—you can't walk around in your pajamas all day."

Her mother left, and Dominique carefully lifted the rabbit off her stomach—which caused it to twitch an ear in annoyance—and set it on the floor.

Get dressed. Right. She opened the closet and nearly groaned. Low-rise jeans, miniskirts, sequined tops. Everything was so cheap; half the clothes were decorated with butterfly and star patches. God, what absolute trash. There isn't a single item here worth more than fifty dollars.

After a ten-minute search, she chose the lesser evil: a pair of unadorned dark blue jeans and a lilac blouse.

In the kitchen, her mother was indeed heating up pancakes. Dominique sat at the table, trying to act naturally.

"Here, eat up," the plate landed in front of her. "And drink your juice. Vitamin C is good for a headache."

"Thanks, Mom."

She took a bite of the pancake. It was surprisingly delicious for home cooking.

"By the way," her mother sat across from her with a cup of coffee, "Mrs. Harris called. Asked why you weren't at school. I told her you were feeling under the weather."

"Who is Mrs. Harris?"

Her mother raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Bloom, seriously? Your homeroom teacher. Are you sure you're okay?"

"It's just... my head is still a bit foggy."

"Maybe we should see a doctor?"

"No! I mean, there's no need. I'm feeling better."

After lunch, Dominique decided she needed to look around.

"I'm going for a short walk," she told her mother. "The fresh air will help."

"Good idea. Go take a walk, just don't be out too long."

The street greeted her with a typical American suburb. Identical houses with manicured lawns, white picket fences, mailboxes on posts. Like every second Hollywood movie.

Dominique walked at random, trying to memorize the route. After about an hour, she came upon a large red-brick building. Gardenia High School, the sign read. Teenagers were crowding the lawn in front of the school. Laughing, chatting, someone throwing a ball. Normal high school life.

Tomorrow I'll have to go in there. To high school. When I was sixteen, I was already receiving a private education in Switzerland. And now... an American public school.

"Hey, Bloom!"

She turned around. A blonde girl in a red jacket was jogging toward her.

Damn. Who is this?

"Why weren't you here today?" the girl stopped next to her, breathing heavily. "Mitzi was running her mouth all day saying you had nothing to wear, so you skipped."

Mitzi. That name again.

"I wasn't feeling well," Dominique answered cautiously.

"Oh, poor thing! So, are you not going to the party on Friday then?"

"Party? I don't know. I'm a bit sick right now..."

"That's a shame. Well, get better soon then. Friday is gonna be fun! Anyway, I gotta go, the girls are waiting."

The blonde ran off, leaving Dominique completely baffled. A party? Some teenage party? Kill me now. Oh wait, I've already been killed.

By the evening, when she returned home, Bloom's father had arrived from work. Mike Peters turned out to be a large man with a kind face and tired eyes. Barely stepping into the house, he took off his firefighter uniform and walked over to her.

"How's my princess?" He hugged Bloom; he smelled of smoke and men's deodorant. "Mom said you were feeling sick."

"Much better... Dad."

"That's great! I brought pizza from Tony's. Four cheese, your favorite!"

During dinner, Dominique chewed her pizza in silence, listening to her parents converse. Mike talked about a fire at a warehouse, Vanessa complained about suppliers delivering wilted roses. After dinner, everyone moved to the living room to watch TV. Some stupid reality show. Dominique sat for fifteen minutes before she couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm going to my room. Going to read before bed."

"Of course, sweetie. Good night."

In her room, she collapsed onto the bed. The rabbit immediately hopped up next to her and buried its nose into her side.

Dominique stared at the ceiling with its stupid flower chandelier, stroking the rabbit behind the ears as she began to think about the next day. Dominique Lefevre, you've survived hostile takeovers, stock market crashes, and board meetings with ruthless investors. You can handle an American high school. After all, how hard could it be?

The alarm clock woke her with a nasty beep at half-past six in the morning. Dominique opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. For a second, she hoped yesterday's nightmare had been just that—a nightmare. But no, the pink curtains, the posters of idiot singers, the plush unicorn—everything was in its place.

"Bloom! Get up, honey!" her mother's voice called from the hallway. "You have a test today, you can't be late!"

History test. Good God. She forced herself to sit up. The body obeyed better than yesterday—muscle memory was adapting, or her brain had learned to give the right commands to this foreign vessel, it didn't matter. The rabbit poked its head out from under the bed and stared at her.

"Good morning to you, too," Dominique muttered, lowering her feet to the floor.

Kiko twitched an ear, hopped onto the bed, and began methodically digging into the folds of the blanket.

"Looking for something?" She scratched him behind the ear. "I just hope you don't crap wherever you please."

The rabbit ignored her, continuing its excavations. Dominique got out of bed and trudged to the bathroom.

Alright, I need to act naturally. Don't raise any suspicions.

She returned to her room, where a new set of trials awaited her—choosing an outfit. Opening the closet, she once again scanned the low-rise jeans that were popular in... right, in 2004. Sequined tops, skirts that barely covered one's ass. I held meetings with Ministers of Finance. I dined with the heirs of the oldest European houses, and now I'm digging through a pile of shit from a bargain bin.

After five minutes of searching, she fished out some relatively normal dark blue jeans, devoid of rhinestones or holes, and a light blue t-shirt. She chose the most normal outfit possible within the confines of this wardrobe. The next task was packing her backpack. Dominique sat on the floor next to the school bag and dumped its contents. Textbooks, notebooks, pens, some crumpled pieces of paper with notes. She picked up a planner with a heart-shaped sticker on it.

At that moment, Kiko darted out from under the bed and, without hesitation, dove straight into the half-open backpack.

"Hey!" Dominique grabbed him by his soft scruff and yanked him out. "Get out of there! The last thing I need is you taking a dump in there."

The rabbit indignantly kicked its hind legs, broke free, and hopped back under the bed.

"Exactly. Stay there."

She zipped up the backpack and double-checked the planner. Everything was there. The head of an international holding company is packing a school backpack. If the board of directors saw this, they would die... of laughter.

"Bloom! Breakfast is ready!" came a shout from downstairs.

"Coming!"

Her parents were already waiting in the kitchen. Mike was sitting at the table in his firefighter uniform, reading the paper and drinking coffee. Vanessa was working magic at the stove.

"Good morning, sunshine," her mother turned with a smile. "Sleep well?"

"It was fine," Dominique sat at the table.

"You're a bit quiet today," Vanessa noted, setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of her. "Is everything okay?"

"Just haven't woken up yet."

"Right. Ready for your test?"

Am I ready for a tenth-grade American history test? I have a degree in economics from the Sorbonne.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

Mike put down his newspaper.

"That's my girl. You know, princess, I was thinking yesterday... Maybe we could go somewhere this weekend? To the lake, maybe. We haven't had a family trip in a while."

"That would be... nice," Dominique replied carefully, taking a bite of bacon.

A family trip to the lake. I used to spend my weekends on the French Riviera.

"Are you sure you're okay, Bloom?" Vanessa sat across from her with a cup of tea. "You've been really strange these past two days. So... quiet. Normally you chatter non-stop at breakfast."

Dominique looked up. Her mother was watching her with concern.

"Just thinking a lot. School, things like that."

"If something is wrong, you can tell us," Vanessa said softly. "We're always here to listen."

"I know, Mom. Thanks."

Mike patted her on the shoulder.

"Glad to hear it. Anyway, I gotta run. Shift starts at eight."

He kissed his wife, ruffled Dominique's hair—she barely restrained herself from recoiling at the overly familiar gesture—and left.

"You need to get going too," Vanessa glanced at the clock. "Bus is here in twenty minutes."

"Bus?"

"Bloom, are you entirely sure you're okay? You take the school bus every day."

Of course. The school bus. How could I forget that particular amusement ride.

"Yeah, yeah, just got lost in thought."

Twenty minutes later, Dominique stood at the bus stop alongside a dozen other teenagers. The yellow bus rolled up with the characteristic squeal of brakes, the doors hissing open. Dominique climbed the steps and looked around. A perfectly ordinary scene presented itself: rows of seats packed with high schoolers. Noise, chatter, someone blasting music through headphones. She made her way to the middle and took an empty window seat. Some girl with a ponytail plopped down next to her and immediately buried her face in her phone, furiously typing a text message.

The school bus. I am riding a school bus. The last time I took public transport was... never?

The bus pulled away. Identical houses, manicured lawns, and white picket fences drifted past the window. Ten minutes of rattling later, the bus deposited the crowd at the red-brick building. A typical high school, exactly like the ones Dominique had seen in dozens of Hollywood movies—a two-story structure with columns at the entrance and an American flag on a flagpole. She stepped off the bus and headed for the entrance, trying not to stand out from the crowd.

Inside, it was the standard setup as well: long hallways, locked lockers lining the walls, bulletin boards plastered with posters for school events.

Dominique walked down the hall, feeling eyes on her. Someone greeted her with a nod; someone else waved. She responded with brief nods, trying to look natural.

"Oh, look who it is. Bloom has decided to grace us with her presence," a mocking female voice rang out.

Dominique turned around. Standing before her was a girl of about sixteen, wearing a green plaid cardigan and tight black jeans. Her long dark hair was worn down, huge black-and-pink framed glasses covered half her face, and some sort of pendant dangled from her neck. A condescending smile played on her lips.

"What, wearing last year's sweater again?" the brunette continued, sizing Dominique up. "Maybe it's finally time to save up for something new from the thrift store?"

The hallway quieted down. Several students stopped, anticipating a show; apparently, this wasn't their first exchange of pleasantries. Dominique slowly turned to face her. And who is this? Could it be the famous Mitzi I'm supposedly feuding with? Options flashed through her mind. She could tear this little brat to shreds—thirty-eight years of experience against sixteen. But she needed to act like Bloom, like a sixteen-year-old girl. Then again... who said Bloom couldn't get a little smarter?

Dominique slowly shifted her gaze from the sweater to the girl's face, tilting her head.

"A thrift store? Oh, Mitzi, I didn't know you were such an expert. Though, looking at you, it makes sense that you're a regular customer."

Mitzi flushed.

"What?! I only buy from boutiques!"

"Really?" Dominique shook her head sympathetically. "Then I feel sorry for you. To spend so much money just to look this ridiculous... That takes real effort."

She paused, letting the words sink in, and then continued, examining Mitzi's face.

"By the way, interesting makeup. Did you do it yourself?"

Mitzi, whose eyes had already narrowed dangerously, answered on autopilot.

"Of course I did! I have perfect taste!"

"Ah, that makes sense," Dominique nodded with understanding. "You know, there's a wonderful saying: 'You can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig.' Though, judging by the result, you're stubbornly trying to prove otherwise."

The hallway erupted in muffled laughter. Mitzi's face went from pale to beet red, her hands balled into fists, and her whole body shook with rage.

"You... you..." she couldn't find the words, too blinded by anger.

"Me what?" Dominique smirked. "Lost for words? I suggest you spend less time wandering around thrift stores and more time studying. You're already bleating like a sheep; at this rate, you'll start oinking soon."

"You bitch..." Mitzi shrieked.

With a frantic wail, she lunged forward, intending either to grab Bloom's hair or slap her across the face. Regardless, Dominique had no intention of finding out this idiot's true motives. She stepped aside, letting the strike miss. Mitzi, having miscalculated her momentum, flew forward, losing her balance. Dominique caught her by the wrist, spun her around, and with one swift motion, dumped her onto the floor. Mitzi hit the ground flat on her back with a yelp.

"Oops," Dominique said innocently, looking down at her. "Did you slip? You need to be more careful."

The crowd gasped; several people laughed.

"What is going on here?!" a sharp female voice cut through the laughter.

A middle-aged woman in strict glasses marched over to them—evidently, a local teacher.

"Girls!" She stopped, looking at Mitzi on the floor. "Explain yourselves immediately!"

Mitzi opened her mouth, ready to spill everything, but Dominique beat her to it.

"It's nothing, really," her voice was perfectly calm. "Mitzi just asked me to show her a self-defense move. Just in case she runs into a maniac in a dark alley. Isn't that right, Mitzi?"

She looked down with an innocent smile. Mitzi froze. There were dozens of witnesses around; if she complained that Bloom had assaulted her, when everyone clearly saw she was the one who lunged first... her reputation would be ruined.

"Y-yeah," she forced out as she got up. "A self-defense move."

The teacher narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Self-defense? In the hallway? Right before the first bell?"

"I... didn't think," Mitzi mumbled.

"Let's pretend I believe you. But from now on, absolutely no... self-defense lessons in the hallway. Is that clear?" the teacher snapped.

"Clear."

"Now, everyone, off to your classrooms! The bell rings in ten minutes!"

The crowd reluctantly dispersed. Mitzi, red as a lobster, scurried down the hall.

Finding the right classroom was easy; the room numbers were listed under each subject in her planner. Dominique walked in and looked around; several students were already in their seats, while others crowded by the window. She walked over to the first empty desk she saw by the window and sat down, dropping her backpack on the floor.

"Uh... Bloom?"

Dominique looked up. A tall, skinny guy with light brown hair and a slightly bewildered expression was standing next to her.

"Um... why are you sitting in my seat?"

She blinked.

"Is it a crime?"

The guy opened his mouth, closed it, and scratched the back of his neck.

"Uh... Well... Okay. I'll just take your seat then."

He walked two rows back and flopped down at an empty desk by the wall. Interesting, so Bloom had an assigned seat. Well, now she has a new one. The classroom gradually filled up. Dominique sat by the window and observed. The girls huddled in groups, whispering and giggling. The guys shoved each other and traded stupid jokes. Typical teenagers. The teacher walked in—a woman in her fifties wearing a strict gray suit and glasses on a chain.

"Good morning, class," she placed a folder of papers on the desk. "I hope everyone is ready for the test?"

A groan of displeasure rolled through the rows.

"Excellent," the teacher chuckled dryly. "Then clear your desks; leave nothing but your pens."

She began handing out the test sheets. Dominique took hers and skimmed it. The American Revolutionary War. The Constitution. The Bill of Rights. The Civil War. Basic things, knowledge any educated person retained from a general history course. She took her pen and began to write. The questions were almost insultingly easy. Dates, names, major events.

Ten minutes later, the sheet was filled. Dominique put down her pen and leaned back in her chair. All around her, people were still sweating over their tests; some chewed on their pens, others frowned in deep concentration. She turned to the window. Outside the glass lay the schoolyard, a green lawn, and a few trees.

What am I doing here? How could I possibly end up in the body of a sixteen-year-old girl, in a world that shouldn't even exist? Not that I'm complaining, given the alternative, but it's still fascinating. I was killed. And now here I am, sitting and taking an American history test.

Time dragged by slowly. Dominique stared out the window, trying to gather her thoughts. She needed a plan; she needed information. What kind of world was this, anyway? Reality, a parallel dimension, a simulation? My only lead is that cartoon. The story about fairies, about Stella, and a fight in the park. When exactly was that supposed to happen? The cartoon didn't have exact dates. She only remembered the general outline of the plot: Bloom lives in Gardenia, a normal girl who doesn't know about her powers. Then Stella appears in the city, she's attacked by monsters, Bloom saves her, and this whole... magical ordeal begins.

The bell rang deafeningly, snapping Dominique out of her thoughts.

"Time is up," Mrs. Harris announced. "Pens down, pass your papers forward."

The students began to stand, passing the sheets up the rows. Dominique handed hers over and stretched. The next class was trigonometry, followed by English, and then PE.

Dominique changed into her gym uniform and walked out into the gymnasium.

I used to pay my personal trainer five thousand euros a month, and now I'm running laps in a high school gym while a PE teacher yells at me. But, to her surprise, the body handled it easily. Young, healthy, full of energy, without a trace of the fatigue accumulated through years of stress and overwork. Well, at least this body has one advantage.

The final class was biology. The teacher, a plump woman in a floral dress, talked about photosynthesis. Dominique listened with half an ear, mechanically taking notes just to keep her hands busy, but her mind was elsewhere. I need to go to the park. If the plot is anything to go by, it should all start there. And if nothing happens—then this is just a normal world, and I've lost my mind. But if it does happen...

The final bell rang at three o'clock. The students poured toward the exits in a noisy crowd. Dominique gathered her things and walked slowly to the bus. She took the same window seat, thinking as the houses drifted past once again.

If it all turns out to be true... If magic exists... Then she would have a chance. A chance to obtain real power, a kind of magic she couldn't have even dreamed of in her past life.

The bus stopped at her stop. She stepped off and walked home, gripping the straps of her backpack tightly.

 

[VitahAR]

The morning of the next day began with the exact same script. The beep of the alarm clock, the pink curtains, the rabbit poking its head out from under the bed. If I ever get out of here, the first thing I'll do is burn everything pink within a one-mile radius.

Dominique forced herself up and went through the now-familiar morning ritual: shower, clothes, backpack, breakfast. At the table, her parents were exchanging meaningful looks again, casting worried glances her way. She ate her oatmeal in silence, answering questions in monosyllables. "Yes." "No." "Fine." Playing the obedient daughter was harder than negotiating with Chinese investors. At least there, the rules of the game were clear.

The new day at school was practically a carbon copy of the previous one, just with different subjects.

Dominique had probably never watched a second hand so intently in her entire life. Her gaze was completely glued to the clock hanging above the blackboard—or rather, to the hand that seemed to be moving at the speed of a pregnant snail. The teacher was explaining something at the board, scribbling with chalk, drawing graphs. The class dutifully took notes, while Dominique sat with her chin resting on her hand, staring at the clock.

Twenty more minutes.

In history class, Mrs. Harris handed back the graded tests. Dominique received hers with a fat "A" in the corner of the page. The teacher gave an approving nod. Someone behind her sighed enviously. I don't care about your 'A'. I don't care about this school. Come on, clock hand, move.

Finally, the hand completed another full circle, and at that very second, the rustle of notebooks and the scratching of pens were interrupted by the long-awaited bell. The whole class sprang into motion. Chairs scraped back, backpacks flew onto shoulders, voices merged into a general hum. Dominique remained seated, slowly packing her things into her bag.

She waited until the hallway emptied out and was the last to leave, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. Finally, these stupid classes are over. Which means I can leave this madhouse with a clear conscience and not come back until tomorrow. Dominique stepped out onto the school porch, breathed in the warm May air, and headed toward the school bus stop. But before she could get there, she heard the distinct sound of a motor.

A bright pink scooter pulled up sharply and braked right in front of her nose, forcing Dominique to jump aside. Mitzi was sitting on it, a triumphant smirk on her lips.

"Oops," she drawled maliciously, taking off her sunglasses. "Almost ran you over. Sorry, didn't see you."

Dominique straightened up, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Mitzi. Didn't expect to see you today. I figured after yesterday, you'd sit at home for a couple of days. Play sick, maybe."

"Why would I be sick?" Mitzi got off the scooter. "Everything is perfect."

"Really?" Dominique tilted her head. "Your back doesn't hurt? After that... fall?"

Mitzi flinched, her face contorting for a fraction of a second, but she quickly pulled herself together.

"You know what, Bloom?" She patted the handlebars of the scooter. "While you're standing there trying to be smart, I was just thinking... Look what I have."

"A pink scooter. I see it."

"Not just a scooter," Mitzi ran a hand over the shiny chassis. "Brand new. My parents gave it to me last night."

"Cute," Dominique replied indifferently.

"Cute?" Mitzi sneered. "It's not just cute. It's cool, it's freedom, it's style. And most importantly..." she walked around the scooter, "...it's something you don't have and never will."

"A pink scooter? I think I'll survive."

"Not the scooter." Mitzi stopped, putting her hands on her hips. "Normal parents who can actually afford gifts like this."

Dominique felt a prick of irritation.

"What's your point, Mitzi?"

"No point," she shrugged, getting back onto the scooter. "Just wanted to make sure you understand the difference between us. I'm on a scooter. And you..." she glanced back at the bus stop, where the yellow school bus was idling, "...you're on a bus."

She revved the engine. And right at that moment, the school bus pulled away from the curb.

"Oops," Mitzi broke into a wide grin. "Looks like your bus left. What a shame, you'll have to walk now."

Dominique gave her a long, hard stare. Then she turned around and walked away, hearing the scooter's engine roar as Mitzi sped off, clearly pleased with herself. Little brat. As if I have nothing better to do than argue with petty teenage mean girls. Dominique walked down the sidewalk, pulling both backpack straps over her shoulders. The walk home was about forty minutes—not lethal. Plus, it gave her time to think.

"Hey, Bloom!"

She turned around. The guy who had given up his desk for her yesterday was riding up on a bicycle. He braked next to her, planting one foot on the asphalt.

"Missed the bus?" he said, slightly out of breath. "Want a ride? My back rack is sturdy, it'll hold."

Dominique looked him up and down, then eyed the old bicycle—worn out, with peeling paint. The guy himself looked like a quintessential middle-class American high schooler.

"Boy, have you looked in a mirror lately?" she threw back, walking right past him. Riding on a bicycle? On the back rack? Seriously? It's not even funny.

"Uh... okay," came the voice from behind, but she was already walking away without looking back.

The walk wasn't actually that bad. The sun was warming, but not scorching, and a light breeze ruffled her hair. Dominique walked through familiar streets. About twenty minutes later, she reached the center of town. The buildings grew taller, replaced by shops, cafes, and offices. And up ahead, just past a row of low buildings, greenery appeared. The park.

Dominique slowed her pace, looking up at the archway that read "Gardenia Central Park." She stopped before the entrance. This is it, the park. The fountain in the center with its stone bowls pouring water, the branching network of paths radiating outward, the sprawling trees with thick canopies. The lawns, flowerbeds, and benches—it all matched the fragmented memories from the cartoon. If it's all going to happen here, I need to get at least some bearing on the layout. I have to be ready.

Dominique entered the park. She walked slowly down the central alley, looking around. To the left—a playground with swings and slides. To the right—an open clearing where some people were throwing a Frisbee. Further down—rows of benches, ice cream stands, and hot dog carts.

She turned onto a side path, walking past a duck pond, past a gazebo where an elderly couple sat on a bench. She emerged into another clearing, a larger one, surrounded by tall trees.

Is this the spot? Or that one? Everything had been drawn and schematic in the cartoon. It was hard to figure out the exact topography. But something about this clearing felt familiar. An open space, trees along the perimeter, a bench at the edge. Maybe here. Dominique walked a full circle around the clearing. Nothing special. Grass, trees, paths. No magic, no anomalies. What were you expecting? A glowing portal?

She returned to the central alley and kept walking, studying the park. She took a left—another, smaller clearing. Then a right—a long path lined with rose bushes. Then back to the fountain.

Time ticked by, the sun slowly shifting toward the horizon. Dominique sat on a bench near the fountain and pulled out her phone. Half-past four. Her stomach gave a treacherous rumble. She stood up and headed for the nearest food cart.

"Hot dog and a Coke," she told the vendor, a heavyset man in an apron.

"Three fifty."

Dominique dug into the pocket of her jeans. She found a few crumpled bills and a handful of coins. She counted out the exact amount and received her hot dog wrapped in paper, topped with mustard and ketchup. Look what I've been reduced to. A hot dog from a street cart. Me, who used to dine in Michelin-starred restaurants. But honestly, she was so hungry that even this cheap hot dog tasted good. She sat back on the bench and began to chew slowly, washing it down with Coke from a plastic cup.

The park was gradually emptying out. Parents were leading their kids away from the playground, couples were heading home. It was getting chilly. The sun was dipping toward sunset, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Dominique just sat and watched. The fountain, the paths, the trees—trying to memorize every detail.

Somewhere around here. If it happens at all, it's somewhere around here.

Finally, she checked her phone. Half-past seven. Time to go home. If I stay any longer, my parents will call the cops. Dominique reluctantly stood up and headed for the exit. She walked under the archway and onto the streets. It was quiet; only occasional cars drove by, and a dog barked somewhere in the distance.

Dominique walked in silence, lost in thought. If magic exists—I will find it. If there's a way to get back home, and survive—I will find it. If not... If not, she would create a way herself. Just as she had built her empire. Step by step, deal by deal.

The streets became increasingly familiar, and finally, she saw the house. Just like dozens of others on this street, with one major difference—this was the house she had to live in now. The lights were on, and the front door was unlocked; clearly, they were waiting for her. Dominique stopped on the porch. Alright. Play the part. she pulled the mask of a disgruntled teenager over her face and stepped inside.

Her "parents" were sitting in the living room watching TV. But the moment the door clicked shut, Vanessa sprang from the couch, her eyes wide.

"Bloom, where have you been?" Her mother's voice trembled as she took a step closer. "It's nighttime!"

Dominique stopped in the doorway of the living room, her fingers gripping the strap of her backpack.

"Just went for a walk," she grumbled, looking at the floor.

"A walk?" Mike set down the remote, his eyebrows climbing upward. "Have you looked at the time? Explain yourself right now, or I'll—"

"I saw the time. And I'm tired," she cut him off, her voice sharp. "I want to sleep."

Vanessa opened her mouth, but Dominique had already turned away. Her sneakers pounded up the stairs, taking three steps at a time. She ran into her room with the butterfly wallpaper, slammed the door shut, and collapsed face-down onto the bed. The rabbit poked its head out from under the bed and stared at her.

"Piss off," she muttered into the pillow.

Kiko twitched his nose and hopped onto the bed, settling by her feet. Dominique rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

Soon. Soon enough I'll find out if this is all real or just madness. She closed her eyes. Dominique Lefevre doesn't believe in fairy tales. But if fairy tales do exist... I'll make them work for me.

The new morning began, for once, not with an alarm clock, but with a heavy, tense silence, which was arguably worse. Dominique came down to the kitchen and immediately felt the atmosphere. Her parents were sitting at the table, exchanging meaningful looks. Vanessa was nervously shredding a napkin; Mike cleared his throat. Great. A family intervention. She sat at the table. Vanessa placed a plate of eggs and bacon in front of her.

"Bloom," Vanessa began, her voice soft but very insistent, "your father and I are worried. You came home late yesterday, you're acting like someone else entirely. Did something happen at school?"

Dominique realized that a simple "I didn't get enough sleep" wasn't going to cut it anymore. She needed a better role, one she could play without raising suspicions. She chose the most obvious one. The resentful teenager. She poked at her eggs with a fork, keeping her eyes down.

"Mitzi got a scooter," she mumbled. "Spent half the day bragging about it."

Vanessa and Mike exchanged glances. Relief washed over their faces: so it wasn't drugs, it wasn't a bad crowd—just standard teenage envy.

"Oh, sweetie," Vanessa covered Dominique's hand with her own, "I know that's frustrating. But you know that Mitzi's family... well, they have different means."

"Her dad owns a law firm," Mike added. "And I'm a firefighter. We can't just afford things like that on a whim."

Dominique slowly raised her eyes to them, painting her face with a mixture of hurt and understanding.

"I know," she murmured. "It just... sucks. She brags about it like it's some achievement of hers."

"It's not her achievement," Mike said firmly. "It's a gift from her parents. A real achievement is when you earn something yourself."

Vanessa nodded.

"Listen, sunshine. If you finish this year with good grades, if you try hard..." she looked at her husband, who gave a subtle nod, "...maybe we can figure something out. For your birthday. Not a scooter, obviously, but something nice."

"Really?" Dominique injected just the right amount of hope into her voice.

"Really," Mike smiled. "But that means no C's, understood?"

"Understood, Dad."

What a touching family scene. Poor parents promising their poor daughter to buy her a present if she's a good girl. I used to spend more on a single dinner than they earn in a month. She dutifully finished her breakfast, thanked them, and went to get ready for school.

The school day dragged on as usual. Dominique sat at her desk and mechanically copied things into her notebook just to keep her hands busy, but her mind was miles away. When the final bell rang, she was one of the first out the door. In the parking lot, she saw Mitzi proudly kick-starting her moped. The girl sat on it looking as if it were a custom Lamborghini. A cockroach feeling proud of its personal piece of dung, Dominique thought with disdain. Mitzi caught her eye and waved, flashing a thirty-two-tooth smile. Dominique merely snorted in response and walked away, ignoring the roar of the pink engine behind her.

She headed toward the center of town again, following the familiar route. Up ahead, a boutique window caught her eye. "Gardenia Fashion." Dominique slowed down. The mannequins in the window were dressed in low-rise jeans, crop tops exposing their bellies, and flimsy jackets. Fashion of 2004. Dear God.

She pushed the door open and walked in. The store was small but fairly decent for a town of this size. The saleswoman, a woman in her thirties, cast an evaluating glance her way, but upon realizing she was just a high schooler, immediately lost interest.

Dominique walked between the racks, letting her fingers glide over the fabrics. Everything was cheap, mass-produced, sewn somewhere in China. The cuts were... well, it was twenty-odd years ago in her past life. Although... she stopped at the dress rack; this one wasn't bad. A simple black dress with no excessive details—a classic that never ages. Dominique pulled it off the hanger and checked the tag. A hundred and twenty dollars. For minimally processed cotton? She put the dress back and moved on. This blouse wasn't terrible either: white, with a stand-up collar. Price tag: eighty dollars.

"Can I help you find something?"

Dominique turned around. The saleswoman was watching her, feigning polite interest.

"Thank you, I'm just browsing," Dominique tossed back and walked out of the store. Out on the street, she took a deep breath.

The park greeted her with its usual scenery. The fountain in the center, the paths, the trees, people on benches. Dominique walked to her favorite spot—the bench near the clearing, offering a good vantage point. She strolled through the park, walking the same paths over and over, trying to calculate where Stella might appear. In the cartoon it was so simple. Boom—and a fairy practically fell out of the sky right in front of Bloom. In reality... Who knows how it'll actually go down in reality.

Time passed. The sun crossed its zenith and began a slow descent toward the horizon. Her stomach gave a treacherous growl, and Dominique headed to the familiar food cart, where the same vendor stood behind the counter, offering the same selection. She stood in silence, looking over the menu, and having finally made her choice, reached into her jeans pocket. But her fingers grasped nothing but empty space.

Fuck. She had spent yesterday's cash, and this morning, distracted by the whole scooter conversation, her parents simply forgot to give her pocket money. Dominique stared at the meat pies, feeling a cold fury boiling inside her. Not at the vendor, not at her parents, but at the situation as a whole. At this entire absurd world she had found herself in. The vendor watched her for a few minutes with mounting irritation. Finally, he snapped:

"Look, kid, either buy something or get lost. Stop loitering here."

Dominique slowly raised her eyes to him. A faint, enigmatic smile touched her lips. It was the exact same smile she used in negotiations when she wanted to corner an opponent.

"Excuse me, sir," her voice was quiet but surprisingly distinct, "could you clarify exactly which clause of the Consumer Rights Act you are basing your refusal to allow me to inspect your assortment prior to purchase on?"

The vendor blinked in confusion. "Huh?"

"I am a potential client," Dominique continued in the same calm, even tone. "And I have every right to study the merchandise for as long as I deem necessary to make an informed decision. Your demand that I make an immediate purchase or leave the premises of service provision is a direct violation." She paused, taking a deep breath before delivering the final blow. "Or perhaps you have special regulations approved by the municipality? I would be delighted to review them."

The man stared at her, his mouth hanging open. His face slowly changed color from tanned to pink, and then to a blotchy red. His aggression morphed into confusion, and then into fear.

"I... I didn't..." he mumbled.

Dominique waited in silence, never taking her eyes off him. Her smile widened just a fraction; she slowly pulled out her phone and looked at the screen, as if preparing to call someone. Who? Doesn't matter. It's the gesture that counts. The vendor flinched, grabbed his tongs, snatched the two largest meat pies, hastily wrapped them in a napkin, and shoved them toward her with trembling hands.

"Take it. And for God's sake, just get out of here. Please."

Dominique took the bundle and gave the vendor one last, freezing look.

"Thank you," she said, turned on her heel, and walked back to her bench, leaving him in a state of total shock. She sat down and unwrapped the napkin containing her trophies. The pies were still warm, with a crispy crust.

A minor victory. She took a bite. The taste was... fine. Not disgusting, but not amazing either; just food. But right now, having procured it herself, with her own skills, her own ability to pressure people—it tasted better than any dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant. I am still me. I still know how to do this.

Dominique finished the first pie, then the second, washed them down with water from a nearby drinking fountain, and sat back on the bench. The sun was setting again, bathing the park in gold. The shadows from the trees grew longer, people dispersed to their homes. And once again, nothing happened. No fairies, no monsters, no magic. Just her, a bench, and the setting sun.

Suddenly, a short, nervous chuckle tore from Bloom's throat. I, the head of a transnational corporation, am sitting in a park for the second day in a row waiting for a fairy, after extorting two meat pies from a local street vendor. The chuckle evolved into a quiet laugh. If any of my old enemies could see me now... They'd die. From laughing. She fell silent. Cold determination settled over her features, pushing aside the hysteria.

"Enough," the girl whispered aloud. She stood up from the bench, dusted off her jeans, and slung her backpack over her shoulder.

That's it. Tomorrow is the last time. If nothing happens again... If nothing happened again, it meant it was time to find another way. Accept this reality, or... What that 'or' would entail, she didn't even know yet.

The walk home was brisk. Dominique entered the house and immediately bumped into Vanessa. Her mother was standing in the hallway, holding a mop, a look of deep concern on her face.

"Bloom, sweetie," she began carefully, "we need to talk."

Oh no. Not this.

"Mom, I'm tired..."

"Bloom, please." Vanessa set the mop aside. "I'm worried. This is the second day in a row you've come home late. You won't say where you've been. I..." she hesitated, "...I thought, maybe you're seeing someone?"

Dominique froze in her tracks.

"What?"

"Well, you know," Vanessa grew even more flustered, "at your age, it's normal. Showing interest in boys, first relationships... But, sweetie, you're still so young. I think it's too early for anything serious..."

"Mom," Dominique interrupted her, and there were notes in her voice that shouldn't have been there. Exhaustion, irritation, and something else entirely. "I know how to use protection. Let's drop the subject."

Vanessa stood frozen with her mouth open, her face slowly cycling through shades of color, from normal to pale, and then to a bright, shocking pink.

"You... what..."

"Good night, Mom," Dominique tossed over her shoulder and quickly went up the stairs, leaving her mother in a state of profound cultural shock.

In her room, she closed the door, leaned her back against it, and exhaled. Damn. That was uncalled for. But, honestly, the look on Vanessa's face was almost worth it. The rabbit poked its head out from under the bed and stared at her.

"Don't look at me like that," Dominique muttered. "I've had a long day."

Kiko twitched his nose and hopped onto the bed. Dominique walked over to the mirror and looked herself in the eyes.

Tomorrow, she said in her mind. One last time. I'll go there one more time. She lay down on the bed without undressing and stared at the ceiling. Magic, fairies—it's all nonsense. But if there's even a drop of truth to it... If there's even one chance... She closed her eyes. I won't miss it.

 

[VitahAR]

Dominique greeted her fourth day in this world without a shred of hope. She woke up with a sense of emptiness inside, possessing the cold resolve of someone walking into their final, most dangerous gamble.

Coming down to the kitchen, she immediately felt the tension. Vanessa was standing at the stove with her back to her, but by the way she gripped the spatula, it was clear a conversation was inevitable.

"Good morning, sweetie," her mother's voice was somewhat strained.

"Morning, Mom."

Vanessa slid the eggs onto a plate and sat across from her, clearly searching for the right words.

"Bloom," she finally began, "about what you said yesterday..."

Here it comes.

"Mom, I'm sorry," Dominique tried to inject the perfect amount of embarrassment into her voice. "I was just tired. I wasn't thinking. It was a stupid joke."

"A joke?" Vanessa raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah. I'm not seeing anyone. Honestly. I just... wanted you to get off my back."

Vanessa studied her daughter, trying to gauge if it was the truth. Finally, she gave a slow nod.

"Alright. Okay. But, Bloom, if anything happens, if you ever need to talk... I'm here, you know?"

"I know, Mom. Thanks."

Vanessa exhaled with relief.

"That's wonderful. Eat, it's getting cold."

Dominique dutifully began to eat. Vanessa stood up, returned to the stove, and the tension in the air slowly dissipated. Crisis averted. That's something, at least.

The entire school day passed in a blur for Dominique. She didn't hear the teachers, didn't see her classmates; her mind was completely focused on the evening ahead. The classes dragged on seemingly forever, everything blending into a single gray backdrop. She sat at her desk, mechanically copying things into her notebook, but her thoughts were miles away. When the final bell rang, she bolted for the exit, practically shoving people out of her way. She was heading straight to the park.

The weather had changed today. The sky was overcast with gray clouds, and a gusty, cold wind whipped at her hair and clothes. The park was nearly deserted. The atmosphere was tense, perfectly matching her own state of mind. Dominique walked over to her bench, the one she had spent the last two days on, and waited.

Time ticked by, and the sun slowly dipped toward the horizon, painting the gray clouds in shades of orange and crimson. The wait was different this time. It was fraught with petty, irritating incidents, as if this world had decided to test her patience one last time.

First, a dirty mutt with its tongue lolling out trotted up to her bench. It sniffed the leg of the bench, lifted a hind leg, and did its business right there. With a grimace of absolute disgust, Dominique stood up in silence and moved to another bench.

But less than ten minutes later, a little boy of about five ran past. He tripped over his own feet and collapsed onto the asphalt with a deafening wail. Good Lord, shut up already, Dominique thought irritably, clenching her hands into fists. Where is the mother of this little parasite? Is it really that hard to watch your own kid?

Right on cue, the mother of the little idiot came running over. She scooped up her bawling offspring and, trying to soothe him, sat down on the very edge of Dominique's bench.

"Hush now, hush, my sweet boy," she cooed, pressing the child to her chest.

She began rummaging through her purse until she fished out a pack of wet wipes and, without looking, shoved it toward Dominique.

"Hold this, please."

Dominique froze. She took the pack with two fingers, barely touching it, as if it were a piece of literal crap. The woman wiped her kid's face, snatched the wipes back, tossed a brief "thanks," and hurried off, dragging the still-sniffling boy behind her. Dominique followed them with a gaze full of icy contempt. Welcome to the world of ordinary people, Dominique. Enjoy your stay.

But the absolute peak of this parade of absurdity was a guy of about seventeen. He was strolling down the alley with a smug smirk, and noticing her on the bench, headed straight for her.

"Hey there, lonely?" he started, giving her a slow up-and-down look.

"Vanish," she threw back, looking the other way.

"Whoa. Just like that?" he stammered, his smirk faltering. "Come on, give me a chance?"

"I said, vanish," she repeated, turning her head to face him. "Or I'll call the cops and file a harassment complaint. Believe me, my vocabulary is more than sufficient to make your life very, very difficult. I'm having a bad day, and I would love nothing more than to take my anger out on you. Make your choice."

The guy stared at her in shock for a couple of seconds. His face cycled through several shades, from smug to utterly baffled, and finally to scared.

"Freak," he muttered, and hastily retreated, practically breaking into a jog.

Exactly. A freak. I've been sitting in a park for three days straight waiting for a fairy. Maybe he's right.

An hour passed, then another. The sky grew dark, and the streetlamps along the alleys clicked on, casting yellow circles of light onto the asphalt. The park was finally empty. Dominique sat huddled in her jacket, staring into the darkness between the trees. She was mentally ready to concede defeat. That's it, enough. This is insane. Magic doesn't exist, fairies don't exist. I'm just...

And then she saw the flash. Short, bright, like lightning. Somewhere deep in the park, behind the trees.

Then another, and another. Dominique sprang to her feet. Her heart seemed to stop for a fraction of a second, then kicked into a frantic rhythm. It's starting. She grabbed her backpack and bolted toward the source of the flashes.

The girl ran through the trees, leaping over exposed roots and tearing through bushes. Branches whipped at her face, but she paid them no mind.

Another flash, very close now. Dominique hit the brakes. She slowed her pace, moving almost silently, crouched behind a thick tree trunk, and carefully peeked out.

Before her lay a small clearing surrounded by trees, and in the middle of it... A young blonde in an orange crop top and shorts, completely unsuitable for the evening chill. She was darting around the clearing, gripping a long, glowing scepter. Translucent, sparkling wings fluttered behind her back.

She's real. God damn it, she's real.

However, she wasn't the only real thing out there—the monsters surrounding her were real too. The ringleader was a massive, yellow ogre with bushy eyebrows and a bald head. His massive body moved surprisingly fast for such a bulk. Behind him hobbled half a dozen smaller creatures: ugly, hunched over, with glowing red eyes and clawed paws.

"Hand over the scepter, little fairy!" the ogre growled. "Or Knut is gonna hurt you real bad!"

The blonde spun around, her face twisted in a fierce, determined grimace.

"Over my dead body, you ugly brute!"

She raised her staff, and it flared with blinding golden light.

"Sunbeam!"

A blast of pure light erupted from the tip of the staff. It struck one of the ghouls, and it crumbled into ash with a howl.

But Stella didn't stop there. She spun in place, and her wings flashed with a light that forced everyone to squeeze their eyes shut for a second.

"Light Barrier!"

A shield of radiant energy materialized in front of her. The most agile ghoul slammed into it and recoiled with a snarl.

She's good, Dominique noted detachedly, watching the fight.

But there were too many enemies. While Stella fended off one, two others flanked her. The ogre, too, was slowly but surely closing the distance, waiting for the right moment to deliver a crushing blow.

"Solar Flare!"

Stella thrust her hand forward, and a wave of blinding light washed over two ghouls. They shrieked and leaped back, but didn't disintegrate.

The math was obvious: the blonde was losing. One of the ghouls circled around her left and lunged. Stella, oblivious to it, kept fighting off the rest.

"Sunbeam!"

The ray of light shot from her scepter and missed entirely. The ghoul dodged, and the beam slammed into a tree. The exact tree Dominique was hiding behind.

The bark exploded into splinters, and Dominique instinctively recoiled, losing her balance. She landed hard on her ass, and the loud crack of the dry branches she crushed seemed to echo louder than the magical battle raging just a few feet away.

The fight in the clearing ground to a halt. The ogre slowly turned his ugly head toward the noise. His beady little eyes narrowed.

"Someone's there," he growled.

Shit. Dominique froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. She saw the ogre raise a massive arm and point a thick finger right at her.

"Check it out!" he barked.

Two ghouls wheeled around and charged toward the trees, straight at her. Dominique tried to get up, but her legs refused to cooperate. She scrambled backward, her hands clawing at the grass and roots, but the beasts were faster. They burst through the tree line, jaws snapping wide open, and lunged at her. Time seemed to dilate. She could see their glowing red eyes, hear their ragged, raspy breaths.

It was one thing to prepare for this, to plan for it, even to expect it. But it was entirely different to face these abominations in the flesh. To watch them fly at you, ready to tear you apart. No, not again. I don't want to die again.

Fury and despair washed over her. Dominique instinctively threw her hands up, trying to shield herself. And in that exact fraction of a second, her palms erupted in fire.

It was an uncontrollable, ferocious burst of pure flame. A wave of roaring fire swallowed both ghouls. They didn't even have time to shriek; they simply ignited like dry paper and collapsed into piles of smoking ash.

A dead silence fell over the clearing. The ogre and the remaining monsters froze, staring blankly at the smoldering spots on the ground. Stella, panting heavily, stared at Dominique, her eyes wide with shock. And Dominique herself slowly pushed up to her feet and stared at her own hands. They were still wrapped in a faint, fading orange glow. A distinct smell of scorched fur hung heavy in the air.

The massive yellow ogre finally snapped out of it. He stared dumbly at the smoking ash, then at Stella, and then at her. And it seemed the realization of a new, far more dangerous threat was finally penetrating his primitive brain. A glimmer of something resembling a thought flashed in his beady eyes.

"Another fairy?" he growled, pointing a fat finger at Dominique. "You two. Get the redhead!"

Two ghouls, who up until now had been shifting hesitantly behind the ogre, lunged at the new target. Their movements were jerky and unnatural, dark saliva dripping from their fangs onto the grass.

This time, there was no fear. In place of terror came an icy calm and a strange, humming warmth that rose from her stomach, pumping adrenaline through her veins. The power, which just a moment ago had been a random outburst, now felt... like a brand-new limb.

Dominique didn't wait. She planted her feet firmly, bending her knees slightly, and threw both hands forward, aiming her open palms at the approaching threat. Come on. She didn't know any spells; she simply commanded the power inside her to break out.

And the power obeyed. A solid torrent of pure flame erupted from her palms. It was wider and fiercer than the first. It incinerated the very air in its path. The wave of fire slammed into the ghouls, instantly engulfing them both, leaving them absolutely zero chance. Where they had been standing just a second ago, only two smoking black marks remained on the charred grass.

Silence fell once more. The ogre froze mid-step, his jaw hanging slack. The math in his primitive brain clicked into place: a second fairy had appeared. Sticking around was suicide. With a vicious snarl, he shoved his paw into a hip pouch and yanked out a dark, smooth amulet. Casting one last glare at Dominique—a look brimming with hatred and superstitious dread—he crushed the amulet in his fist. It cracked with a dry snap, and the ogre's massive body vanished as if he had never been there at all. The fight was over.

The adrenaline fire in her blood died out just as suddenly as it had flared. Her legs gave out, as if all the bones had been pulled from them, and Dominique dropped to her knees, barely catching herself with her hands against the dirt. The world shrank to a pinprick, a deafening ring echoing in her ears. Through the haze clouding her vision, she saw movement.

Stella. The glow around her had faded, her wings had vanished, and her battle gear had shifted back into everyday clothes. Now she was wearing a short, green top tied in a careless knot under her bust, and a short orange miniskirt.

She was approaching slowly, almost cautiously. There she is, Stella. Princess of Solaria. Dominique narrowed her eyes slightly, sizing her up. What do I know about her from the cartoon? Just a basic, shallow bimbo obsessed with clothes. But... is that really the case?

The girl in front of her was exhausted, but there was no fear in her eyes, as if she had been confident that, even if she couldn't win, she could at least get away unscathed. She didn't look backed into a corner at all, and it seemed she was showing much more caution toward Dominique right now than she had toward the ogre. That didn't exactly align with her cartoon persona.

Stella stopped a few feet away. The scepter in her hands shrank down to the size of a regular wand. Finally, she took one more hesitant step forward and crouched down to be at eye level with Dominique.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Dominique nodded silently, unable to force a single word out. Stella looked at the smoking piles of ash, then back at Dominique. Shock, gratitude, and immense curiosity swam in her eyes.

"That was intense. Didn't expect to run into a fairy here. What school are you from? Not Cloud Tower by any chance?" She narrowed her eyes, giving Bloom an up-and-down look. "Actually, no. You're not dressed tackily enough for that. Beta Academy, maybe?"

Stella's question hung in the cold evening air. Dominique struggled to straighten up, still bracing her hands against her knees. The adrenaline had worn off, and crushing fatigue rushed in to take its place. Every muscle ached as if she'd just survived a hours-long no-holds-barred cage match. A nasty metallic taste coated her throat, and orange spots were still dancing in her vision. Side effects of using magic? Wonderful. As if I didn't have enough problems.

"What the hell is a Beta?" she breathed out. "Never heard of it."

Stella gave her a long, appraising look, her eyes tracking over Dominique's pale face and disheveled hair. A flicker of something akin to sympathy crossed her eyes.

"Okay, let's sit you down first. You look like you're about to pass out," she said decisively. The princess clearly knew how to bounce back quickly.

She unceremoniously hooked her arm under Dominique's elbow, and Dominique let herself be guided to the nearest bench.

"By the way, I'm Stella," the blonde casually dropped, sitting down next to her. "And what's your name?"

"Bloom. My name is Bloom," Dominique repeated, as if trying to convince herself above anyone else that this was her name now.

"Bloom." Stella tested the name on her tongue. "Cute. Well, nice to meet you."

She laid her scepter across her lap. Her fingers were trembling slightly as she did so. Barely noticeable, but Dominique caught it. She's nervous, exhausted, or afraid the ogre might come back. Or all of the above.

"So, you're saying you're not from Beta? And not from Cloud Tower?" Stella stared at her suspiciously.

Dominique shook her head. The princess frowned even harder.

"And I haven't seen you around Alfea either..."

"I go to school here. In Gardenia," Dominique shrugged, trying her best to sound like an ordinary, totally bewildered teenager.

"What in the world is a Gardenia?" Stella raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"We are... in Gardenia right now," Dominique pointed toward the glowing city high-rises visible through the park's canopy. "And I go to school here, a normal high school."

Stella's face suddenly smoothed out, and she let out a ringing laugh, waving her hand dismissively.

"Oh, I get it now! But why didn't you go to Alfea?"

"Alfea? Where is that?" Dominique arched an eyebrow, sticking firmly to her cover story.

"Are you serious?" Stella's eyes widened. "You don't know about Alfea?"

Dominique shook her head again, projecting utter ignorance.

"Wow..." Stella drew out the word, rolling her eyes dramatically. "What are they even teaching you guys? Honestly, I'm surprised they teach magic here at all. Earth hasn't been part of the Magical Dimension for ages."

"They don't teach magic here," Dominique smiled wryly. "Magic is just fairy tales for kids around here."

"They don't?" Stella faltered. Her gaze slowly drifted from Dominique's face to the piles of ash on the scorched grass. "Then how did you..."

"I... I don't even know how it happened myself. When those things ran at me, I... God, I was so scared that..." For added believability, Dominique wrapped her arms around her own shoulders, faking a slight shudder of post-traumatic shock.

Stella jerked forward, nearly dropping her scepter.

"Hold on, hold on. Are you saying that was... that this was your first time?"

"Yeah, the first time," Dominique nodded uncertainly, looking at the blonde with wide, innocent eyes. "Like I said, I don't know how I..."

"Okay, stop, I get it," Stella raised her free hand to call for silence, and leaned back heavily against the bench. "Well, isn't this just peachy."

She stared up at the dark sky, her lips moving silently as if having a mental argument with herself. Dominique waited patiently, careful not to break character as the frightened schoolgirl, even though she was rejoicing on the inside.

"What... what did you get?" Bloom asked cautiously.

Stella shifted her gaze back to her. A wild mix of total disbelief and childlike excitement was now written all over her face.

"I get... that I just found an untrained fairy. Right here. On Earth."

"A fairy? What are you talking about?" Dominique chuckled nervously, scooting slightly toward the edge of the bench. "Look, I get it, stress, monsters, all that... But fairies? I'm a normal girl."

A fairy. She just called me a fairy. So it's all true. The Magical Dimension, the fairy school, everything, just like in that stupid cartoon.

"Normal girls don't incinerate ghouls with their bare hands," Stella pointed out reasonably, tapping a finger meaningfully against the shaft of her wand. "Take it from a princess, you're a fairy, you just didn't know it. It happens a lot: fear and other intense emotions awakened your power, and it manifested. The truth is, that power has always been inside you, you were just completely unaware of it."

"Are you serious? You seriously think I'm a fairy?" You'd have to be deaf to miss the skepticism dripping from Bloom's voice. "Just like in the cartoons?"

"Cartoons?" Stella paused for a moment, tilting her head slightly, before her face lit up with a mischievous smile. "Yup, just like in the cartoons. Except a hundred times cooler."

She flicked her wrist effortlessly, and a miniature sun flared to life, hovering right in front of Bloom's eyes. It bathed their faces in a warm, golden glow before shattering into a shower of golden dust that drifted slowly downward, vanishing into thin air.

"Wow," Bloom breathed out in awe, watching the fading sparks. Nice parlor trick. "And I... will I be able to do that too?" she asked breathlessly.

"Well, not exactly like that," Stella drawled thoughtfully, studying her with curiosity. "The light of Solaria is my ancestral power. But yours, it seems, is connected to fire. And it looks like one of the most powerful I've ever seen."

She said that last part quieter, more to herself than to Bloom. A glint of something akin to respect, mixed with a touch of wariness, flashed in her eyes. She's evaluating me. Trying to figure out how dangerous I am?

"And it's amazing," Stella went on. "Earth fairies have been considered extinct for a long time. For centuries now. So just imagine my surprise—neither I nor that ogre expected to run into a fairy here."

An extinct species? Dominique immediately filed that away. What kind of news is this? And how should I take it—is it a good thing or a bad thing? She tried to mold her face into an expression of genuine bewilderment.

"So, you're saying there used to be fairies on Earth?" she said slowly. "And I might be... the last of them?"

"Pretty much," Stella shrugged, as if discussing the weather. "Do you guys have absolutely no mention of fairies here? Myths, legends? Bedtime stories?"

"We do," Bloom nodded. "Plenty of them. Little winged people living in flowers, things like that..."

"See!" Stella beamed triumphantly. "They're not just fairy tales. It's history. History that you Earthlings have conveniently forgotten or turned into kids' stories."

Dominique felt a chill run down her spine; she hadn't anticipated this. Wielding magic would be incredible, but being the sole representative of an extinct race—that sounded like painting a giant target on her forehead.

"And what does that mean for me?" she asked cautiously. "Being 'the last' sounds a bit... ominous. Usually, people hunt things like that."

"Oh, nothing major, I think," Stella waved her hand carelessly, but then froze, her face taking on a thoughtful expression. "Although..."

"What?" Dominique tensed up.

"Witches," Stella drawled, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "They might take an interest in you."

"What the hell are witches now?" Dominique rolled her eyes mentally. Of course, where there are fairies, there are witches. There was a trio of morons in the cartoon, the Trix, or something like that.

"There are these certain ones," Stella snorted dismissively. "They go to Cloud Tower. It's a school for witches. Gloomy little place, let me tell you. They're most likely the ones who sent those things after me," she nodded at the smoking black spots left by the monsters.

"Wow. And who are they?"

"Three upperclassmen," Stella sneered contemptuously. "They call themselves the Trix. Ugh, what a stupid name... Sounds like a brand of cheap breakfast cereal. They think they're some grand, evil masterminds."

Alright. Witches, the hunt for the ring—so far, everything is strictly following the cartoon's plot. Dominique chuckled internally. Except the girl sitting in front of her right now wasn't some drawn picture on a screen, but a real, living person—or fairy, in this case.

She cut her eyes toward Stella again. The blonde was slightly chewing her lower lip, a dead giveaway of her nervousness. It was unclear why: whether due to Bloom's presence, or the fear of the ogre returning. She needed to probe a little.

"And these... Trix," Bloom started carefully. "Why are they picking on you? Do they have nothing better to do?"

I wonder if she'll tell me? A lot rides on the answer to that question. Including my future plans for this fairy. Dominique mentally rubbed her hands together, waiting for the reaction. Stella, surprisingly enough, answered without holding anything back.

"Well, they've latched onto me because of this," Stella made a graceful flick of her wrist.

The scepter in her hand flared and instantly shrank, morphing into a large, heavy ring. Stella immediately slipped it onto her finger and twisted it ostentatiously, admiring how it caught the light.

"This is the Ring of Solaria. It holds immense power."

Fascinating. Dominique mentally leaned back in her imaginary office chair, as she often did when analyzing information. This Stella just casually blurted out her biggest secret to a complete stranger. Either she really is the naive bimbo from the cartoon... Dominique mentally folded down one finger. ...or this secret isn't worth a dime, since the witches already know about it anyway. The second is more likely. Which means she's not as stupid as she seems.

"Anyway, let's get out of here before those things come back. Do you live far from here, by the way?"

"No, not really," Bloom frowned, portraying mild confusion. "A couple of blocks away. Why?"

"Perfect," Stella clapped her hands cheerfully, dusting off her skirt, and stood up from the bench. "We're going to your place, you pack your bags real quick, and we're off to Alfea."

Dominique blinked. This time, her surprise was entirely genuine.

She thought she would have to invite herself along, she'd been meticulously preparing her arguments, and here this girl just casually declares: pack your stuff, we're going to another dimension? Just like that?

On the one hand—bingo, goal achieved with zero effort. But on the other... somewhere deep inside, a dull, purely professional annoyance began to stir within Dominique. She despised it when things were done like this—on a whim, without a shred of planning. In her past life, a relocation meant at least a few days of preparation, and here? Grab your toothbrush and jump into a portal? It was infuriating. But on her face, she carefully maintained the mask of a shell-shocked teenager.

"What do you mean, to Alfea?" Bloom laughed nervously, looking up at the princess. "Right now? Just like that? Hey, I'm not going anywhere! I have... a house here, parents, and I have school tomorrow, actually!"

Stella sighed heavily. All her previous frivolity vanished in an instant.

"Bloom, listen to me very carefully," she crossed her arms, looking down at her. "This isn't a question of whether you 'want to' or not. You need to go to Alfea."

"Why?"

"Because!" Stella cast a glance at the scorched patch on the grass. "Power like that without control is very, very dangerous. Do you even realize what happened today? You could have burned half the park down. Or worse—yourself. You just got incredibly lucky today. But what happens next time?"

"Next time?" Bloom breathed out in bewilderment.

What a classic move—first scare them, then offer the solution, Dominique chuckled internally, hiding a cold smirk behind the mask of a lost teenager. I've done exactly this hundreds of times during business negotiations. Create a problem for the client, and then offer the one and only salvation. Not bad, Princess. Not bad at all.

"Yes, next time," Stella added much softer, holding her hand out to her. "The magic inside you has awakened. It will seek a way out. And if you don't learn to control it, it will start controlling you. Believe me, Alfea is the best place to get you the help you need. So, are we going?"

Seeing that Bloom was still hesitating, Stella brought out the heavy artillery.

"Look, I don't want to scare you," she started, lowering her voice, "but the ogre got away. The Trix were only hunting me before. But now they might start hunting you too."

"Why would they care about me?!" Bloom jumped up from the bench in fright.

"Think about it. You helped me, interfered with their plans. Which means they'll want revenge." Stella chuckled, as if explaining an absolute truth to a clueless child. "Or out of pure interest. The power you just showed off is seriously impressive. They'll either want to recruit you into their little witch coven, or..." the princess took a dramatic pause, "...steal your power."

"Steal my power?" Bloom arched her eyebrows incredulously, though inside, Dominique immediately tensed. "Is that even possible?"

"Technically—yes. But in the Magical Dimension, it's considered the ultimate taboo," Stella's voice became unexpectedly serious, shedding all its frivolous undertones. "It's worse than murder. There's no forgiveness for a crime like that; it's harshly punished by law and condemned by everyone—fairies, and even the vast majority of witches."

"So if it's a taboo..."

"I said: in the Magical Dimension," Stella interrupted her weightily. "Earth hasn't been part of it for a long time. Ever since fairies and magic vanished from here, this world... it's viewed as wild territory. The Council's laws have no jurisdiction here."

Dominique felt an unpleasant chill run down her spine.

"So, you're saying that on Earth they can just show up, take my power, and they'll get away with it?" she clarified.

Stella shrugged. "Well, the Council will probably wag a finger at them for appearances' sake, but legally... Yeah. They'll get away with it."

"Perfect. Just wonderful," Bloom exhaled, nervously rubbing her forearms. "And what, are all witches this... completely deranged?"

"Not all of them, obviously, but most," Stella grimaced, as if she'd just bitten into a lemon. "Dark magic leaves its mark. And the Trix—they're the craziest of the bunch."

Dominique almost burst out laughing. This girl, despite all her ostentatious socialite mannerisms, was a brilliant manipulator. Seeing her feigned hesitation, the princess had skillfully woven in the threat of the witches, masterfully backing Bloom into a corner.

Well then, it seems all my hasty conclusions about a clueless trust-fund bimbo just shattered against harsh reality, Dominique summarized mentally. Princess Stella, you are damn good at getting what you want.

Dominique quickly weighed her options. The choice, however, had been obvious from the very beginning. Staying here meant constantly looking over her shoulder, risking a run-in with witches while wielding an element she neither understood nor controlled. Leaving with Stella meant stepping into the unknown, but that was exactly where she would find the answers and the opportunity to turn this power into a genuine weapon.

Alfea is information. It's access to magic. It's my launching pad in this world.

Bloom looked up at Stella, her eyes filled with masterfully acted fear, mixed with a splash of timid hope.

"And... this school..." she mumbled, her voice trembling.

"Alfea," Stella offered patiently. She was looking at Bloom expectantly. Come on, say yes, was written as clear as day in her gaze.

"And... how long do you study there?" Bloom asked hesitantly.

"Three years," Stella answered cheerfully. She immediately added a light, joking note, clearly trying to defuse the tension. "Unless, of course, you slack off too much and skip classes."

"But... are you sure they'll even accept me? I don't know how to do anything. I didn't even know I was a fairy until today!"

"With power like that?" Stella snorted expressively and waved a hand at the piles of ash. "The headmasters will be fighting over you. Believe me."

With a confident smile, she offered Bloom her hand. Dominique, mentally giving the princess a solid A-plus for her brilliant performance, took the offered hand with a relieved sigh.

"Now I just have to explain all this to my parents," Bloom sighed, looking toward the park exit.

Stella chuckled, and something painfully self-assured flashed in her eyes.

"Don't worry. I know how to talk to parents. I have a lot of experience."

Experience in masterfully lying to parents, or experience in bending them to your will? crossed Dominique's mind. Though, knowing high-society offspring, it's most likely both.

Stella's face broke into her first genuinely relaxed, sincere smile of this entire crazy evening.

"Let's go," she said, brushing an invisible speck of dust off Bloom's shoulder. "The sooner we get out of here, the better."

 

[VitahAR]

The walk home was filled with Stella's incessant chatter, praising Alfea as if she were being paid for the advertisement. She walked alongside, holding Bloom by the elbow, and from the outside, they looked like two high school girls heading home after a hard day. Nothing in their appearance hinted at a battle with monsters and magic capable of burning things to the ground.

Stella curiously looked around, taking in the ordinary Gardenia street. An old pickup truck rattled past them. Stella followed it with a long, scrutinizing gaze.

"You have some interesting technology here," she drawled when the car disappeared around the corner. "Almost like on Zenith."

"Zenith?" Bloom asked. "What's that?"

"Oh, another world with a focus on technology," Stella waved her hand dismissively. "They also love all sorts of hardware, microchips, wires... Only..."

She faltered, looking doubtfully at a leaning lamppost.

"Only what?" Bloom grew wary.

"Don't be offended," Stella lowered her voice as if sharing a terrible secret. "It's just that you... are a little behind compared to them."

Dominique arched a skeptical eyebrow.

"A little?"

Stella couldn't hold back and snorted.

"Okay... A lot. A whole lot," she chuckled. "They have planetary-scale climate control and droids over there, and you guys... well... you guys are cute."

Finally, they turned onto the familiar street. The last time I'm walking down this street as an ordinary high schooler. Tomorrow, everything changes, Dominique thought, looking at the approaching house.

The door opened before they even reached it. Vanessa stood on the threshold, bathed in the anxious glow of the porch light. Her face, usually so warm and calm, was pale and drawn with worry. Behind her loomed Mike's sturdy figure, like a shadow.

"Bloom! My God, Bloom! Where have you been? We were out of our minds!" Relief and panic mixed in Vanessa's voice. She rushed forward to hug her daughter but froze upon noticing the unfamiliar girl beside her. "And who is this with you?"

Mike cast a suspicious glare at the blonde. Bloom didn't usually bring friends home, especially not at this hour.

"This... this is my friend," Bloom hesitated for a second, searching for the right answer. "Stella."

"Hello. I'm Stella. Princess of Solaria and a friend of your daughter," Stella blurted out, flashing her most charming smile.

Why the hell did you have to blurt that out? Dominique groaned internally. At that moment, she wanted to turn around and smack the idiot. Mike and Vanessa exchanged a stunned look.

"Princess? Friend?" Vanessa mumbled, casting a look at her husband full of a silent question: Do you understand any of this?

Mike, however, upon hearing the word "princess," instantly tensed. His suspicions took form. His daughter's distant gaze, this strange, overly chipper girl...

"Right, get inside, quickly," Mike said in a tone that brokered no argument, stepping aside.

They were led into the living room and seated on the couch. The atmosphere was strained to the breaking point. Mike stood right in front of them, shifting his heavy gaze from one girl to the other. Vanessa sat on the edge of an armchair, nervously twisting a napkin in her hands. Dominique understood: the hardest part was about to begin—negotiations based on pure absurdity.

"Alright," Mike began, his voice unusually harsh. "Where were you?"

"We... were walking in the park," Bloom answered evenly.

"Walking," Mike nodded. "I see. Bloom, look at me. Look me in the eye. You look strange. What are you on?"

"Mike, stop it!" Vanessa intervened. "You're scaring her!"

She turned to Stella with a tight, polite smile.

"Stella, what a beautiful name. You must go to the same school? Have you... been friends for long?"

Stella, completely missing the subtext, waved her hand carelessly.

"Oh, just a couple of hours! If it weren't for your Bloom, I wouldn't even be alive! We're bonded for life now!"

Vanessa paled even more. Bonded for life?

"What?!" Mike barked. "What are you talking about? Were you threatened? Is this about drug money?"

"What does drug money have to do with anything?!" Stella boiled over, losing patience with these clueless adults. "We were attacked by monsters! An ogre and ghouls from Cloud Tower!"

"Sweetie, what are you saying? What monsters?" Vanessa asked softly, trying to hide her nervousness behind a smile.

Mike's jaw muscle twitched. His worst fears were confirmed. Hallucinations, and very strong ones at that.

"Listen here, 'princess,'" he took a step toward Stella. "One more word like that, and I'm calling an ambulance, not the cops. If you dragged my daughter into trouble..."

Seeing that this was going nowhere, Stella sighed. She realized words wouldn't be enough.

"I understand your disbelief," she said calmly. "I know this sounds insane. Words are useless here. So... I'll show you."

She rose gracefully and held her palm out, fingers slightly splayed.

Mike instinctively tensed; Vanessa froze. For a moment, nothing happened, but then a tiny spark ignited in the center of Stella's palm. It was the size of a pea but shone brighter than any lamp. It grew, pulsed, transforming into a glowing sphere of pure sunlight.

The sphere detached from her hand and floated slowly across the room like a soap bubble. It didn't burn or scorch; it simply radiated light. The orb illuminated Mike and Vanessa's stunned faces, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

Mike instinctively took a step back, shielding his wife. Vanessa gasped, pressing her hands to her mouth. Her eyes widened in terror and disbelief.

The orb of light floated just as smoothly back into Stella's palm and vanished. Silence hung in the living room.

"Do you believe me now?" she looked at both of them. "I suppose there's been a misunderstanding. I suggest we start over."

She straightened up, her voice sounding confident and calm.

"My name is Stella. I am the Princess of Solaria, a kingdom in the Magical Dimension."

"Where?" Mike asked blankly.

"The Magical Dimension," Stella repeated patiently. "Listen, even though this will be hard for you to believe, besides your Earth, there are hundreds of other interconnected worlds. I studied at a school for fairies in one of those worlds. Unfortunately, a few weeks ago, someone started hunting me."

She sat back down on the couch, and Mike and Vanessa, as if hypnotized, sank back into their armchairs.

"I'm being pursued by the minions of evil witches," Stella continued. "They're after my magical artifact." She raised her hand, showing the ring on her finger. "It's a family heirloom."

"Witches?" Vanessa repeated weakly.

"Yes. I was forced to flee to Earth, hoping they wouldn't find me here. But they did. Tonight, in the park, they attacked me. An ogre and his ghouls. I fought, but there were too many of them. I would have died if not for your daughter."

All eyes shifted to Bloom. She sat quietly, eyes downcast.

"Bloom saw the fight. One of the monsters lunged at her, and then..." Stella paused, "...she unleashed magic. She destroyed the ghouls with a single strike."

"That's not true," Vanessa whispered. "Bloom... our Bloom... she's just a normal girl..."

"She's a fairy," Stella said firmly. "A very powerful fairy."

Mike looked at his daughter with a long, heavy gaze.

"Bloom. Is this true?"

Bloom slowly raised her head and nodded.

"Yes. I didn't understand what was happening to me. Those things jumped at me, and I... I just wanted to protect myself. And suddenly, fire burst from my hands."

She raised her palm, looking at it as if seeing it for the first time.

"I burned them."

Vanessa let out a sob, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Bloom has to learn how to control it," Stella continued. "Power like that without control is a ticking time bomb. She could accidentally hurt herself. Or someone else."

"And what do you suggest?" Mike asked hoarsely.

"There's a place where they can teach her. Alfea—the best school for fairies in the entire Magical Dimension. There, they'll teach her to understand her power and control it. And she'll be safe there."

"Safe," Mike repeated. "In another world. With a bunch of strangers?"

"With professionals," Stella corrected. "With the best teachers of magic."

That was the last straw. Mike stood up abruptly, shielding Bloom.

"No," he cut in. His voice left no room for argument. "Absolutely not. We don't know who you are. We don't know what this Alfea is, and our daughter is definitely not going anywhere. She is staying right here, where we can protect her."

"But Mike, you saw it!" Vanessa pleaded with her husband, though her own eyes were filled with the same fear. "If this power is so dangerous..."

"Which is exactly why she's staying home!" Mike repeated firmly. "Here, where we can keep an eye on her. Where we can protect her. Period."

"But you don't understand..."

Stella tried to argue, offering a few more points about the danger of uncontrolled magic, about the witches who might return. But she ran into a solid wall of parental fear and stubbornness. The negotiations had hit a dead end.

Finally, seeing that the argument could stretch on until morning, Vanessa decided to call a temporary truce.

"Things will be clearer in the morning," she said placatingly, though her voice trembled. "We are all very tired. We need time to... process all this. To think it over with a clear head, not make hasty decisions."

She looked at Stella.

"We have a guest room. Please, stay the night. It's late, and... well, if those monsters are really out there somewhere..." she shivered, "...it'll be safer."

Stella, realizing that further pressure was useless, accepted the offer with royal dignity.

"Thank you for your hospitality."

The evening ended in oppressive silence. Vanessa showed Stella upstairs to the guest room, brought her a fresh towel and pajamas.

"If you need anything..." she began.

"Thank you, I'll manage," Stella nodded.

Meanwhile, Dominique lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling with its stupid flower chandelier. The day had been incredibly intense. A fight with monsters, an awakening of magic, the talk with the parents. Magic, fairies, other worlds, it's all real. She raised her hand to eye level, inspecting her palm in the dim light of the lamp. A normal hand. Slender fingers, neat nails, nothing special. But fire had erupted from this hand.

Suddenly, her door creaked softly.

"Bloom? Are you awake?" Stella whispered, poking her head through the gap.

"I'm awake."

Stella slipped inside, closing the door behind her. She looked around and whistled.

"Wow. You really can't have too much pink, huh?"

"As you can see," Bloom grumbled.

"I see," Stella chuckled, examining the posters on the walls. "Who are they? Singers?"

"Uh-huh."

"Cute."

She walked over to the shelf where the plush unicorn sat.

"Oh God, what is that?"

"A unicorn."

"I can see it's a unicorn. But... why does it have such..." she twirled a finger near her temple, "...psychotic eyes?"

"I don't know," Bloom shrugged. "It came that way."

"It came that way," Stella repeated thoughtfully, staring at the unicorn. "So you picked it up, looked into those eyes, and decided—yep, I'll take this one?"

"It was a gift..." Bloom shrugged. Probably, Dominique added mentally.

Stella shook her head and sat on the edge of the bed. The rabbit, who had been sleeping underneath, poked his head out and stared at the guest.

"Oh, and who's this?"

"Kiko. My rabbit."

"Cute," Stella smiled, holding out her hand. Kiko sniffed her fingers and nuzzled her palm. "At least he's normal and not pink."

She scratched him behind the ear, and Kiko blissfully closed his eyes.

"Listen, about your parents..." Stella grew serious.

"They're scared," Bloom said quietly.

"Yeah," Stella nodded. "Your dad looked ready to toss me in an asylum. But I get it. I guess..."

She trailed off, looking at the floor.

"Do you have a complicated relationship with your parents?" Bloom asked carefully.

Stella snorted.

"You could say that. My mother is the Queen of Solaria. She's... very busy. With the kingdom, politics, balls, receptions. And my father... I can't even get to him without an appointment," she winced. "...my parents are divorced. Have been for a while."

"Seriously? How do they rule, then?"

"Just like that. On the throne together, but living apart."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Stella waved it off. "I'm used to it. On the plus side, I have total freedom. No one suffocating me with care, no one locking me in the house."

She looked at Bloom.

"Your dad... he's very protective of you. That's... that's a good thing, I guess. It means he cares."

"Yeah," Bloom agreed. "He's a good dad."

A pause hung in the air.

"Listen," Stella leaned closer, "about the magic. I know it's scary. Especially when you don't understand what's happening."

"Yeah, a little bit," Bloom admitted.

"They'll teach you at Alfea. The teachers are great. And the fairies there... well, most of them are normal. There are a couple of bitches, obviously, but you get that everywhere."

She smiled.

"The main thing is that you'll understand who you are, what you can do. Magic is awesome."

"What if I can't handle it?" Bloom asked quietly.

"You will," Stella said confidently. "With power like yours, you'll definitely handle it. Just... don't be afraid of it. Magic is a part of you; you shouldn't try to control it by force. You have to feel it."

She stood up, stretching.

"Alright, I should get to sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day. I have to convince your dad that I'm not a crazy junkie."

Bloom chuckled.

"Good luck."

"Thanks. I'll need it," Stella headed for the door, but turned back. "You know, Bloom... I'm glad I met you. Really. You saved my life, and I won't forget that."

"Good night, Stella."

"Good night."

The door clicked shut softly. Dominique was alone again. She lay there, replaying the events in her head. Who would have thought a kids' cartoon would turn out to be real. Who would have thought a character invented by screenwriters and drawn by artists would turn out to be a living, thinking person. Stella was real. With her own problems, her own past, her own fears. Not a cardboard princess from a cartoon, but a real girl.

Fascinating. Very fascinating. And, of course, the most important thing... Dominique raised her hand to eye level. She focused, and in that same instant, a tiny spark ignited on the tip of her index finger. It quickly morphed into a tongue of flame that began to spread rapidly, engulfing her entire hand. The fire crawled over her skin, but it didn't burn. There was only a strange warmth... Until there was a sharp smell of something burning.

Panicking, Dominique shook her hand violently, trying to throw off the flame, and it instantly extinguished. She examined her hand—there was no burn, the skin was intact, but a few hairs on her wrist were singed. And the heat, as if her hand had been briefly dunked in boiling water, served as a sobering slap to her investigative itch. Damn. Zero control. Dominique lowered her hand to her chest, feeling her heart pounding wildly. Stella is right, this is dangerous. I definitely need a place where they'll teach me how to use this power. Before I burn myself alive. Or someone else.

She closed her eyes. Tomorrow, everything would be decided. Tomorrow, her parents would either let her go or they wouldn't. But I am leaving. One way or another. Because there's nothing left for me here.

In the Trix's room, located on one of the upper levels of Cloud Tower, a relaxed evening atmosphere reigned. The room was spacious, illuminated by the soft purple glow of crystals embedded in the dark vaulted ceiling. A fluffy, deep-burgundy rug lay on the floor, and along the walls sat three massive canopy beds and stylish ebony furniture, cluttered with scattered clothes, makeup, and books.

Darcy sat in front of a large oval mirror. She slowly ran a graceful hand through her incredibly long, thick brown hair, adjusting strand after strand. She wore a tight-fitting purple latex suit that accentuated her figure, paired with matching thigh-high gloves. Darcy leaned slightly toward the mirror, applying the finishing touches of dark purple lipstick to her plump lips. Humming in satisfaction, she picked up a bottle of nail polish and began leisurely touching up her nails.

At that moment, the massive oak door flew open, and Stormy marched in with a confident stride, wearing a short red dress that clung tightly to her waist. In her hands, she clutched a glossy fashion magazine that she had clearly just confiscated from some freshman in the hallway. Her short, unruly blue-purple curls stuck out in every direction as if charged with static electricity, and malicious sparks danced in her bright green eyes.

Noticing Darcy dolling herself up, Stormy's lips twisted as if she had a sudden toothache.

"What, getting ready for another boy toy?" she glared at her sister with undisguised irritation and envy, carelessly tossing the magazine onto her bed.

"And what's it to you, dear sister? Want to join in?" Darcy didn't even turn her head, continuing to carefully run the brush over her nail; only her yellow eyes glinted mockingly in the mirror's reflection.

"I'd sooner grow wings and transfer to Alfea than go anywhere near your freaks," Stormy snorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Ha-ha-ha," Darcy laughed melodically. "Why freaks? I only pick cute guys, whereas you... With a personality like yours, only Mr. Right Hand can comfort you. I actually feel sorry for you."

"Go to hell!" Stormy snarled.

She roughly snatched the crumpled magazine from the bed and hurled it at her sister's back with all her might. Darcy, still without turning around, simply gave a lazy snap of the fingers on her free hand. The magazine didn't even make it within a meter of her before it blew to shreds, as if detonated from the inside. Scraps of glossy paper fluttered slowly down onto the rug.

"I'd rather make do with my hand than give it up to just anyone!" Stormy barked, clenching her fists.

Darcy paused for a moment, lowering the brush, and then burst into loud laughter, throwing her head back.

"That's exactly my point! In your case, the hand is all that's left. Want me to leave you two alone so you don't feel awkward?"

"How about I give you a proper charge before your date?!" Stormy's face twisted with malice. Her hands were instantly enveloped in crackling, bluish electrical discharges that danced nimbly between her fingers.

"I think you both need to cool off."

The voice was quiet, but it sent a chill down both witches' spines. The temperature in the room plummeted by a good ten degrees. Darcy shivered, putting down the nail polish, and the sparks on Stormy's hands died out in an instant.

Both witches turned toward the largest bed at the back of the room. There, with one leg crossed over the other, lay the third sister. Her incredibly long, snow-white hair was pulled into a high, tight ponytail, cascading over the dark pillows like a silver waterfall. Icy was wearing a sparkling, shimmering ice-blue crop top that exposed her flat stomach, and a matching short skirt. She dragged a finger across her datapad screen with lazy grace, her face—with its sharp cheekbones and expressive ice-blue eyes—remaining absolutely impassive. She didn't even look up at her sisters, completely ignoring their latest spat.

Suddenly, the air in the room thickened; it rippled like the surface of a pond when a stone is thrown in. Space warped, and out of the resulting haze, the ogre Knut tumbled to the floor with a heavy thud. The massive creature dropped to his knees, panting heavily. All three witches sprang up instantly. Darcy spun around from the mirror, ball lightning crackled to life in Stormy's hand, and Icy slid off the bed, tossing the datapad aside, a shard of ice already materializing in her grip.

"Knut? Why the hell did you bust into our room uninvited?" Stormy barked.

The ogre pulled his head down between his shoulders and raised his hands in a pleading gesture.

"Forgive me, mistresses... I used the teleportation stone..." he rumbled, hunching guiltily.

"I hope you had a good reason," Icy said coldly, and her voice sent shivers down the ogre's spine. "What about the princess? Did you get the ring?"

Knut hesitated, his beady eyes darting into the corners of the room.

"That's... there were complications..."

The temperature in the room dropped a few more degrees. Icy slowly narrowed her eyes.

"What kind of complications?" her voice grew even quieter, and simultaneously more dangerous. "Stop stalling. Did you get the ring or not?"

"I almost had it, mistresses..." the ogre began to excuse himself, gesturing actively with his massive hands. "At first, everything went just like you planned. That shiny rock you gave me... it hit her portal. The gateway broke, and didn't close right away. I managed to jump in after her before the hole collapsed."

Icy exchanged a look with Darcy. The artifact had worked perfectly—scrambling the coordinates and destabilizing the transit. Darcy straightened up, stepping away from the mirror.

"And where did you end up?"

"We ended up in some world without magic," Knut continued. "That little fairy was almost out of energy. We cornered her, practically had her..."

"Well?" Icy made an impatient gesture. "Get to the point."

"But then another fairy showed up!" Knut blurted out.

Darcy arched an eyebrow.

"Another fairy? In a world without magic?" she traded glances with Icy. "What world was this?"

"I don't know, mistress," Knut shook his head. "But I left a trace! I can go back..."

"Knut," Icy cut him off, her voice literally freezing him to the floor. "You failed. And you lost my squad."

"M-mistress..." the ogre stammered, not daring to meet her eyes, his hands shaking. "It's not my fault! I almost had the princess! But there... that other one..."

"The other one?" Stormy flared up, stepping closer. "So what? You had a whole squad! And you couldn't handle a couple of fairies?"

"But that second one..." Knut pulled his head down even further, as if trying to shrink. "She's a fire fairy! She burned them! Just burned them all!"

Silence fell. Darcy raised an eyebrow, a flash of intrigue crossing her face.

"A fire fairy on a backwater planet with no magic?" she slowly circled Knut, studying him. "Fascinating."

Icy let out a slow breath, calming herself. The failure infuriated her—she had wasted time and resources on this operation—but this new information was too interesting to ignore. An unknown fairy with the power of fire. Fire itself was an element of destruction, wild and untamable. Fairies... they tended to gravitate toward a different kind of power—light, nature, water. Fairy nature and fire didn't mix very well; it required a specific temperament, a specific kind of willpower. That was exactly why fire fairies were considered extremely rare, and every single one of them possessed immense potential.

"You're going back, you worthless lump," Icy said in an icy tone. "And you will find them. You will take the ring and capture this fire fairy."

"But how, mistress?" Knut pleaded. "That planet is huge! How will I find them?"

Icy smiled coldly.

"We'll give you a helper." She turned to Darcy. "Did you put a mark on him? Summon him here."

"Right here?" Darcy grimaced in disgust. "He'll drool all over the room. This rug is worth more than his life."

"Bring him here, Darcy," Icy shot her a freezing glare. "Don't make me angry."

"Fine, fine," Darcy threw her hands up in surrender. "You're cleaning up after him."

She made a few rapid passes with her hands, her fingers tracing glowing symbols in the air. The air in the room thickened again, rippling with a heat-like haze. Out of the newly formed portal, another monster tumbled out with a crash, collapsing onto the floor next to Knut and panting heavily. He was taller and broader than the ogre, with lumpy gray skin covered in growths and warts. A long, drooling snout with rows of crooked teeth, beady malicious eyes, and massive clawed paws. It was a Tracker Troll, a creature capable of hunting down prey by the faintest scent.

"Ugh, that abomination is in our room," Darcy pinched her nose.

The troll looked around, inhaled noisily through its snout, and, with a look of brainless ecstasy on its face, reached a filthy paw toward the silk sheets on the nearest bed.

"What the hell?!" Stormy barked, her eyes flashing. "Get the hell away from my bed!"

She threw her hand forward and struck the monster with a bolt of lightning. The troll let out a pitiful howl and recoiled in offense, rubbing its scorched shoulder.

"Enough!" Icy snapped. She turned to Knut. "This troll can track anyone by scent. Take him there, to the place where the princess and that fairy were last seen. Take reinforcements from the dungeons. And do not disappoint us again, Knut. There will be no third chances."

Knut nodded frantically.

"Yes, mistress! I won't fail! I swear!"

Icy took a new teleportation amulet from a jewelry box and handed it to Knut, identical to the one he had crushed to escape.

"Go," Icy said coldly. "Do not return without results."

The ogre, whose fear of the witches outweighed his terror of the fire fairy, hastily muttered the activation words. The next instant, both monsters vanished in a flash, leaving behind only a stench that Darcy vainly tried to escape by pinching her nose shut.

Stormy clenched her fists angrily, sparks still dancing across her hands.

"I should have gone!" she rounded on her sisters, her face flushed with indignation. "I would have smeared them! I would've grabbed the ring and dragged that fire girl back here! Why do we even bother with these idiots?"

"Yeah?" Darcy purred, returning to the mirror. "And then daddy King Radius comes knocking and asks: 'Now where is the witch who bullied my little girl?'. And off you fly straight to the Solaria mines to dig for magic ore."

"I wouldn't have gotten caught," Stormy grumbled, but uncertainty was already creeping into her voice.

"As far as I know, Stella isn't blind," Darcy adjusted a lock of hair, looking at her reflection. "And only a blind person with amnesia would fail to notice and remember that purple mop of yours."

"What did you say?" The air around Stormy began to spark, and she took a step toward Darcy.

"Calm down, Stormy," Icy intervened, her voice strangely serene. "Darcy is right. It's better we keep our heads down right now."

"Exactly," Darcy shot a pointed look at Stormy through the mirror. "If a certain someone hadn't attacked her right in the middle of Magix last year, she still wouldn't know we were after her ring."

Stormy clamped her jaw shut, her face turning red, but she had no argument. That failure last year, when she tried to take the ring by force right on the street, had been her mistake. Stella remembered her, and now the Princess of Solaria knew exactly who was hunting her.

"Enough," Icy cut in, returning to her bed and picking up the datapad. "You can't change the past. Let Knut handle them. And we'll see what kind of fire fairy has shown up at such an inconvenient time."

A flash of energy briefly illuminated the scorched circle of grass in the Gardenia park. When the light faded, Knut and his new squad stood at the site of the recent battle—a dozen ghouls, and a Tracker Troll that was snorting heavily, looking around. The park was empty and quiet; only the distant city lights flickered through the trees. The ground beneath their feet still held the traces of magic—charred grass, the smell of burning in the air.

"Search!" Knut commanded, pointing a finger at the ground next to the largest scorch mark.

The Tracker Troll dropped to all fours and began sniffing the ground hungrily, like a massive hound. Its nostrils flared as it drew in the air, sweeping its snout from side to side until it hit on what it was looking for. In this gray, magicless world, which smelled only of exhaust fumes and rotting leaves, the scent of two young fairies radiated as brightly as a beacon in pitch darkness. The troll instantly isolated the right scents from the general mess, and there were no other sources of magic here capable of masking that trail. The troll let out a low, guttural growl, raised its head, and, without a second of hesitation, moved toward the residential neighborhoods, dragging the whole horde behind it. The ghouls followed, their claws clicking on the asphalt, their yellow eyes glowing in the dark.

Knut trudged after them, clutching the teleportation amulet in his hand. The hunt had begun.

 

[VitahAR]

The night brought Dominique no peace. She lay in bed, staring blankly at the dark ceiling, feverishly running through the plot of that idiotic cartoon that had suddenly become her reality. A couple of days ago, she would have laughed in the face of anyone who told her such a thing. But now, with a literal princess from another world sleeping in the very next room, fiction was no longer the delirious babble of lazy screenwriters. It had become a roadmap she needed to study thoroughly.

The only problem was, there wasn't much to study. She remembered the visuals—bright, sparkly, with musical transformations and outfits. She remembered the general vibe: a magic school, princesses, good versus evil. She remembered the main character's name was Bloom and that she was from Earth. That was about it. The specifics—names, plot twists, who was hunting what, and how it all ended—blurred in her mind like a dream you try to recall in the middle of the day.

Meanwhile, in the guest room, Stella wasn't sleeping either. She sat on the wide windowsill, pulling her knees to her chin, staring at the empty street outside, while her fingers nervously toyed with the smooth metal of the Ring of Solaria. The princess felt cornered. She was in a stranger's house, hunted by the most deranged witches in Magix, and her new, conveniently acquired ally was, for now, an unpredictable, uncontrollable force. Stella remembered the park perfectly well, and she knew: if this redhead snapped, she could incinerate them both faster than the Trix could ever reach them.

At that exact moment, a procession straight out of a nightmare was already making its way down the peaceful, family-car-lined street. A massive, wart-covered, drooling troll led the way, his ugly snout lowered to the ground, greedily inhaling the cold air. Right behind him waddled Knut the ogre, flanked by a dozen hideous ghouls that scraped their long claws against the asphalt. Soon, the procession slowed and came to a halt in front of one of the most manicured two-story houses on the block.

In the master bedroom on the second floor, Mike and Vanessa were whispering, afraid to wake the girls. Their familiar world had collapsed in a single instant: magic, monsters, princesses. Mike sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers steepled together, staring at the floor with a heavy, scowling gaze. Vanessa couldn't sit still. She paced nervously from corner to corner, her trembling hands pressed tightly to her chest.

"I can't believe it," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Our Bloom... magic... monsters..."

"We have to believe it," Mike said hollowly, without looking up. "You saw that orb of light in our living room. That was real."

"But that's... that's impossible! Things like that don't happen!"

"Vanessa," he finally looked up at her with red, tired eyes. "I saw it. You saw it. Unless it was a mass hallucination... we have to believe it."

She stopped abruptly in the middle of the room, wrapping her arms around her own shoulders.

"What do we do, Mike? What do we do with this... with all this madness?"

"I don't know." Mike sighed heavily and wiped a broad hand over his face. "But I know one thing. We are not handing our daughter over to some... school in another dimension. To hell with that."

"But Mike, you heard what that girl, Stella, said. If Bloom doesn't learn to control her power..."

"We'll teach her here!" he cut her off stubbornly.

"How?!" Vanessa's voice cracked into a desperate sob. "How are we supposed to teach her something we know absolutely nothing about?!"

Mike stood up abruptly and walked to the window, peering into the dark yard.

"I don't know, Vanessa. But I'm not letting her go God knows where, to people we've never laid eyes on. She's staying right here, at home, where I can protect her."

"Protect her?" Vanessa looked at his broad back with bitter irony. "Mike, those... those monsters they talked about... Do you honestly think we can protect her from them?"

"I'm a firefighter, Vanessa. I've pulled people out of burning buildings. I know what danger is. And I know how to protect my family."

He turned to her, absolute, unwavering resolve etched into his features.

"I have a shotgun in the safe. If those things come here..."

"A shotgun?!" Vanessa gasped. "Mike, these aren't burglars! They're... they're monsters!"

"Buckshot works against anything made of flesh," he said grimly. "And it doesn't matter if they're burglars or some magical freaks."

Vanessa sank helplessly onto the bed, burying her face in her trembling hands.

"I'm so scared, Mike. I'm so scared for her."

Mike's anger evaporated instantly. He walked over to his wife, sat beside her, and pulled her into a tight hug, pressing her head to his shoulder.

"I'm scared too. But that's exactly why I'm not letting her go. She's our daughter. We'll figure it out... Somehow."

They sat in the dim light in silence, holding on to each other tightly.

"We'll talk to her again in the morning," Vanessa said quietly. "We'll discuss everything calmly. Think it over with clear heads."

"Yeah," Mike nodded, kissing the top of her head. "In the morning."

But their morning was not destined to come peacefully. Suddenly, a short, panicked bark from the neighbor's dog rang out from the street, only to be cut off unnaturally fast. The massive tracker-troll, standing on the lawn in front of their house, let out a low, guttural growl. He raised his drooling snout, flawlessly pinpointing the source of the magic, and confidently pointed a long, clawed finger straight at the front door.

"Here?" Knut lumbered heavily over the decorative fence and stepped right up to the door, pressing his ear against it, listening to the tense silence inside the house.

The troll sniffed the air loudly once more, inhaling the scent of two fairies, and nodded excitedly.

"How are we supposed to do this like the locals? Knock politely?" Knut sneered, baring his yellowed fangs. He took a step back and slammed his massive shoulder into the door with all his might.

At that moment, the night's silence was shattered by the deafening crack of splintering wood and tearing metal. The front door, unable to withstand the monstrous force, was ripped from its hinges and crashed inside the house with a thunderous boom, kicking up a thick cloud of dust in the hallway.

The monstrous crash from the first floor echoed through the entire house, rattling the windowpanes. Dominique, who had just begun to drift into an uneasy sleep, snapped her eyes open. For a few seconds, she lay perfectly still, listening frantically to the darkness, trying to understand what was happening. Was that crash real, or had she just dreamed up some nightmare?

From downstairs came the sound of shattering glass, breaking wood, and the heavy thud of something massive that made the floor vibrate. Dominique jerked upright, got her foot tangled in the bedspread, and with a muffled curse, tumbled out of bed onto the floor, banging her knee painfully. Swearing under her breath, she kicked the blanket away, jumped to her feet, ran out into the hallway, and nearly collided nose-to-nose with Stella, who had shot out of the guest room like a bullet.

"It's coming from downstairs," Bloom breathed out tightly, feeling her heart hammering in her chest.

"I hear it. They found us," the princess's face grew taut. She squeezed the ring, which immediately elongated, transforming into her sparkling scepter. "Stay here, I'll deal with them."

And without waiting for any objections, Stella marched resolutely toward the stairs. Mid-stride, her body was engulfed in blinding golden light, and when the glow dissipated a second later, translucent wings fluttered behind her back, and her normal clothes had been replaced by the same orange crop top and shorts she had worn during the fight in the park.

Yeah, right, she'll deal with them, Dominique snorted internally, watching her go. If she barely managed to fend off half a dozen of those things out in the open, down there, in a cramped house, she won't even have the room to fly away.

Dominique shifted her weight hesitantly from foot to foot. Fear screamed at her to lock herself in the bathroom, but another terrifying crash and a guttural roar from downstairs seemed to wash away her last doubts, flipping a switch to cold logic. She had to help Stella. If the princess lost, Dominique would not only permanently sever her path to Alfea but also lose this house, these parents, who were an excellent fallback and cover identity just in case. Lose everything because of cowardice? Like hell she would. She pressed her lips into a tight line, clenched her fists, calling upon that internal heat, and ran downstairs after the fairy of the sun.

"Lock yourself in the bathroom and call the cops!" Mike commanded his wife, using the exact, tone-deaf-to-objections captain's voice he used on the job. "And don't you dare come out until I call for you. Got it?"

Vanessa, pale as a ghost, nodded in terror. She grabbed the cordless phone, locked the bathroom door, and began dialing 911 with trembling fingers.

While his wife followed orders, Mike rushed to the large steel safe hidden in the wall behind a painting. Without a single misstep, he punched in the combination and yanked the heavy door open. Inside lay an old but flawlessly maintained, well-oiled 12-gauge pump-action double-barrel shotgun. He grabbed the gun, cracked it open with a practiced motion, shoved two heavy red buckshot shells into the barrels, and snapped it shut with a satisfying click. From the wall right next to it, he tore down his ceremonial fire axe, awarded to him for saving a family from a burning mansion. Armed to the teeth, Mike stepped out into the hallway, walking straight into the unknown.

Dominique ran down the stairs and froze on the last step. The cozy living room looked like a hurricane had torn through it: overturned armchairs, shredded sofa upholstery, a smashed TV, and hovering in the middle of all this destruction was Stella. A tight half-circle of five drooling ghouls was already closing in on her. Knut the ogre, standing in the ruined doorway, noticed the redhead on the stairs and grinned in satisfaction.

"There's the second one. What do you say, little fairies, ready to play?" he rumbled.

"When will you ever leave me alone, you ugly brute!" Stella shrieked. "Solar Flare!"

She soared up to the ceiling, nearly clipping the chandelier, and unleashed a blinding beam. The blast of light slammed into the nearest monster, and it crumbled onto the carpet into a pile of black ash with a sickening squeal. The ogre roared in anger and swung his arm, commanding the attack. Three ghouls, ignoring Stella entirely, hissed vilely and lunged straight at Bloom.

Dominique threw her hands up in front of her, exactly as she had in the park. Her heart was beating a frantic rhythm. Okay, think. You can't spray a wide wave of fire like in the park—you'll burn the whole damn house down with us inside it. Precision strikes.

"Alright. Let's try this!" she whispered to herself, or rather, to the humming source of power inside her.

She extended her hands and concentrated. The stream of flame she unleashed wasn't a wide wave like in the park, but a narrow, furious jet, like a blowtorch. The stream roared, piercing straight through two ghouls running single-file, turning them to ash before they could even scream. A horrible stench of scorched fur and charred meat filled the air.

"You're on fire, Bloom!" Stella cheered from above, dodging another monster's leaping attack. "Just don't roast us, okay?!"

"I'll try!" Dominique yelled back, feeling a wild rush of adrenaline-fueled exhilaration that completely caught her off guard. This power... it was intoxicating.

The third ghoul, having miraculously avoided the flames, proved to be smarter. It nimbly leaped onto the wall, dug its claws into the wallpaper for a fraction of a second, leaving deep gouges, and pushed off like a coiled spring, launching itself straight at the red-haired fairy, aiming its claws right at her face.

"Shit!" Bloom flinched backward in surprise and, losing control, reflexively unleashed a short but massive blast of flame that fanned out in all directions.

The ghoul flew directly into the wall of fire mid-air. It incinerated in a split second, and Dominique coughed violently as a cloud of hot soot settled on her face and clothes.

"Bloom, close your eyes!" Stella yelled.

The princess slammed the butt of her scepter against the floor, and in that instant, an unbelievably bright, blinding flash flooded the living room. The monsters wailed pitifully, blinded by the light, and stumbled backward, covering their faces with their paws.

"Take that!" Stella aimed her staff at a disoriented ghoul. A beam of pure light punched straight through the creature and slammed directly into Vanessa's miraculously surviving coffee table. The table exploded into a thousand pieces from the impact of the magical energy, like a Lego set kicked apart.

"Oops! I'll pay for that!" Stella giggled guiltily.

Knut, standing in the doorway, realized the situation was spiraling out of control. His previously confident smirk slid off his face, replaced by panic. He grabbed the troll—who had been shifting its weight aimlessly nearby—by its massive shoulder and physically shoved the brute through the doorway.

"Go get the redhead! Now!" he pushed the monster forward.

The troll, whose intellect was clearly even lower than the ogre's, grumbled dumbly and began lumbering heavily toward Bloom.

"Bloom, run!" Stella screamed in panic from above. "Troll skin is immune to low-tier magic!"

"What?! Then what am I supposed to do?!" In desperation, Bloom unleashed a concentrated stream of fire right into the troll's chest.

The monster merely growled in annoyance, shielded its eyes from the bright light with a massive hand, and kept advancing on her as if walking against a strong wind. The fire only slightly singed its tough, gray skin. Bloom backed away toward the stairs in horror. She fired short, stinging bursts of flame, first from one hand, then the other, forcing the troll to slow down, but failing to stop it.

It's protecting its eyes! Dominique analyzed frantically. Which means it's not entirely invulnerable!

While the troll slowly backed Bloom into a corner, Stella dive-bombed lower, aiming her staff at the back of its head. But before she could fire a beam, a much more agile ghoul that had been hiding behind an armchair lunged and clamped its jaws in a death grip right around her ankle. With a piercing scream, the fairy lost her balance and crashed onto the glass-strewn floor.

"You little freak!" the Princess of Solaria shrieked in fury. She didn't bother using magic—instead, she twisted her body and kicked out with all her might with her free leg, driving the heel of her boot straight into the monster's glowing eye.

The beast howled in agony, releasing her leg. In the same instant, Stella threw her palm up, and a solar orb incinerated the monster point-blank. However, during the scuffle, she had dropped her scepter—it clattered against the floor and slid away. Knut, seeing this, roared with glee.

"Grab it! Grab the stick, you idiots!" he yelled, jabbing a fat finger at the glowing artifact lying on the floor.

Two ghouls instantly scrambled between Stella and the artifact.

"Like hell you will! I'll roast all of you without the ring!" Stella went absolutely feral. She sprang to her feet, threw her hands up, and a pulsating orb of pure, raw light instantly swelled between her palms.

Without losing a second, she hurled it with all her strength straight at the two ghouls, whose gnarled claws were already inches from the scepter.

The explosion was deafening. One creature, taking the brunt of the blast, was literally vaporized on the spot—not even ash remained. The second ghoul, shrieking hysterically, dropped the artifact and miraculously managed to leap aside, tumbling out of the wrecked living room and straight into the dark hallway.

And at that exact moment, Mike appeared from the other end of the hallway.

A heavy pump-action double-barrel shotgun was locked in a death grip in his strong hands, and his face, usually good-natured and calm, was now contorted into a terrifying mask of primal fury and resolve. Seeing the ugly beast that had jumped right into his path, he raised the gun to his shoulder without a second's hesitation.

BOOM!

The deafening gunshot in the confined space of the house battered their eardrums, silencing all the sounds of the battle for a split second. The blast of buckshot blew the ghoul away like a feather, plastering it against the hallway wall. Even the massive troll, which was inexorably bearing down on Bloom trying to corner her, froze. It blinked dumbly and slowly turned toward the unfamiliar, terrifying sound.

Mike, meanwhile, cracked the gun open with a practiced motion, chucked a fresh shell into the barrel, snapped the weapon shut with a dry click, and marched with long, rapid strides straight into the living room, heading directly for the troll.

The monster, sheer bewilderment written across its stupid snout, watched this tiny human walk right up to it.

"Don't you dare touch my daughter. Get the hell out of my house, you freak!" Mike's furious roar echoed through the ruined room.

The troll was still blinking in confusion. The situation simply didn't compute in its meager brain: it expected this fragile biped to walk right into striking distance of its heavy paw. But Mike stopped about six feet away from the towering mountain of muscle.

The barrels of the shotgun leveled directly at the monster's ugly face.

"Bloom, get down!" Mike barked.

Dominique, hearing her father's shout, didn't even waste a millisecond assessing the situation, immediately realizing what he was about to do. She dropped to the floor like a stone, wrapping her arms tightly around her head.

BOOM!

At such close range, the buckshot had the impact of a cannonball. It literally tore off the top half of the troll's lumpy head, turning it into a bloody mess. The rest of the pellets shrieked right through, riddling the living room ceiling and showering the room in a cloud of white plaster. The monster swayed on its thick legs, letting out a gurgling wheeze, and collapsed onto its back with a hollow thud, devoid of any signs of life.

Knut, who had been standing in the ruined doorway the entire time, froze, paralyzed by what he had just witnessed. His squad had melted away before his eyes in a matter of minutes. His tracker, his main trump card, had been killed in a single instant. The ogre swept a shell-shocked gaze around the living room. He looked at the two fairies, one of whom was hurling fire while the other had reclaimed her scepter. Then his gaze shifted to the enraged human, smoke drifting lazily from the barrel of his gun.

A very clear conclusion formed in the ogre's primitive brain—this was an absolute catastrophe. With a guttural curse, Knut frantically snatched a new amulet from his hip pouch, crushed it in his fist, and vanished in a flash of teleportation, leaving his last, cowering ghoul to the mercy of the victors.

A minute later, it was all over. Silence fell over the ruined living room; it smelled heavily of gunpowder and burnt flesh. Mike was breathing heavily, his hands tightly gripping the hot shotgun. Stella, having already reverted to her normal form, stared at him in unconcealed amazement. Dominique leaned against the wall, feeling her strength drain away. Vanessa stepped out of the hallway, trembling. She stopped, staring at the devastated living room, and slowly pressed a hand over her mouth.

"Oh my God..."

"It's over," Mike said tiredly. "They're gone."

They stood in silence, looking at each other amidst the carnage. And at that moment, the silence was broken by the rising wail of police sirens, growing louder and turning from a distant hum into an urgent, approaching howl. Red and blue lights began dancing across the walls of the ruined living room, a stark warning that they only had minutes left.

Everyone froze in a state of shock. Mike was still gripping the shotgun, Vanessa was weeping silently in the doorway.

"Stella!" Dominique's sharp voice snapped everyone out of their stupor. "We need to hide the bodies!"

Stella flinched and nodded. She aimed her scepter at the massive corpse of the dead troll. A golden glow enveloped the monster, and it silently dissolved into a myriad of light particles that swirled in the air before fading away, leaving not even a stain behind. She quickly repeated the spell, and the remains of the ghouls met the same fate. The living room was still completely trashed, but the most important, inexplicable evidence was gone.

Mike, meanwhile, rushed to pick up the smoking shells from his double-barrel. His hands, accustomed to working in extreme conditions, moved quickly and precisely. He shoved the shells into his robe pocket and surveyed the room.

"Vanessa, don't touch anything!" Mike commanded. "Listen to me carefully!" he spoke in an authoritative tone, looking at the girls. "A bunch of junkies just broke into our house. About five, maybe six guys, all wearing masks. I heard the door get kicked in, told my wife to call the cops, and grabbed my gun. I fired a warning shot to scare them, and they ran. Bloom, Stella, you're scared to death and didn't really get a good look at anything, understood?"

Both girls nodded vigorously, and at that exact moment, the screech of brakes echoed right on their front lawn. Heavy car doors slammed shut, and the blinding beams of two flashlights cut through the ruined doorway.

"Gardenia Police! Drop the weapon! Keep your hands where we can see them!" a harsh command rang out from the darkness.

Mike slowly raised the cracked-open shotgun above his head, showing the empty chambers, and carefully laid it on the surviving edge of the overturned sofa.

"Weapon is unloaded, officers. I'm Mike Peters, the homeowner."

Two patrolmen entered the living room cautiously, keeping everyone at gunpoint. Seeing the uprooted door, the splintered furniture, and the terrified woman in tears, they lowered their pistols slightly, but didn't relax.

"What happened here, Mr. Peters? Are you injured? Is there anyone else in the house?"

"We're unhurt," Mike kept his hands raised. "This is my wife, my daughter, and her friend. We had already gone to bed when a gang broke into the house. Five or six guys. I didn't see their faces, it was dark and they were wearing hoodies... They smashed the door in with something heavy. I grabbed the shotgun from the safe and fired a shot into the ceiling to scare them off. They bolted back out to the street."

One of the officers shined his flashlight at the ceiling, highlighting the gaping holes from the buckshot, and then swept the beam over the charred pieces of wallpaper and the singed carpet.

"And what's this? A fire?"

"One of them had a Molotov cocktail or a flare," Mike lied confidently, without batting an eye. "When I fired, he dropped it in a panic. I managed to stomp the flames out before they reached the curtains. I work at the fire department, officer, I know how to handle fire."

The cop nodded. Given the homeowner's profession, it sounded more than logical. The second cop walked over to the girls. Dominique instantly flipped into perfect-actress mode: she wrapped her arms around herself, her lower lip trembled genuinely, and tears welled up in her eyes. Stella didn't even have to act much; after the brutal fight and the deafening shotgun blasts, she was shaking anyway, looking like a pale shadow of herself.

"Girls, did you get a look at the attackers?" the patrolman asked gently, putting his notepad away.

"N-no..." Dominique sobbed, hiding her face in her hands. "We were sleeping in my room... Then there was this horrible crash... Dad started yelling... We only came downstairs after the first gunshot. We were so scared."

"It's alright, Miss, you're safe now," the cop nodded sympathetically and stepped back to his partner.

The interrogations, the initial survey of the crime scene, and the paperwork took about an hour. The officers collected statements, silently admired the cold-blooded composure of the tough firefighter who had protected his family from a gang of thugs, and promised to send an investigator in the morning for a more detailed assessment.

"Mr. Peters, your door is beyond repair. We'll leave a patrol car stationed on your street until morning, but you'd be better off spending the night at a hotel or with relatives," the senior officer advised, heading for the exit.

"Thank you, officer. But we'll stay here, since you'll be close by."

"As you wish, sir. We'll go canvass the neighbors, see if anyone saw anything. We'll let you know if anything turns up."

After the cops left, the family stood in absolute silence amidst the wreckage for several minutes. The adrenaline ebbed away, replaced by the crushing realization of what had just happened. They had been attacked, right in their own home. And by some miracle, they had survived.

Mike slowly walked over to the spot where the troll had lain. He looked at the clean floor, then at his wife, who was crying with her hands pressed to her mouth. Then he shifted his gaze to Bloom, and then to her friend, the fairy princess. He saw the resolve in Stella's eyes, and a strange exhilaration in his daughter's. And he finally understood—he had lost. Not to the monsters, but to reality itself. He couldn't protect his daughter here. His house, his walls, his shotgun—all of it was useless against the world those things came from. To try would mean condemning them all to a repeat of this nightmare, one that might end very differently next time.

He looked at his wife, and she, reading everything in his eyes, gave a barely perceptible nod. The decision was made. Mike turned to the girls, his voice heavy with exhaustion and the weight of his choice.

"Tomorrow morning... you're leaving."

Vanessa, standing nearby, let out a soundless sob and, as if on autopilot, turned and walked into the kitchen. A moment later came the clinking of dishes and the sound of water filling the kettle. She was doing what she always did in moments of extreme stress—trying to create a tiny island of normalcy by brewing tea. Mostly for herself. Mike wiped a hand tiredly over his face and looked at Stella.

"Stella... this school of yours... is it expensive?"

The princess was taken aback by the question.

"Expensive? Um..." she was lost for a second. "I don't think so. For princesses, it's free anyway. And Bloom... well, she'll be my guest! We'll figure it out, don't worry!"

Mike merely nodded, not fully understanding, but noting the main point—it seemed they wouldn't have to pay.

"And what does she need to take with her? Some kind of uniform? Are regular clothes fine?"

At this, Stella couldn't suppress a grimace, remembering what Bloom's wardrobe looked like.

"Oh, we'll definitely figure something out for that," she assured him with forced enthusiasm. "The main thing is she has something for the first few days. Just the essentials."

Vanessa returned carrying a tray, her trembling hands balancing four cups of steaming chamomile tea. She handed one to Stella, another to Mike, and passed the third to Bloom, her fingers lingering on her daughter's hand for a fleeting moment.

"Drink, sweetie. It's calming."

The four of them sat amidst the ruined living room, holding their teacups. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the ticking of the old grandfather clock that had miraculously survived. Each was lost in their own thoughts. Vanessa looked at her daughter, trying to memorize every detail of her face, knowing that tomorrow morning, her world would change forever. Mike stared into the void, replaying the battle in his head, realizing just how fragile their reality truly was. Stella thought about the upcoming journey, and the absolute sensation her new friend, with her incredible power, would cause.

That night, in the house on the quiet street of Gardenia, no one slept.