Hehaddriven all the way out to Arbolito to see me.
And hewaskinda cute, in a nerdy never-sees-the-sun way.
Plus, his MageLord was always there for my EldWitch when we played online together.
Slicking my hair back with the little dollop that finally spurted into my palm, I went at soaping down the rest of me with honeysuckle citrus bodywash. I was sick to death of citrus smells, but Mom and her book friends were always trading BOGOs from Sephora or wherever and I was just the fruity victim.
What if the whole messed-up encounter was Brayden’s way of going for it? Seizing the moment. Winning the princess. And now, just like me—except less fruit flavored—he could be home, cursing himself for messing up with the really hot EldWitch.
I know: Mind. Blown.
When I was clean, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel. The X etched into my hand was still purple, and for a moment, my vision seemed to blur with the bruised hue.
Or…was I being even more pathetic hoping he was still interested?
Yeah, I was probably being pathetic. But it didn’t matter. I had nothing to lose. I slathered on some of the high-end moisturizer Mom had gotten me for Christmas—a regift from one of her book club friends, I suspected. Not quite the same as armoring myself with thick skin, but…
I slammed into my bedroom, still sticky from the lotion.
He could be in Legendelirium right now, waiting for me. Hoping I’d give him another chance?
That could be cute.
I could laugh the whole thing off. It might even make for a funny story later, you know, when we were an official couple and he knew how lucky he was to have me. At least Swann would get a laugh, whatever happened.
Still wrapped in my towel, I powered on my system. Waiting through the game login queue, I wiggled my fingers into my VR gloves and slipped on the headset. I pulled my still-wet hair out from under the straps and knotted it into messy Leia buns so I didn’t get headset-hair just as a warning chime announced my entry.
I amsoa good kisser.
The animation, a tornado of crystals, swirled around the indigo shadow of a crouching female figure. That would be moi.
When the blue dissipated into twinkles, my EldWitch avatar was revealed. My long, jaggedy midnight black hair spiked down over my bare shoulders toward the top of my black bustier. My midriff was naked above a low-slung long black skirt, open to reveal black leather leggings etched all over with scrolling thorny vines. I had heeled knee-high boots, a belt diagonal across my shoulder with a sheathed blade, and symbols tattooed on my hands. A glimmer of gold shone at my slightly pointy ears. My violet eyes gleamed with the thirst for adventure.
Nowthiswas more like it.
The animation wheeled around me as I merged into the point of view of my EldWitch, the open road of Legendelirium before me.
I stretched out my arms, and so did my avatar. I brought my index fingers and thumbs into the triangle shape of the [conjure] command, and a lick of white power burned in the center as I signaled the game to initiate my magic.
And just like that, the strange panicky feeling under my skin faded. For the rest of the night, the real world didn’t exist.
Now my quest. A personal one, exploratory in nature.
If I were a disgraced MageLord trying to act cool and yet available, where would I hang out?
Faintly, I heard my bedroom door open. That would be my mother on the threshold. I almost asked her to keep Gwumpki out, but saying anything would mean that I knew she was there. Sometimes I was a shitty daughter.
Tomorrow I’d have dinner with herandtake her on a good, long walk.
I started the simple rhythmic hand motions—a subtle version of swinging my arms—that got my character moving down the path. The map appeared in my lower right field of vision, but I knew Legendelirium better than Arbolito, so I swiped it away as I heard my bedroom door close again.
Tomorrow, Mom. I’d log into the real world tomorrow.
I sauntered into Questown, where players could trade their coin for weapons, spells, higher heeled boots, and miscellaneous what-have-you. It was a place for beginners to practice basic skills and experienced players to assemble a company for the more complex quests. That is, assuming the bog gnomes creeping in the shadows of the buildings didn’t drag you into an alley, chomp the flesh from your bones, and throw those in a heap in the town square where corpse crows could mock your ugly demise.
“Here lies MojiMaiden,”the crows had sung a few times, before I’d gotten powerful,“a tasty EldWitch too clumsy for questing, too stupid for her own story, too weak to win”for all the passing players to hear. The game designers were sadists.
I headed for Dead End, the stone tavern at the center of Questown. My pulse was thumping as I flattened my hand in front of me, as if to push open the door, and it swung open. The tavern was bigger on the inside, and this time of night, it was crowded.
