Fungal Halo

The heroine swoops in toward the site of the explosion, keeping an eye out for—ah, there she is. Her great nemesis, striding through the destruction, catches her eye at the same time and grins widely. "Ah, there you are! Fireworks always were the best way to get your attention."

Nobody summons me on purpose.

I live in the accidental spaces between correct rituals.

My forms are as different as there are ways for a mirror unlocking to go awry.

So why did such an experienced one as you seem so sure of yourself, drawing those lines on mirrored glass?

Your angel is so sweet, so pliant, with her collar around her neck. Such a wonderfully docile creature since you learned how to leash her more firmly than even her halo.

The defiant warrior swinging her flaming sword is long, long gone now.

When the doll accidentally drops the teacup, shattering it, she knows just what to do. She takes her time wiping up spilled liquid and carefully picking up each shard to throw away.

Then, with equal care, she follows the trash, climbing into the garbage can herself.

"Why don't you try taking care of a houseplant?" they said. "It might help ground you in your day-to-day life."

I'd been planning to ignore that advice. What nonsense, right? It'll take a hell of a lot more than some petunias to fix what's wrong with me.

That the planet was haunted would never deter the executives running the galaxy's biggest mining corporation, of course. They weren't the ones who'd have to go near it.

No, they just send their most disposable employees there. Us.

I remember Emilia. I could have loved her, but in the end her heart was set on another.

I gave her everything—all my hate and all my power—and we would have had the world if she hadn't thrown it all away for that foul priestess of hers.