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It had been three weeks since Marcy Wu and her friends—Anne Boonchuy and Sasha Waybright—were accidentally separated. The cause? A blinding flash of light from a massive crystal, one that had been displayed at a local thrift store near their neighborhood. Anne had stolen it under Sasha’s peer pressure, but none of them had known what it really was. The next thing they knew, they were flung into different locations within a bizarre realm of towns and cities, unlike anything they had ever seen.
The funny thing? This was no ordinary place. In fact, it was Hell. And as each of the girls would come to realize, Hell wasn’t just endless fire pits and eternal suffering like so many stories claimed. Sure, there were sinners of all kinds—humans who had met their unfortunate ends—but there were also demons, creatures born and raised in this infernal world, many of whom knew nothing of the mortal realm.
Three teenage girls, alive and stranded in a realm they had no business being in unless they were… well, let’s just say, permanently deceased. No offense. No one could predict what kind of situations they would find themselves in.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The girls were fine. For now.
This story, however, is about Marcy Wu. Our quirky, Taiwanese-American goofball is the reason this story exists.
Now, where were we? Right.
Three weeks had passed since Marcy and her friends landed in Hell.
Actually, you know what? Let’s skip ahead to how Marcy met Stolas in the first place. That’s far more interesting. We’ll get to the three-week time skip later when she finally explains how she got her friends to go along with her little escapade. For now, let’s rewind to the moment she first stepped foot in Hell.
On her first day in Hell, Marcy had been a mix of terrified and fascinated. The initial fear came naturally—after all, she had just crash-landed into the underworld. But her curiosity quickly took over, especially once she realized that not everything here was, well, horrifying. Sure, there were a few things she had to actively avoid looking at (things she did not want to process), but aside from that, Hell was oddly intriguing.
She wandered for hours, searching for shelter while formulating a plan to reunite with her friends. As exhaustion crept in, so did a dull, numbing pain in her left ankle. She must have twisted it at some point. But she pushed on, stubbornly covering a few more miles before she finally had to stop.
By the time she reached the front steps of a grand palace—a towering structure so massive it could rival a skyscraper—night had fallen.
Under normal circumstances, she would have taken a moment to marvel at its intricate design, but fatigue overpowered her curiosity. Even standing felt like a chore. She needed rest.
Hopefully no one will mind if I just sleep on the front steps, she thought, rubbing at her sore ankle. Maybe it won’t be as bad in the morning. I’ll be out of their way before they even notice me.
With that, she carefully removed her green backpack and set it neatly on the ground, making sure nothing inside spilled out. Back home, she had a reputation for being clumsy, but here in Hell, she was trying—really trying—not to make careless mistakes.
She peeled down her sock to inspect her ankle. Sure enough, it was swollen and red. Wincing, she pulled the sock back up, leaned against the stair railing, and shut her eyes. Sleep didn’t come easily, but eventually, exhaustion won.
Unbeknownst to her, someone took her inside the palace while she slept.
She didn’t stir once, even as she was carefully placed in a soft bed.
When she finally awoke the next morning, the first thing she saw was a young, slender avian demon staring at her.
Marcy blinked groggily, still half-asleep, taking in the girl’s appearance—owl-like features with hints of swan, pink eyes with white pupils framed by purple eyeshadow, dark gray feathers, pale white fingers, and long, gray tail feathers that darkened at the tips.
Marcy should have been afraid. Instead, she was just… curious.
The avian sighed in relief. “Glad to know you’re not dead or anything. Oh, what am I saying? This is Hell—of course there are plenty of dead souls here.” She rolled her eyes before focusing back on Marcy. “Anyway, what’s a human like you doing here? And before you ask how I know what you are, it’s thanks to my dad. He told me stories as a kid.”
Then, as if realizing something, she groaned and lightly facepalmed. “Ugh! I didn’t even give you a chance to speak yet. Sorry about that.”
She turned to Marcy expectantly. “What’s your name?”
“Marcy,” the teen answered. “What’s yours?”
“Octavia. Nice to meet you, Marcy.”
“You too, Octavia.” Marcy smiled back, suddenly feeling more awake. She sat up, finally registering her surroundings—a bedroom with a distinct pink and purple theme. The blanket covering her was deep purple with crescent moons. A solar system model hung from the ceiling.
Wait.
Her gaze snapped back to Octavia. “Where am I? I was outside a giant palace before… how did I end up here?”
Octavia chuckled softly. “That palace belongs to my dad. And clearly, you’re in part of it—specifically, my room.”
“Wait, what?!” Marcy shot up, only to freeze mid-motion. Octavia was taller than her. Not by much, but still noticeable. Also, her shoes were missing—she was standing in just her socks. Oh. At least my ankle feels better.
Marcy’s mind raced. “So… your dad is a king, you’re a princess, and I—oh no, oh no, oh no—I just wandered into a royal palace without permission?! I—I'm so sorry! I’ll get out of your way right now!”
“Whoa, easy there, Marcy.” Octavia held up a hand. “It’s okay. If anything, I should be the one apologizing. I was the one who brought you inside.”
Marcy blinked. “Wait… you brought me here?”
“Yeah. I saw you asleep outside the palace and wasn’t sure what to do, so I asked my dad to take a look. He said you seemed harmless. He also noticed your ankle injury, so he used a little magic to ease the pain.”
Octavia motioned toward a nearby couch. “I asked if we could let you stay, and when he asked if I was sure I wanted to, I insisted. He agreed. So, I carried you up here myself and let you have the bed. I slept on my couch.”
Marcy followed her gaze to the couch—a plush piece of furniture a few feet away from the bed. The bed itself was even more extravagant up close, with a deep purple canopy lined with stars and a giant eye motif at its center.
“Oh,” Marcy said, processing the information. “That… makes sense. Well, thank you. Both you and your dad. But… I don’t think I really belong here.” She glanced down at herself—her messy, short black hair, her partially sweaty school uniform, her scuffed-up shoes. Compared to Octavia’s refined yet casual appearance, she felt painfully out of place.
Octavia shrugged. “Eh, don’t worry about it. I don’t really care about all that royalty stuff, and my dad doesn’t either. Just look at my outfit.”
Marcy did. Octavia wore a black beanie with a pale yellow tiara design, a pink choker, a star-patterned dress under a black cardigan, leggings, and heeled boots. The tiara was the only thing hinting at her royal status.
“See?” Octavia said. “Being a princess doesn’t mean much to me. All I want is to spend time with my parents. But they’re too busy arguing all the time to even notice me.”
Her voice grew quiet. “I talk about my dad more because I’m closer to him, but I still want both my parents in my life. I don’t think that’s happening, though. Not with how things are going. I think… I think they might be divorcing soon.”
Marcy frowned, then gently placed a hand on Octavia’s shoulder.
“I can’t say I know what that’s like,” she admitted. “But I do have a friend who’s been through something similar. Well… actually, I have two friends. We got separated when we ended up here, but I will find them. Maybe when I do, I can introduce them to you.”
She reached into her hoodie pocket, pulling out a photo—one of her, Anne, and Sasha, smiling together, the words BFFs!! scribbled at the bottom with a purple heart.
Octavia stared at it curiously as Marcy pointed to one of the girls in the picture.
Marcy’s eyes sparkled as she took in the breathtaking sight of the bathroom.
"It’s beautiful. I never imagined anything like this in my entire life!" she marveled. Then, with a sheepish grin, she added, "Well, except when I read my fantasy stories or play my RPGs."
Octavia chuckled. "You really like fantasy, don’t you?" she said, though it was more of a statement than a question. Then, shifting the subject, she added, "Well, take as much time as you need. My dad is very patient, so he won’t mind waiting for a while—at least, I hope he won’t."
She leaned against the doorway, thoughtful. "Just let me know when you're finished so I can send you some fresh clothes to wear. I think I have a few dresses in my room that would fit you pretty well. I’ll grab them after I check in with my dad for a bit, okay?"
"Okay," Marcy replied.
With that, Octavia gave her a quick nod and stepped out, closing the door behind her.
Now alone, Marcy unclipped her bangs, letting her short black hair fall naturally around her face. She undressed and stepped into the large tub, eager to finally get clean.
The moment she sat down, though, she realized something.
Wait. Where’s the faucet?
She glanced around, expecting to find one along the rim of the tub, but there was nothing. Confused, she scanned higher and finally spotted it—far above her head. The distance between the faucet and the tub itself was a bit of a stretch, but it was definitely the only way to turn on the water.
Marcy exhaled, rolling her shoulders. Alright, let’s do this.
She carefully stood on her tiptoes, reaching up. Her fingers barely grazed the handle.
She tried again. Still too far.
On the third attempt, she managed to get a firm grip and twisted the handle just as her balance wobbled. Water poured down from above, cascading like a miniature waterfall. Marcy yelped and ducked just in time, narrowly avoiding a direct hit to the head.
She sighed in relief and watched as the tub quickly filled with warm, soapy water, bubbles already forming on the surface.
Finally. A bath.
She slowly sank into the water, letting its warmth soothe her aching muscles. For the first time since arriving in Hell, she allowed herself to relax.
Closing her eyes, she whispered softly to herself,
"Anne… Sasha… wherever you are, I hope you’re okay. And I’m sorry for dragging you both into this. I promise… I’ll explain why I brought you here soon."
Her words faded into the quiet hum of flickering candlelight as she let herself sink deeper into the comfort of the water.
20 Minutes Later
Marcy emerged from the bathroom, feeling refreshed and clean. She had found a small bathrobe to wrap around herself, and as she opened the door, Octavia arrived just in time, her arms full of neatly folded clothes.
"Oh, you finished already?" Octavia remarked. "I was just about to ask if you were done, but I guess there's no need."
Marcy, now fastening her hairclip back in place, noticed the small stack of dresses in Octavia’s arms. "Hey, you found some dresses, I see."
"Yep," Octavia said with a smirk. "And I bet you’d look lovely in them."
Marcy smiled at the compliment, and Octavia continued, "Honestly, I don’t wear these much. My mom used to make me wear them to the ridiculous balls she hosted, but I stopped going because they were boring. Since I barely use them, I figured one of these might suit you."
She shifted the weight of the folded clothes in her arms. "Let's try them on and see which one looks best on you. We still have some time before you meet my dad, so there's no rush."
"Okay," Marcy agreed.
The dress experiment began. Some outfits were too extravagant for Marcy’s taste, others far too flamboyant. They cycled through several options before finally settling on a two-layered pale blue dress with puffy tulle sleeves and tiny glittering stars embroidered at the waistline.
"Perfect," Octavia declared as Marcy did a light twirl in front of the mirror.
"It’s really pretty," Marcy giggled, admiring the way the fabric shimmered in the light.
Octavia laughed along before nodding approvingly. "Alright, we’re almost done. Now we just need to style your hair and find shoes that match. Come on, let’s go back to my room—I have everything we need there."
Marcy slipped into a pair of slippers she had found in the bathroom and followed Octavia out. As they walked, a different butler entered to collect Marcy’s school uniform for washing.
"By the way, Marcy," Octavia began, glancing at her, "my dad’s not a king like you assumed earlier. He’s still technically a prince."
"Oh, okay. Thanks for the correction," Marcy said, nodding.
Back in Octavia’s Room
Marcy sat on the edge of Octavia’s bed and unclipped her bangs again, allowing Octavia to style her hair. Since Marcy’s hair wasn’t particularly long, Octavia opted for a small, elegant bun. To complete the look, she retrieved a crescent moon-shaped hairpin from her drawer and carefully clipped it at the front.
Next came the shoes. Octavia pulled out a pair of sparkling silver heels from her closet and handed them to Marcy.
"Here, try these on," she said.
Marcy hesitated. "I don’t know, Octavia. I’m really clumsy. I might break them."
Octavia waved a hand dismissively. "It’s fine. If the heels don’t work out, I can always turn them into flats for you."
Marcy raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess, you can use magic too?"
Octavia smirked. "Bingo. I learned a few spells from my dad, so I think I can manage a little shoe transformation."
"Thanks, but I’ll test them out first," Marcy said as she slipped into the heels.
The moment she took a few steps, she wobbled unsteadily before tripping forward with a small yelp.
Octavia lunged forward and caught Marcy just in time, steadying her before she could hit the floor.
"Whew, that was close. You okay?" Octavia asked.
"Yeah. Thanks for the catch," Marcy muttered, a bit embarrassed.
"No problem," Octavia replied with a grin.
Deciding not to risk another tumble, Marcy took off the heels and handed them back. "Yeah, flats would be better."
Octavia nodded. "Alright, here goes."
Her hands glowed with a soft pinkish-purple light as she waved them over the heels, chanting a quiet spell in a foreign language. The shoes shimmered before shifting shape, shrinking down into a comfortable pair of elegant flats.
Marcy watched the magic in awe. "Whoa."
"I did it!" Octavia beamed. "Try them now."
Marcy slid the newly transformed flats onto her feet and took a cautious step. They fit perfectly—no wobbling, no tripping.
Octavia clapped her hands together. "Okay, now that you’re ready, it’s time to introduce you to my dad. I can’t wait for you to meet him."
Marcy hesitated. "I… I’m feeling a little nervous. What if I say something awkward? Or do something weird?"
Octavia placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You’ll be fine. My dad is really friendly to the people around him." She then muttered under her breath with a half-annoyed, half-sad tone, "Except for Mother, but that’s just because she screams at him all the time."
Marcy caught the bitterness in Octavia’s voice but didn’t comment on it. Instead, she nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Octavia."
The two girls started making their way to the dining room, but just as they were about to enter, Marcy stopped abruptly.
"Wait! I need to get something real quick. I’ll be right back."
Octavia blinked, confused, as Marcy dashed back toward her room.
A few minutes later, Marcy returned, one hand curled into a fist. She walked up to Octavia, opening her palm to reveal two tiny golden robot pins with green eyes and small, cheerful smiles.
Marcy picked up one of the pins and gently placed it in Octavia’s hand. "Here. It’s a thank-you gift. I hope you like it."
Octavia stared at the tiny pin in surprise before a warm smile spread across her face. She pinned it onto her cardigan. "It’s adorable. I love it."
Marcy grinned. "The other one is for your dad, but… I’m still nervous about whether he’ll like me or not."
Octavia rolled her eyes playfully. "Like I said, you have nothing to worry about. Trust me." She patted Marcy’s shoulder before gesturing for them to continue forward.
Finally, the girls entered the grand dining room. Marcy's eyes widened as she took in the high ceilings, the intricate chandeliers, and the elegant furniture. But her gaze soon fixated on the tall, owl-like demon sitting in one of the grand chairs, engrossed in a book.
Octavia stepped forward. "Dad."
The owl demon looked up from his book, revealing four deep red eyes with no visible pupils. He seemed momentarily startled before relaxing, a soft smile forming on his beak. His voice, rich with a slightly high-pitched British accent, broke the silence.
"Oh, Via! Is there something you need from me, my owlette?"
The nickname was clearly one of affection, one Octavia had likely heard countless times before.
"I brought the human here to meet you, like you asked. Her name is Marcy."
Octavia gently took Marcy’s hand and led her closer to the imposing figure.
Marcy, feeling small under his towering presence, forced herself to smile. "Hello," she said, her voice quieter than she intended.
Stolas blinked before suddenly chuckling. "Oh, right! Silly me. I was so engrossed in my novel that I almost forgot we had a guest."
Closing his book softly, he removed the large black hat he wore, revealing the crown attached to it. Rising from his seat, he stepped forward, and Marcy’s jaw nearly dropped.
He was huge.
Even though he was slender, his sheer height made him feel almost otherworldly. Marcy had expected someone more muscular, but instead, Stolas had an elegant, almost regal figure—an anthropomorphic owl with a heart-shaped white facial disk, a small black beak, gray-blue feathers that darkened at the tips, and long, plume-like tail feathers. His deep red tunic, adorned with gold buttons, only added to his grand presence.
"My dear daughter has told me a great deal about you. All good things, I assure you," he said warmly.
He placed a hand over his chest and bowed gracefully. "I am Stolas of the Ars Goetia. It is a pleasure to meet you."
Marcy gulped, glancing at Octavia, who gave her an encouraging nod.
Taking a deep breath, Marcy returned the gesture with a small curtsy. "Nice to meet you too. And… thank you for taking me in, Your Highness."
Stolas let out a soft, hoot-like laugh. "Oh, no need for formalities, dear. Just call me Stolas."
Marcy smirked playfully. "Just Stolas, huh? Can I call you Stols?"
For some reason, that made him freeze...