Chapter 8 Jules
Jules
I’m blue. Blue!
Not just cold-blue, shivering-in-a-towel blue. My skin is blue. My hands shimmer in the torchlight, the same shade as the night sky just before it goes black.
“What have you done to me?” My voice comes out a high, shaky whisper.
“Why, made you look like an elf maiden, that’s all, my queen.” Whistler grins, gold teeth flashing. “Would you like to see?”
Before I can answer, he digs around in the folds of his leather duster again.
His coat rattles and jingles with whatever strange junk he’s carrying—chains, bones, a tiny brass bell that tinkles eerily. Finally, with a triumphant grunt, he pulls out what looks like a scroll of parchment.
Only when he unrolls it with a snap of his wrist, it’s not parchment at all.
It’s a mirror—a full-length mirror that shouldn’t possibly be able to fit inside a pocket.
The glass glimmers, rippling like water…and staring back at me… is a stranger.
I’m tall. Too tall. My once-brown hair now hangs in a sheet of silver-white, long enough to brush my hips.
My body has been ironed flat, robbed of its softness.
I have no breasts…no hips—just straight lines where my curves used to be.
My stomach is as flat as a plank of wood and my waist is pulled tight by the bodice of a gown so white it nearly blinds me.
The fabric clings to me like frost, but I know it isn’t real. It can’t be.
My throat tightens as I lift my hands to my head. The girl in the mirror does the same.
My fingers brush long, pointed ears, the tips poking out from my silver hair.
Oh God. It really is me.
“What… what the hell…” My words trail off. My voice sounds wrong in this body—too delicate, too thin.
The gown—this gown that would never fit on my real body, not with my wide hips and big butt and round belly—hugs me like it was sewn onto me. But it’s not me. Not my real body—not really.
Wait. My real body? What am I thinking? What kind of weird shit is this?
I stare at the skinny elf maiden in the mirror. All my life I’ve wanted this—to be thin—to be light. To slip into dresses without worrying about tearing seams or looking like a sausage in a casing. But staring at the reflection, all I feel is… hollow.
Wrong.
“I don’t like this—change me back!” My voice cracks, trembling in the air.
But Whistler only shakes his head, his tangled hair swinging.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that until we reach our destination, my queen. But never fear—it’s naught but a glamour. You’re still you under the magic.”
I tear my eyes away from the mirror, clutching my arms around myself. My skin—my real skin—still feels like me. I sneak a hand to my stomach, running trembling fingers down the rolls I know so well. I still feel the stretch marks etched like faint lightning across my hips.
So he’s telling the truth—it’s just an illusion.
Not that it makes me feel any better.
Because, while the mirror shows me an ice-princess elf in a snow-white gown…underneath, I’m still naked. Naked and cold. So freaking cold.
Whistler snaps the mirror closed and tucks it back into his coat.
“Now then. If you’re used to the glamour, it’s time we got on with it. Be silent as a mouse when we go through the doors, and we’ll slip past the Magistrate with no trouble.”
Used to it? He’s got to be kidding. But before I can argue, he throws open the heavy wooden door.
I gasp.
Beyond is the strangest place I’ve ever seen in my life.