Chapter 1
1796words
A girl with bouncy twin ponytails thrust her prized purchase toward Anastasia.
Anastasia barely glanced up, letting out an irritated snort. "Match? With those stubby fingers of yours? You'd look like someone tied lace ribbons around two white radishes."
The girl's face crumpled instantly.
Anastasia lifted her chin smugly, fanning out several bills between her fingers—money she'd wheedled from her stepmother that morning, ostensibly for Cinderella to buy groceries, but which had predictably ended up in her own pocket.
"See this? I'll be paying cash for my ball gown. As for Cinderella," she sneered, "she can wear her patched-up rags and sob in the kitchen."
"Exactly! She could never compare to you!" Her friend leaned in eagerly, face plastered with a sycophantic smile.
Just as Anastasia was basking in the attention, a hand—dry and gnarled as a chicken's foot—clamped around her wrist.
"Watch yourself, girl!"
Anastasia shrieked, nearly jumping out of her skin. She stared in horror at her captor—an ancient crone with a face like crumpled parchment and breath that reeked of sour herbs, fixing her with eyes both cloudy and unnervingly sharp.
"Let go! You disgusting hag!" She squirmed away in revulsion, terrified the woman might soil her new clothes.
"Anna, I-I'm going now!" Her friend, already spooked by the encounter, squealed and bolted without a backward glance.
"Useless coward!" Anastasia hissed, struggling harder to break free from the iron grip.
"Miss Anastasia," the old woman—who was indeed a witch—spoke slowly, her voice like sandpaper on wood, "Don't be so hasty to leave. I can see your future. A destiny that belongs only to you—unique and quite... special."
"Future?" Anastasia stopped struggling.
"Yes. Would you like to know whom you'll marry? A prince, perhaps? Or maybe a duke?"
At the mention of royalty, Anastasia's eyes lit up like lanterns. She gave the witch a contemptuous once-over, but vanity had thoroughly trumped disgust.
She cleared her throat, reclaimed her arm with exaggerated dignity, and smoothed her skirt. "Very well, since you're so... persistent. Let's step over there. I wouldn't want anyone eavesdropping on my glorious future."
She imperiously led the witch into a deserted alley, tapping her foot impatiently. "Hurry up! Am I destined to be a princess? Is the prince handsome? Our wedding will make my stepsister's dreams look like a pauper's funeral, right?"
The witch regarded her silently, eyes betraying nothing, then slowly shook her head.
"No."
"What do you mean, no?" Anastasia's smile froze on her face.
"You will never be a princess," the witch's voice fell cold as a tombstone. "You will die—and your death will be excruciating."
"You... what rubbish are you spewing?"
"Your limbs will be tied to four swift horses, which will gallop in different directions until you're torn apart while still conscious. Your severed head and limbs will be displayed on the city walls for crows to feast upon for three days and nights."
The witch's description was methodical and detached, yet it plunged Anastasia into an icy pit of terror. She could almost see the bloody spectacle, could almost smell the coppery stench of her own blood.
"No... impossible..." Her knees buckled, nearly sending her to the ground, her face blanched white as fresh parchment.
"Nothing is impossible," said the witch. "This is the ending you've earned in this fairy tale, the price of your cruelty."
"I'm... in a book?" Anastasia latched onto those words, eyes widening in horror. "A... fairy tale?"
"Yes," the witch nodded. "The kind read to children at bedtime."
"Children's stories?!"
Anastasia erupted from her fear like a scalded cat, voice rising to a screech: "Are you fucking kidding me? If it's for children, why include such graphic violence? Drawn and quartered? Heads on spikes? What kind of sick bastard writes this stuff? Think of the psychological damage to kids! It's practically inciting violence! You'll warp their little minds!"
She bristled with righteous indignation, as if she weren't the condemned villain but rather a concerned educator fighting for children's mental health.
"You make an excellent point." Surprisingly, the witch nodded with grave sincerity.
"Huh?" Anastasia blinked in confusion.
"In light of your astute feedback, management has decided that—for the sake of children's psychological wellbeing—these darker elements in fairy tales require immediate revision."
Anastasia's brain struggled to process this turn of events. "Revision? How?"
"By purging the darkness," the witch replied. "And you, with your intimate understanding of human malice, have been selected as the Purifier.
"Me? A Purifier?" Anastasia jabbed a finger at her chest. "Aren't I the villain here? Do I have to purify myself?"
"No," the witch's lips curved into a rare smile. "You'll travel to other fairy tale worlds, find characters as wicked as yourself, and correct their endings. Each successful correction earns you Points that offset your own grisly fate."
"Hold on," Anastasia zeroed in on what mattered. "Besides not dying horribly, what's in it for me? Money? Jewels? Hot princes?"
"Everything you desire exists in those worlds," the witch answered cryptically. "Provided you have what it takes to claim it."
"Deal!" Anastasia didn't hesitate. Death terrified her, and as for other perks—well, with her talents, how hard could it be to grab some?
She straightened her spine, cleared her throat dramatically. "Ahem, since it's for the children's welfare, I'll accept this vital mission. However, for such an important task, I can't possibly go dressed like this. You'll need to provide proper equipment—a few designer gowns and... some startup capital."
"The rules prevent me from conjuring supplies," the witch's voice echoed directly in her mind, their mental connection already established. "You must be self-sufficient."
"Self-sufficient?" Anastasia rolled her eyes. Fine, you asked for it.
In a flash, she bolted from the alley and, while a wealthy young gentleman was distracted, deftly snatched his money pouch with lightning fingers.
"What are you doing!" The witch's voice carried a sharp warning.
"I'm helping him build good karma!" Anastasia replied virtuously as she ran. "Think about it—I'm broke, and if I starve to death, he'll bear the karmic burden of neglecting someone in need. By taking his money to save myself, I'm actually helping him earn spiritual merit. I'm purifying his future darkness—totally aligned with our mission!"
Witch: "..."
Just as Anastasia was mentally patting herself on the back, a small, scrawny figure collided with her. By the time she registered what happened, her newly acquired money pouch had vanished.
"My money!" She whirled around to see a filthy street urchin sprinting away with her pouch.
"You little thief! How dare you steal from ME!" Anastasia transformed into a raging lioness, tackled the child to the ground, and wrenched back her prize.
"Let it go," the witch's voice sounded resigned. "Can't you see he's starving? And you just did the exact same—"
"That's completely different!" Anastasia cut her off. "He stole from ME, so now I have nothing to eat! In my book, I'm always the neediest person around!"
Ignoring the sobbing child, she marched to a busy square, eyes calculating as a scheme formed. She instantly transformed her face into a mask of pitiful desperation, spinning tales to passersby about being a "noblewoman separated from her family, without a penny to her name," her theatrical sobs drawing sympathetic glances.
Sure enough, within minutes, a small pile of sympathy coins accumulated at her feet.
She mentally shot the witch a smug look, then made a beeline for the most exclusive boutique in town.
"Miss, you look absolutely ravishing in this—just like royalty!"
"Really? Hahaha! I'll take it!"
"This pearl necklace might have been crafted specifically for your neck!"
"Good eye! Wrap it up! Keep the change!"
In no time, her ill-gotten gains were depleted, and she'd transformed herself with a gorgeous—if slightly gaudy—new ensemble.
"You've spent every coin. Aren't you concerned?" the witch asked frostily.
"Concerned about what?" Anastasia replied airily, admiring herself in the mirror. "Look how happy those shopkeepers are with their sales. They can close early and spend time with their families. I'm basically doing charity work, see?"
She preened before her reflection. "Look at me—aren't I the picture of elegance? If a prince walked by right now, he'd propose on the spot!"
"Preparation time has ended," the witch's icy voice sliced through her fantasy. "Your mission begins now."
"Wait! My new dress—Ahhh!"
Anastasia felt the ground vanish beneath her feet as her body tumbled through space like laundry in a violent spin cycle. After a piercing scream, she crashed hard onto cold, damp, muddy earth.
"My dress!" She stared in horror at the black mud smeared across her skirt, cursing furiously. "What godforsaken hellhole is this?!"
"Welcome to the world of 'Snow White,'" the witch's voice echoed ominously. "Your first task: locate Snow White, who's about to be murdered by the huntsman, and prevent it immediately."
To motivate her, the witch thoughtfully provided a one-second phantom sensation of being drawn and quartered.
The searing pain instantly shut Anastasia up. She scrambled to her feet, teeth clenched, and stalked into the forest depths, muttering obscenities.
Soon, she heard muffled sobbing. Pushing aside some branches, she spotted a well-dressed huntsman clutching a knife, hesitating as he stood over a dark-haired girl who knelt on the ground, weeping uncontrollably.
Anastasia rolled her eyes, took a moment to smooth her ruined dress, then glided forward with practiced grace, her face arranged in her most elegant—and most artificial—smile.
"Having trouble making a decision, sir?"
Both the huntsman and Snow White jumped at the unexpected intrusion.
Ignoring Snow White completely, Anastasia approached the huntsman. She slipped a gaudy, cheap ring from her finger and held it out to him.
"I get it—you're following orders. But kill her, and you'll be a murderer forever, blood on your hands that never washes off. Let her go and take this..." she dangled the ring enticingly, "and you could disappear somewhere new, live like a king, start fresh. One path leads to lifelong guilt; the other to comfort and freedom. You seem smart—which sounds better?"
The huntsman stared at the "gem," mesmerized. After a brief hesitation, he snatched the ring and bolted without a backward glance.
"Done," Anastasia dusted her hands with smug satisfaction.
She turned to find Snow White still kneeling, staring up at her with tear-filled gratitude, and felt a surge of irritation.
"Enough with the waterworks—you're safe now. Run along home to mommy," she waved dismissively.
"I... I have no home anymore. My stepmother wants me dead..." Snow White sobbed even harder.
"Great, another headache." Anastasia rolled her eyes theatrically.
Just then, the witch's cold voice resonated in her mind:
"Objective completed. Correction Points +5. Warning: Plot momentum activated—the magic mirror has informed the Queen. New threat imminent. Tutorial phase complete."
