Chapter 3: Foster Home Girls, Fantasy World Rules

Aubrey and I grew up together in a foster home. The TV only got two channels, and the best thing we ever found in the couch cushions was a coupon for free fries. It wasn’t much—a drafty old place with peeling linoleum, mismatched sheets, and a TV that barely worked. But we made it home, somehow.

When we landed in this fantasy world, we got separated and both thought we were the only ones who’d crossed over.

There’s no handbook for waking up in another world. We fumbled through on our own, thinking we’d lost each other for good.

When I first opened my eyes, someone was holding me tight, my neck aching like I’d been bitten.

I thought I’d been mugged at first. Turned out, my blood wasn’t just red—it was magic.

Turns out, even though I was human, my blood could heal immortal wounds.

I met Caleb, the General, in the wild, and he brought me back to the Celestial Court as his personal blood donor. I learned quick—when you’re powerless, you make yourself useful. Or you disappear.

He treated me like a tool—nothing more, nothing less. I figured it was better than dying in some enchanted ditch.

It wasn’t until years later, at the Peach Festival, that I found Aubrey.

She was timidly following the crown prince, enduring everyone’s ridicule.

She’d crossed over as a fox demon.

Because she was soft-hearted, she’d saved the badly injured crown prince, Derek.

Derek said he wanted to repay her, so he brought her to the Celestial Court and made her his side girlfriend.

One of us was a human, the other a frail fox demon—there was no way we could escape the Celestial Court.

We figured we were stuck—two underdogs in the world’s fanciest prison.

Later, we got together and made a plan: the heroine would show up in a few hundred years, so we might as well use the time to hoard as many healing pills as possible.

We made spreadsheets. Charts. Even a secret code for the stash locations. Old habits die hard.

Whether we used them ourselves or sold them in the mortal world, it was a win-win.

Once the heroine appeared, we’d get tossed aside for sure. By then, we’d take our stash and run—no one would care.

We’d watched enough Lifetime movies to know you need an exit plan. Ours just happened to be five centuries in the making.

While all the immortals were busy singing the heroine’s praises, Aubrey and I just lay on the grass and exchanged a look.

We didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. It was all there, in the shared sigh and the itch to get moving before the walls closed in.

Finally, it was time to make our escape.