Chương 44: Down the Rabbit Hole

I hugged the tentacle as hard as I could as it pulled me farther and farther down. I couldn't see anything. Total darkness. I could only feel the motion—a turn here, a turn there, a sudden rise or a sharp descent. This wasn't a simple tunnel or a straightforward lair. It was a massive, winding network of underground caverns. To think I could somehow find my way back was laughable. I wouldn't have remembered half the route even if I hadn't been in complete blackness — which I was.

And besides, there wasn't much reason to go back up there anyway. I was in hell. Every place was as bad as the next. On the surface, high demons were trying to kidnap me to be their eternal servant. And down here, I'd have… a crazy, creepy monster doing a horrible job of pretending to be Cinderella. Yes. I wasn't at all convinced I'd made the right call.

But it hadn't been a purely impulsive decision either—the reason I jumped into a tentacle monster's lair was because of my talk with Azearothiel the last time I visited hell. I had asked him about the Mimic-Many-Tongue, and he'd said it probably wouldn't eat me; instead, it would try to manipulate me into gathering resources for it. He had also mentioned that if the creature got hold of me, it wouldn't be easy for anyone to track me down. That was why I'd decided it was a reasonable escape plan.

Of course, he could just be wrong, and I would get eaten anyway. Nothing I could do about it now, though. It felt like forever, moving blindly through the dirt, jerking violently with every sharp turn. Sometimes, when the Many-Tongue brushed too closely against the rough walls of the tunnel, showers of loose earth and thick dust rained down on me, making me cough and sputter. It was also hard to keep my grip for so long.

I could feel the strength draining out of me, my fingers going numb, my arms trembling with the effort. I was terrified that at any moment my hold would give way. I swallowed. If I fell, would the Many-Tongue stop for me? Would it even notice? Maybe it would just keep going, and I'd be left alone in the dark, lost in an endless maze of tunnels, and… just die. And what exactly happened when you died in hell? No one had told me yet, but — oh, it was probably nothing good. No.

No, I definitely didn't want to die again. I used every last drop of strength in my arms and legs to hold on, and after a few more agonizing minutes, finally — blessedly — the Many-Tongue slowed. The tunnel grew narrower now. I felt the creature squeeze and compress its enormous body, and I was dragged against the tunnel walls in the process, the stone scraping my skin and tearing my dress even further. Then, suddenly, the oppressive walls fell away, and we spilled out into a massive cavern.

The air here was distinctly chillier, carrying a faint breeze, and… I could see something glowing, deep within the cavern. It looked like a fire. The Many-Tongue stopped completely. And now I could hear something else — the sound of water. An underground stream, close by, trickling and murmuring over stone. The tentacle I was clinging to gave a small, deliberate shake.

"Come… come…" the monster said, still in Cinderella's voice.

"Come where?" I asked. Wait... I think it just wanted me to let go. I guessed we had arrived. I released my grip and dropped to the ground. The Many-Tongue began moving again. I still couldn't see much, so I rested my hand on one of its tentacles and followed. We were heading toward the light source, walking alongside the rushing water.

"So… this is your home?" I tried at small talk.

"Why, this is just lovely, don't you think so?" the Many-Tongue said. That was just something Cinderella would say. I wasn't at all sure the creature had actually understood my question. Maybe it was just stupid. As we drew closer to the light, I could see it was a bonfire set against one of the cavern's massive walls. And with the firelight reaching me now, I finally got a proper look at the Many-Tongue in full — and immediately stumbled back a few steps, a shriek escaping me before I could stop it.

The thing was enormous. A great ridged spiraled shell, like a nautilus swollen to the size of a room, from which dozens of tentacles erupted and thrashed in all directions. Beneath the shell, a forest of thin, jointed crab-legs moved in an unsettling ripple, clicking softly against the stone floor.

"You are just the creepiest thing ever!" I bellowed.

"I… love…"

"Yes, yes, we've been over this already," I interrupted, waving a dismissive hand.

"Where is your mouth, anyway?" The Many-Tongue didn't answer. It just kept trundling toward the fire on its many crab-legs. As we got closer, I began to make out the space around the bonfire more clearly. There were a few rough tables and chairs arranged near the wall, and an assortment of tools scattered about — picks, baskets, coils of rope. And crouched beside the fire was a small figure. I squinted into the warm orange light and — yes. A person!

An old man, heavily bearded, sat cross-legged on the ground, calmly feeding pieces of wood into the flames. I had never been so happy in my life to see an old, wrinkly man! If there was already a human living down here, that probably meant I wasn't about to be eaten. And at the very least, I would have someone to talk to.

"Hello, Marguerite," the old man said in a hoarse voice, barely glancing up at the monstrous mass approaching him.

"How was your trip?"

"I brought a warm cup of tea," the Many-Tongue replied. But it no longer spoke in Cinderella's sweet, youthful voice. It now sounded exactly like a fragile, elderly woman!

"Oh, is that so?" the old man said. He finally looked away from the fire, squinting into the gloom until his eyes landed on me.

"You there. Come closer." This was all very strange. The creature had just parroted something an old lady would say. And had the man called the monster Marguerite? Oh. I understood. It was a mimic. In the same way it had somehow read my mind to steal Cinderella's lines and voice, it was probably imitating some old lady that was close to this old man.

"It's a mimic monster, just so you know," I said as I walked toward the fire and crouched down beside him.

"Even if it speaks like someone you know — this isn't Marguerite." The old man gave a short, hoarse chuckle.

"I see the mimic monster quite well," he said.

"But Marguerite is still her name. When she speaks to me, she speaks in the voice of my late wife, Josephine — who used to make so many cups of warm tea you could choke on them. Still, I miss her so." Oh… so the monster was a she. A Marguerite, even.

"It is true," the old man continued, "that some Mimic-Many-Tongues can do illusion magic — find a victim, imitate their loved ones, manipulate them through deception. But our Marguerite is particularly bad at illusion magic."

"She draped some old rags and painted a horrible smiley face on one of her tentacles!" I exclaimed.

"She was pretending to be my friend!"

"Yes, she does that sometimes." He shook his head.

"It's silly. But it's part of her mimic nature." What an utterly bizarre creature this was. The old man stood and walked toward Marguerite, looking her over with a careful eye. He rested a gentle hand on one of her thin legs.

"You went up to the surface again, didn't you?" he asked in an accusatory tone, sounding remarkably like a worried mother.

"The tea is good for your cough, dear," Marguerite said in her old-woman voice.

"We've talked about this," he sighed.

"It's dangerous. If you keep doing it, one of these times something bad is bound to happen. You must be more careful."

"I'll go get some more tea," Marguerite answered. She pivoted clumsily on her crab legs and settled her massive shell onto the ground. What an absolute fever dream my life had become. A giant shell-monster spouting nonsense, an old man treating her like a senile aunt, and all of it happening in some cave in hell—just because a few demons on the surface had started fighting over me using crazy magic. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Not long ago, I'd thought talking mice and fairy godmothers were absolute peak weirdness. By gosh, had I been wrong.

"What happened up there?" The old man turned to me with a serious expression.

"Some high demon jerks wanted to kidnap me," I explained, my voice low.

"The Mimic... I mean, Marguerite, wanted to kidnap me too, I guess. So I let her. I figured it was better than the demons."

"High demons?" His expression darkened, and he glanced with fresh worry at Marguerite, then back to me.

"Why? Why were they after you?"

"I only just got here!" The frustration broke through.

"I just died, you see! I was a time-looper, so maybe that's why, but I don't know anything! Why did they want me dead from the first place? Why demons fight over me in hell? What's going to happen to me now with this… creature? Are you her slave? Are we supposed to lure people down here for her to eat?" My chest heaved, hands clenched at my sides as my breath ran out. It was all just so maddening. I just wanted to know what came next in my crazy life!

"Please. Calm down." The old man crossed to me and placed a steady hand on my shoulder.

"My name is Armand. What do they call you?"

"D… Drizella," I managed.

"Listen, Drizella," he said slowly, his voice calm and soothing.

"I'm sorry for everything you've been through. I don't know why Marguerite was so keen to bring you here, but… it is not so bad down here. It's true that we serve Marguerite in some ways, but we are not her slaves. In fact, any of us can leave anytime we want. You, too. We are here simply because we choose to be."

"Oh," I said, a little surprised. That was good to hear.

"So, what is it you're required to do? And… you said you aren't the only one?"

"There are twenty-eight of us in our group," he said.

"And not far from here, there are other mimic-many-tongues with groups of their own. We're on friendly terms with some of them." He tossed another piece of kindling into the fire and continued, "The work around here isn't very hard, but we still need to labor for food, for both us and Marguerite. We farm mushrooms and hunt some small, mole-like monsters that roam nearby. We also scavenge for things she likes—mostly shiny jewelry and human dresses.

In return, she lets us use her cave and protects us from larger, dangerous monsters. It's not always an easy life, but we prefer it to life in the cities above, under the thumb of this or that high demon. Up there, life can be more comfortable, but it's also… very wrong. I've lived with Marguerite for five years, and I have no intention of going back."

"Oh… I see," I said. There was still so much I didn't know. But if what he said was true… well, it certainly didn't sound like the worst fate.

"We'll take it slowly," he said.

"Come with me. I'll show you around and introduce you to the others." I nodded. Truthfully, a massive wave of relief washed over me. My desperate gamble to escape with the monster had somehow turned out okay. I wasn't going to be eaten or forced to do twisted things. It seemed I was going to join a small human society where I'd be taken care of, more or less. Armand pointed toward the far cavern wall.

As my eyes adjusted further to the gloom, I spotted several smaller alcoves and narrow archways carved into the rock—these were human-sized. He walked toward one and I followed.

"Oh, almost forgot," he said, and doubled back toward Marguerite. From his pocket he produced a pearl necklace and carefully laid it over one of her smaller, curled tentacles.

"Henriette found it," he said.

"It's hell-made, but I think it's pretty."

"It's lovely, dear," Marguerite replied. Then she did another slow half-turn. Her spindly crab legs folded inward, lowering her massive nautilus shell flush against the cavern floor. She curled her thick tentacles protectively over the rim of her shell and stopped moving. I think… she had gone to sleep. It wasn't exactly cute, per se, but she definitely didn't look threatening in that state.

"Come," Armand said, leading me toward one of the low openings in the cave wall. We both had to duck to pass through it, but beyond the tight entrance, the tunnel widened into a passage lit by a series of small, glowing red stones embedded along the stone walls.

"Here are the mushroom farming grounds," Armand said, guiding us down the right path when the tunnel forked.

"I believe Charlotte is on duty today." Following him, I stepped through another low entrance and found myself in a surprisingly large, excavated chamber. Several torches were set into the walls alongside more of the glowing red stones to illuminate the room. A peculiar, thick aroma filled the air—the earthy, damp scent of wet soil. There was a young woman working one of the plots with a shovel. She was about my age, with dark curly hair falling loose from a practical knot.

Even in muddy work clothes, she was strikingly pretty. She turned her head, saw us, dropped the shovel, and came rushing over, eyes bright.

"A newcomer!" she exclaimed, looking me up and down.

"By gosh! It's been absolute ages since we had someone new. Are you from another group? Did Marguerite pick you up? Did you escape from one of the cities? What is your name, anyway?"

"That's enough, Charlotte," said Armand.

"The poor girl just died, and Marguerite found her on the surface. She's had a rough day."

"It's quite alright," I said quickly. I'd had a rough day, extremely so, but I was still capable of speaking for myself. I turned to Charlotte.

"My name is Drizella," I said, "It is very nice to make your acquaintance. So… you can really grow food down here? Without any sunlight?" Charlotte's face lit up further, and she launched immediately into enthusiastic ramble.

"Oh, absolutely! So long as you keep the soil damp and the temperature right — mushrooms actually prefer the dark, it turns out. We grow mostly Dimple Cups and Plump Helmets. We have dozens of dishes we make from them, and Plump Helmets can be brewed into a wine — it's actually quite good. And then over here—" She grabbed my hand and pulled me along to the next row.

"—we grow Sweet Pods, which can be processed into something almost like sugar!" She crouched down, plucked a fat mushroom from the soil, and offered it to me.

"Try it. It's a Plump Helmet." I took a hesitant bite. The flesh was meaty and dense, bursting with earthy flavor. I'd certainly eaten finer cuisine in my life, but in that moment, it tasted incredible. It also reminded me, how utterly starving I was. Apparently, dying worked up quite a ravenous appetite. I stared at the dense clusters of fungi growing in the plot, seriously debating whether it would be rude to ask if I could eat the whole harvest.

Luckily, Armand guessed my thoughts and kindly offered to show me to the kitchen. After bidding farewell to Charlotte, we walked a bit further through the winding cave before finally reaching our destination. We entered a large cavern alcove fitted with brick ovens and iron pots. An older, wrinkled woman with a stern but kind face stood over a roaring hearth, vigorously stirring a massive iron cauldron. The rich, savory aroma of warm, home-cooked food hit my senses, and I practically melted onto the floor.

"This is Drizella," Armand introduced me.

"Marguerite just picked her up from the surface. Drizella, this is Estelle, our brilliant cook and the most senior member"Welcome, Drizella." Estelle smiled, her voice calm and warm.

"We're always glad for newcomers in our little group. Tell me, child—how about some mushroom soup?"

"Ah... yes. Very much so." She ladled out a bowl of soup from the pot, that was the source of that divine smell, and set it in front of me.

"Mushrooms aren't the only food around here," Armand noted, "Sometimes we catch fish in the underground lakes. We also get meat from the mole monsters, but…"

"But it's mostly mushrooms," Estelle cut in with an amused smile.

"So you had better get used to that." I took a sip straight from the bowl. The soup was nothing short of heavenly—a bizarre word to use for a meal made in Hell, but accurate all the same. I practically inhaled it.

"Thank you," I gasped, setting the empty bowl down.

"That was the most amazing soup." Estelle looked pleased.

"Well, liking my soup is definitely a step in the right direction around here." I then noticed a small, crooked mirror fixed to the wall beside the cabinet of cooking utensils. I went to look. It was a mistake. I didn't look much better than Marguerite. I was practically brown from head to toe, coated in a thick layer of subterranean dust and mud. My hair was matted into stiff, tentacle-like clumps, and my ruined dress had more holes than fabric left, rendering me thoroughly indecent.

"I believe you could use a bath," Estelle offered, watching the horror dawn on my face.

"And some new clothes, perhaps?"

"Yes, please," I pleaded. If I had already loved Estelle for feeding me, I loved her twice as much now.

"I will leave her in your capable hands," Armand said to Estelle. He then turned to me.

"You should rest today. Tomorrow, we can talk more, and we'll show you some more of our simple life." I nodded gratefully, and followed Estelle. The bathroom was really just a secluded, cavernous grotto where a shallow offshoot of the underground stream pooled before flowing back into the rock. It was illuminated only by a single red glowing stone affixed to the damp wall.

Estelle promised me that even if I felt something brush past my legs in the water, it wouldn't be anything large enough to eat me, which I decided to accept as reassuring. She left me with a rough sponge and a folded pile of simple white garments that smelled clean enough. I peeled away my ruined, filthy dress and stepped naked to the edge of the pool. I dipped one foot into the stream; the water was delightfully cool to the touch, but not uncomfortably cold.

It felt incredibly soothing against my bruised and scraped skin. I lowered myself fully in and let the current wash over me. It was dark and quiet, and the only sound was the water. It felt like being the only person left in the world—and it was wonderful. Then, for the first time since everything had happened, I let myself think about everything. I had been betrayed and died. I had left Cinderella behind and ended up in hell. I had done the unthinkable by letting a tentacle monster take me.

And yet, by some bizarre stroke of luck, things seemed to have turned out alright. I was now in a decent place, surrounded by kind people. This place wasn't anywhere close to luxurious, but after everything I'd been through, I didn't care about those things anymore. Honestly, I wouldn't mind living like this. Even if it meant getting my hands dirty working in the mushroom farms, I truly didn't mind. Hard work would distract me, if nothing else.

Although, I was definitely still drawing a firm line at washing dirty dishes and touching other people's food remnants. Hell or no Hell, I absolutely wasn't doing that! The only thing that made my chest ache was Cinderella. When I thought about her for more than a moment, the tears started, so I pulled my thoughts back and didn't let them go there. I got up from the stream and put on the new clothes.

Estelle was waiting outside and led me to my room — a small alcove, really, just big enough for a narrow wooden bed with a straw mattress and a plain sheet. Just as the mushroom had reminded me how starving I was, the sight of that bed reminded me how exhausted I was. And just like that mushroom soup, the sad, lumpy bed looked like pure heaven to my weary eyes. Then I screamed. A sudden, blinding agony ripped through my stomach.

It was a horrible, fundamentally wrong pain, radiating instantly through my entire body. I dropped to my knees and screamed my lungs out. I didn't know what was going on. It felt like my body was violently tearing itself apart from the inside out, if that made any sense at all. Estelle was beside me, shaking me, asking questions. Armand arrived. More people crowded in. But I couldn't speak, couldn't see. The pain was everything.

Something vital, something impossibly important, was being violently torn right out of me. I black out. Ugh, it was so hot. Drizella didn't peel the blanket off, and didn't care if the fabric clung to her sticky legs. She didn't care if her hair was a mess or her skin was all sweaty. Drizella was in her bed, in her room. In her real room, this time. But something was horribly, horribly wrong with her.