⚔️Serberia

Judging by Gonzo's face, the demon was not pleased with her attitude.
— Let's check.
A snap of clawed fingers rings out, and Alessia begins to experience painful, uncontrollable transformations.

"No adequate answer could be found, own it, right? Was eternity in the abyss not enough to study the basics of logic and rhetoric? Hmph, grew a huge body, but no strength left for the mind or character," Alessia managed to think before a spasm twisted her body and her consciousness plunged into darkness.

When Alessia comes to herself, it seems as if Gonzo never existed and all of this was just a bad dream, but one glance in the mirror makes her realize that it was not a dream, but a waking nightmare.

— Aau! — In a rage, Alessia hurled the mirror onto the floor. She clutched her head and began to tear out her hair, although thanks to Gonzo's efforts, only a few thin strands remained on her head anyway. Not satisfied with this, she bit her own arm hard enough to draw blood, as if wanting to wake up, but the pain proved too strong and she collapsed onto the floor, bursting into sobs. Salty tears streamed down her coarse cheeks and mixed with the blood flowing from her arm. In hysteria and pain, she lost consciousness for a while.
Soon, once Alessia had cried all her tears, clarity of thought began to return to her, and it was disgusting. Here it was, the new life. What a nightmare, what a disgrace. Alessia didn't have time to examine her reflection in detail—then she would surely have lost her mind—but a glance at her hands, knotty, blistered, earthy-colored hands, was enough. Trying to roll onto her back, Alessia felt a hump on her spine—this could no longer be hidden; this brand marked her for eternal public contempt for this stupid mistake, but where had she been? When did she decide to show off in front of Gonzo? When was she performing the ritual? When did she decide that she could easily get what she wanted at the cost of a small risk? What had led Alessia to this ridiculous, shameful, loathsome position, she did not know, but she experienced the consequences now through the full spectrum of foul emotions. Disgust. Shame. Despair. But stronger than all feelings in this moment was a rage that scorched her entire being. At herself, at Gonzo, at the absurd coincidence. In her inflamed consciousness, Alessia thought then that if she had the chance to relive what happened once, the only thing she would do differently is rip the demon's junk out by the roots. The state was strange, unfamiliar, perhaps even intoxicating in its own way, but in the male body of a hunchback who, in powerless fury, pressed his fist against the glass on the floor of an elite hotel room, there was still a female, frail soul, and enduring such a feeling for long was beyond her power. Rage gave way to inner emptiness, and her consciousness had now fully cleared; she had to decide what to do next.
It seemed there was nothing to decide; it was very simple. Alessia grabbed the dagger and swung for a strike, but when the blade almost reached the body, her hand trembled and the dagger left only a light scratch. The affect had already passed. The pain from the cut suddenly seemed very unpleasant, and the prospect of experiencing mortal pain did not evoke any delight at all. But... she wants to prove to Gonzo that his method is as ridiculous and pathetic as his underwear, doesn't she? Alessia took hold of the dagger once more, and again cast it aside. What is wrong with me... Maybe the fear of death is stronger than her will. Maybe now she just doesn't care anymore—she has survived the worst moment. Maybe true victory would be to live in this new guise as if nothing had happened.
"It's okay, it's okay... I'll have time to die. Maybe we'll live another day... keep fighting..."

Turning a curtain into something resembling a cloak with a couple of cuts and wrapping her face in fabric, Alessia, looking around exactly like a thief, climbed out of the room through the window in the morning. Hunching, more from the weight of shame than from the resulting deformity, and keeping her gaze fixed on the ground, she hurried to Pracht des Mondes.

Early in the morning, when common folk were barely starting their workday and the nobility were still sleeping off in their chambers, an unknown hunchback, never before seen in the city, knocked on the door of a fashionable shop and immediately, as if ashamed, hid his ugly bony hand under the cloak that concealed his entire body.
— I humbly apologize. — Only now did Alessia notice that her voice had also become unpleasant, creaky and weak. — I will not take much of your time, nor will I offend you by my presence inside.


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Would never have thought that in the vast internet it's damn hard to find art of a freak.
Learning the brand