Chapter Three: Arabella Solstice, Homeowner
Arabella POV
Well.
I stand in the silence of the woods, staring at my new "home." It looks like something out of a horror fairy tale—the kind with cautionary endings and cursed princesses who don't make it to the ball.
Sigh.
I turn to my pile of luggage and spot a squashed metal cage wedged between pink bags and designer trunks. From inside it, a pair of furious pale blue eyes blink at me.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," I murmur, quickly unlatching the cage.
A puff of white fur bursts out indignantly. My cat—a spoiled, fluff-coated, luxury demon—shakes out his coat and starts licking his paws like I didn't just nearly traumatize him. He sits by a massive pink bowl with "PRINCE" in rhinestones across the side.
He's the only man I trust.
I bend down, shuffling through my bags until I find what I'm really looking for—two potted plants, both nestled in reinforced containers. Because there is no way I'm staying in this cursed hut without protection.
What am I planting?
Something very illegal.
They're called Maeranth Vines. Parasitic. Carnivorous. Technically classified as dark flora. Forbidden to grow in residential zones, or anywhere really.
I was lucky to find mine on the black market. They've been with me for years, grown from spores smuggled through enchanted soil. They love me. I love them.
I plant the first one a few meters in front of the house, then circle behind and plant the other.
They're fast. The roots are probably already whispering to the trees.
If anyone breaks in? They won't walk out. The vines will wrap, constrict, drag them underground, and decompose them alive.
But to me? They're my babies. My protectors. My very illegal, very carnivorous, cuddle monsters.
"Be a doll and help me move this inside, will you?" I say sweetly to the quiet woods.
A moment of silence.
Then, the trees move. Branches stretch, twist, and lift.
One by one, my pink luggage sails through the air and into the shack.
"Careful! That's expensive!" I shout.
A branch deliberately bumps a trunk against the doorframe.
Rude.
They're cocky now. Drunk on forest territory.
I step inside.
Ew.
Dust. Cobwebs. A mattress that looks like someone died on it. The floor groans with each step. The walls lean.
I change into my pajamas and roll out a sleeping bag. Prince hops in beside me like this is just another day in hell.
Phone in hand, I search for supernatural construction companies. Most people don't hire them because they're obscenely expensive. But those who do? Swear by their work.
They build magical skyscrapers in weeks. Fix castles in days. Workers are enchanted, magically reinforced, and terrifyingly efficient.
I find one based in a coastal town west of Astral Island. They refuse at first—short notice, too remote, blah blah blah. I triple the offer.
Suddenly they're delighted to assist.
I send specs. They send back an invoice for labor and enchanted materials.
I pay half.
My life may be cursed, but one thing I'm blessed with? Money.
I wake up to a call at 4 a.m.
Groaning, I sit up in my sleeping bag and glance at the moldy ceiling. My luggage is stacked like barricades around me. Prince is curled on top of a cashmere scarf.
I take the worst shower of my life. The water is cold. Brown. Possibly haunted.
I dress in pink jeans, a white turtleneck, sneakers, and a thin coat. Then I start the miserable walk.
The forest doesn't scare me. Not with my Maeranths rooting around. Nothing in these trees will touch me.
Phone at 10%.
It takes almost an hour. I guide the crew by phone, stumbling into them on the trail at exactly sunrise.
The lead is a tall, muscular woman in her fifties with arms like rebar and a clipboard. Behind her are five men, all of varying ages, some carrying tools, others walking with the quiet confidence of skilled magic users.
"Arabella Solstice?" the woman asks.
"That's me."
They follow me back.
I explain everything on the way: tear it down, build anew, cement and brick, no more haunted cottage energy. I want warmth, beautiful concrete walls, crystal-infused lighting, heated floors, and a fireplace that doesn't groan like it ate a soul.
The youngest of the men murmurs a spell, and five huge containers drop out of thin air. Spatial magic. I'm impressed.
"Unpack everything except this suitcase," I point.
"That one has my underwear among other things..."
They nod. Professional.
I watch them unpack my pink chairs, velvet curtains, and metallic wallpaper. I did go wild on their online catalog last night.
By 6 a.m., I'm ready to leave for school.
And let me just say—what a mistake.
It's a long. Long. Long. Walk.
Two hours.
TWO. HOURS.
I left at 6. I see the gothic spires of Astral at exactly 8 a.m. My thighs are sore. My shoes are angry.
Nope.
I'm finding an alternative. A scooter. A unicorn. A teleport scroll. Anything.
I stomp into the guidance office, makeup intact. Because it's expensive it's supposed to be.
I recheck the files pinned to the wall. Astral offers five years of supernatural education. Then, you either work or attend a human university with a supernatural faculty.
I'm in second year.
Barely.
I got held back once. Maybe twice. Not because I'm dumb—just misunderstood.
So yeah, I'm twenty-two in a grade of twenty-year-olds.
But you know what? Vampires are hundred-year-old freshmen.
Why should I care?