The Writer's Escape

10. The Sorceresses

"Fascinating," Lillian murmured. "She is merely the pawn."

Daria smirked. "This story— it has to come to a close, so to speak? Someone has to win?"

Serena nodded.

"I suppose in your own clumsy, incompetent way, you were attempting to help the Wild Sisters 'win'?" Lillian supplied.

Again, Serena nodded.

"So then," Daria said, leaning forward with a gleam in her bright red eyes, "you could also help us, and the rest of the sorceresses, win the conflict, and get home that way?"

Serena hadn't even thought of that. Helping the villains win . . . A few novels ended with the villains winning, didn't they? It wouldn't go over well with her readers, but then she wasn't sure if what happened in this world was permanent, or if she could simply hit the 'backspace' button and write a more fitting ending. Besides, given the choice between her life and her story, she was sure her readers would understand if she chose the former. "I . . . That should work. Yes."

Coward, Berry's voice whispered in her head, but she shoved the thought away.
Identical smiles curled the twin sisters' lips.

"Then, we have a proposition," Daria said, and her eyes flickered to Lillian's for approval; Lillian gave a slight, hard jerk of a nod. "Help us, and we will ensure that you make it back to your other world by your time-limit."

"Can't you just get me back now?" Serena asked. "And once I'm there, I can help you by writing an ending to this story, where you win."

Lillian looked annoyed at Serena's ignorance. "We cannot move between the worlds as we like. And we know no one of your world, so we could not simply fling you back there as easily as moving a person from room to room."

Hopes dashed, Serena pressed her lips into a hard line. "Why do you even need my help?"

Lillian's eyes narrowed into slits. "You murdered my demon army."

"She doesn't like when people do that," Daria said cheerfully.

Serena refrained from pointing out that she, personally, hadn't even come near a live demon, let alone murdered any of them.

"We will raise another in time," Lillian said. "In the meantime, we have other plans. We need you for a ritual that will help us raise a different sort of army."
Serena knew this offer was her best chance of getting home unscathed. The Wild Sisters were nowhere to be found, dead for all she knew. If she stayed loyal to the witches . . . It was the kind of slim odds her characters could overcome, but that was only because they were fictional. Serena wasn't one of them. 

And yet, the thought of helping these sorceresses raze her world and rebuild it, crush all the desert villages under their thumbs, kill so many people— it made her stomach curdle. This is all fictional, it isn't real, she told herself, over and over, clinging to it like a mantra.

Yes, she tried to say. I'll help you. I'll do whatever it takes to get back home. She gritted her teeth, trying to get the words out; they stuck in her throat.

Instead, she tried to stall. "So what would you nee me to do?"

"We will your connection to the world to shall summon our next army," said Lillian.

Daria added, "That . . . and we need you to tell us how best to overcome the Capital City's defenses."

Serena paled. "I don't know how to do that any more than you do," she said coolly. "Less, likely."

"Liar." Daria smiled, a deceptively friendly smile, though her eyes were hard and full of malice. "You know everything about this world, or so we've heard."

She swallowed. "And if I don't help you?"

"Fail to cooperate, and you and your friends are killed," Lillian snapped.

"Those people in the cell? They aren't my friends. And they don't know anything."

"Nice try. Now are you going to cooperate or not?" 

Serena knew this offer was her best chance of getting home unscathed. The Wild Sisters were nowhere to be found, dead for all she knew. If she stayed loyal to the witches . . . It was the kind of slim odds her characters could overcome, but that was only because they were fictional. Serena wasn't one of them. 

And yet, the thought of helping these sorceresses raze her world and rebuild it, crush all the desert villages under their thumbs, kill so many people— it made her stomach curdle. This is all fictional, it isn't real, she told herself, over and over, clinging to it like a mantra.

If she helped the sorceresses win . . . An ending was an ending. Whether it was a happily ever after or not. 

She didn't really have a choice. "I'll help," she said. And the sorceresses smiled.