In a world not unlike our own, there exists a small difference: magic. The power of invention skyrocketed to unbelievable heights and the strength of everyday civilians far surpasses that of Earth's most powerful. Unfortunately, it isn't a life of rainbows and unicorns. Most people spend the majority of their lives slaving away in a 9 to 5. The protagonist of this story is no different, until one fateful Christmas Day...
2 AM - December 25th, 2082.
A 34-year-old woman (but not if you ask her) sits alone in her apartment, if you don't count her 2 cats. Downing coffee like a fratboy trying to prove they can shotgun the most beer, she stoically basks in the dim lighting of her laptop screen. Her sullen eyes reflect the finance report she has to have finished before she goes to work within the next few hours. The crack of her hands on the keyboard echo with the arthritic pain of overwork. Yet, she pushes on to the deafening sound of her coffee-addicted heartbeat. A heart that hasn't been loved in years, even by herself. Her only solace during these desolate hours is the painful scratches from Mr. Mittens. She would tell him to stop, but the pain keeps her from passing out.
If you'd ask her though, she'd say she's proud - and she is. She's never been one to be 'second place' or give up on something she sets her mind to. "A ruthless businesswoman," is what's echoed through the minds of the people she tramples on in the corporate world, and that's how she likes it. The painful hours of overtime and extra work wear her down, yes, but the exhilarating joy she feels from getting the promotion, closing the deal, and watching all those in her way fall... nothing compares to it for her. Devil she may be, the life of corruption she's devolved into is of her own creation and she wholeheartedly loves it.
But, there's always been a voice in the back of her head telling her there's more to life. Telling her that slaving her life away to the corporate overlords will only lead to her death one day, that the business hill she's climbing is insurmountably steep... especially for a woman in patriarchal society. Perhaps her life would've been better if she decided to open up her heart and adventure when she had the chance. But, 'I'm too old for those chances now,' she tells herself.
Still, something seems to possess her this eventful Christmas Day. For some reason or another, her pessimistic brain (realistic* as she calls it) has a rare switch of hope. Remembering her younger years where she'd play in the snow, she decides to spend a bit of time appreciating the scenery on her commute to work. Instead of taking the instamagi-train, she decides to walk.
5:45AM - December 25th, 2082.
Siphoning her magic power into the laptop, she quickly enables the printing function and neatly stacks her papers into her hands, then tightly clutches them to the layered bosom of her suit. Most people would be scared of papers flying off but she has ultimate confidence in her abilities. Walking out her door with only one free hand, the woman dexterously puts her auburn hair into a quick ponytail, pushes her black-rimmed magi-glasses into the bridge of her nose, and powers them up with her magical force - all in one fell swoop. The magically alit windows of her glasses make her green-grey eyes 'pop' and she confidently starts a call.
"Boss, I'm on my way right now. I'm going to pick up some supplies so I'll be a little early," the click of her heels can be heard in the background.
"Ah, so you'll need to walk then? I'll have security unlock the office for you. Just be sure to not catch a cold, Hazel. This business couldn't stay afloat without you," the man chuckles.
"You flatter me!" Hazel artificially laughs back. Inwardly, she completely agrees with his assessment and she's preparing to utilize this opinion to try and take his position in the near future.
Hanging up the phone, the clack of her heels noticeably increases in volume and speed. "Hahh, I can't believe I let some childish whim takeover me... at least, I can make the best of this and capitalize on my headstart for the workday. Still, I don't even know why I thoug--"
The sound of her heels are abruptly cut off. Hazel stands awestruck in front of the window to a dress shop. In front of her is a snow-white qipao speckled with roses, the same oriental dress her Chinese mother would wear... Checking the time through the display on her glasses, she determines that she has time to purchase the dress (for delivery to her home) and still get to work on time. A rare feeling of excitement passes through her as she approaches the shops door when suddenly she's hit with blunt force in her back and sent crashing into the window which she gawked at. Important papers flying in the air, she achingly turns her body to see the aggressor.
"Santa Claus?!" she gasps angrily with her body emitting magical force filled with malice.
"Ho ho ho?" says the man dressed as Santa, carrying a comedically large sack of cash.
Twice her size, he grabs her slender body in one arm and begins to threaten the police chasing him.
"L-let me leave with the money, or this woman gets it!"
"Let go of me, you pervert!" she yells preparing to kill him herself with her power to create fire from the air.
But before she can even defend herself, she's shot square in the head without hesitation. The police decided to just ignore the hostage and kill this 'Santa Claus' anyway...
While her mind drifts away, she looks at the Santa Claus Cosplayer dying next to her and memorizes his features, 'If reincarnation's a thing, I'll find you and tear you limb from limb. If there's a hell, I'll make your suffering so much worse... If there's..." Feeling herself go numb, the most anger Hazel feels is towards the fact that she doesn't see enough of the man's features to easily enact her revenge in the next life.
Until,
"Reporting... Bandit... Apprehended... Tristan Royce..."
Fading in and out of consciousness, she doesn't catch much of what the police are saying but she catches a name.
Tristan Royce. I will find you.
On my name as Hazel Huang, you made the wrong woman your enemy.