When my surroundings settled, I found myself standing on a narrow dirt path, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and something faintly metallic. The scene before me was… unexpected.
A house or what I assumed was meant to be a house rose up from the ground like an architectural nightmare.
The structure was crooked, with mismatched wooden panels that seemed held together by sheer willpower rather than nails.
The windows were unevenly spaced, some too small to be practical and others so large they looked like they might collapse under their own weight.
A chimney jutted out at an angle that defied both gravity and common sense, puffing out lazy spirals of smoke.
The front door was painted an aggressive shade of red that clashed horribly with the dull, weather-beaten wood of the rest of the building.
To top it all off, an assortment of rusted metal ornaments some vaguely resembling animals littered the front yard.
It looked less like a house and more like a structure that had been haphazardly thrown together by someone with a grudge against symmetry.
I stared at it, dumbfounded. "This is it?" I muttered to myself. "This is where she lives? I've seen condemned warehouses that look more inviting."
A low, amused voice spoke from behind me. "Careful, little human. You wouldn't want to hurt the house's feelings."
I turned to see Amara leaning casually against a gnarled tree, her golden eyes glinting with mischief.
Today, she wore a sleek black outfit that clung to her like a second skin, her black hair cascading over her shoulders. She looked entirely too composed for someone standing in front of what could generously be described as a disaster zone.
"You live here? It's kind of ugly" I asked incredulously, gesturing toward the house.
Amara smirked, her sharp teeth flashing. "Yes. And it's as ugly as the tattoo on your arm."
I bristled, instinctively covering my left arm. "Hey! My tattoo is cool. It's symbolic. It has meaning."
"It looks like a drunken elf scribbled on you with a cursed quill," Amara replied, her tone dripping with mockery.
I crossed my arms, glaring at her. "You wouldn't know art if it hit you in the face."
"Art? That?" She chuckled, shaking her head. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
For a moment, I was tempted to launch into a full defense of my tattoo the intricate black symbols that represented strength, transformation, and the journey I was still navigating.
But before I could, my gaze drifted upward, and my heart skipped a beat.
There, parked haphazardly on a patch of dirt near the side of the house, was my car.
My jaw dropped. "You… thief!" I accused, pointing at her. "You stole my car!"
Amara raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by my outburst. "Stole it? That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"
"You took it from the forest!" I snapped, stomping toward the car to inspect it. It looked intact—no scratches, no dents—but the fact remained: it was mine, and she'd taken it without asking. "You can't just 'borrow' someone's car without permission!"
"I didn't steal it," Amara said, her tone annoyingly calm. "I kept it safe. You're welcome, by the way."
"Safe?" I spun around to face her, my voice rising. "Safe from what? Bears? Rogue fairies? You're unbelievable!"
Amara shrugged, the corner of her mouth twitching into an infuriatingly smug smile. "You left it in the middle of nowhere. If I hadn't taken it, someone else would have. Consider it an act of charity."
"Charity?!" My fists clenched at my sides. "You can't just claim something because it's 'convenient.' That's not how the world works!"
"Oh, but it is how my world works," she replied smoothly, tilting her head. "And since you clearly needed my help, I thought I'd save you the trouble of coming back for it later."
The sheer audacity of her words sent a wave of frustration crashing over me. "You can't seriously expect me to thank you for this!"
"I don't expect gratitude," Amara said, stepping closer. Her crimson eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, her playful demeanor was replaced by something darker, more intense. "But if you want it back, you'll have to earn it."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Earn it? What are you talking about?"
Amara smirked again, the mischievous glint returning to her gaze. "Simple. If you want your car, you'll have to beat me in a fight."
My stomach twisted. "A fight?"
"Yes," she said, her tone casual as if she were suggesting a game of cards rather than a potentially life-threatening confrontation.
"Prove you're more than just talk. Prove you're capable of handling what life throws at you—whether it's rejection, thieves, or… me."
I stared at her, my mind racing. On one hand, the thought of fighting her was terrifying. She was a demon, a known villain, and probably leagues ahead of me in terms of skill and power.
On the other hand… this was my car. My freedom. My independence. And if she thought I was going to let her keep it without a fight, she had another thing coming.
Squaring my shoulders, I met her gaze. "Fine. If that's what it takes, I'll fight you."
Amara's smile widened, her sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. "Good. Then let's see what you're made of, little human."