Chapter Text
The halls of this place wound like a weaver's spool. Doors upon doors, cliffs upon cliffs, even some sleek, metal series of carts that screamed out songs of unseen bards and singers. She had been consuming what souls she could find, guards in ridiculous uniforms, lost souls like herself, and some imbecile ranting about how "vaccines" caused "autism". Delores had no idea what either of those things were, but they were being insisted upon rather loudly by a man, so she doubted that he was correct.
After turning around another corner, she ended up in some kind of void-like swamp. It was plagued with mist, which provided her some cover, but also made it troublesome to navigate. It felt like Delores had been pacing in circles till she hit a wall. She felt her way around the wall and soon realized it was part of a small building. The harsh glow of the sign made her eyes sting, but Delores was used to pain.
Once her eyes had adjusted, it still barely made any sense, but it looked like some sort of clothing boutique. She entered and heard a small chime ring out from the depths. "We're closed!" an irritated voice shouted. She quickly floated into the racks of wrapped cloth, her lesser powers returning much faster than they had ever done when she was alive. Soon an old man, with a pale and ghastly blue pallor, emerged from the center of the racks. He grunted in surprise at not finding a patron, but his eyes still darted around the room.
At least he's smart, Delores thought. Maybe this one would be a challenge to consume. As he turned his back to her, she silently glided behind him. It seems she accidentally created a breeze or he felt her magic surge because he quickly jumped around and screamed at the sight of her. "W-who are you?" he spluttered.
"That's none of your concern," she replied. "All that matters is what you taste like." She grinned as she deeply inhaled, his screams echoing off the walls of this pocket in the abyss of this hell. It still wasn't enough to get her to full strength, but she could feel warmth seeping into her soul. Once the hollowed out sack hit the floor, Delores began to take stock of the dimly lit store. Everything was wrapped in a strange sheen, not magic but it was alien to her. Fashion had drastically changed in the years since her . . . defeat.
"Ugh," she murmured as she caught sight of a particularly garish outfit. It was a bright red tunic, but it was splattered with ridiculous looking flowers and tonics. Nothing was appealing until she saw, the dress. It was a shimmering black, its skirts pooling in its opaque prison as if the night sky was spun into silken form.
She tore off the slick wrapper and immediately put it on. The fabric caressed her skin in ways no lover ever could. She looked at herself in one of the grimy mirrors and grinned. She was more glamorous than any noble lady she'd ever seen. And it felt so good.