Chapter 5: The Crimson Paradise

After breakfast, Jenny and Dravisha finally got to practicing magic spells. So far, the only spells in Jenny's repertoire were her weak glamour magic, a wind blast spell, and her protection barrier spell. With the things she was about to face, those few spells weren’t enough. She needed some real oompf, if she was going to survive.

Dravisha taught her how to draw on the darkness around her and concentrate it in her hands. Unlike wind, shadows weren’t tangible—they were illusions, absences rather than presences. Grasping nothingness seemed impossible. Frustration gnawed at her with each failed attempt. Once or twice, she managed to form the vague outline of a shadowy tendril, but it dissolved almost instantly.

“You need to concentrate, witch,” Dravisha said sharply. “It’s all in your imagination. Visualize the abyss—hold it, command it. Delve into the darkness, let it in.”

Jenny tried again and again, her hands trembling with effort. Still, the shadows refused to obey. Suddenly, Dravisha seized her throat, lifting her slightly off the ground. Jenny’s eyes widened in shock and terror.

“Maybe pain will teach you how to summon the darkness,” Dravisha growled, her crimson eyes gleaming with malice.

Fear exploded in Jenny’s chest. She clawed at Dravisha’s hands, her lungs burning as they screamed for air. In that moment of sheer desperation, something inside her shifted. She could feel the pain and the terror of air deprivation, the crushing weight of nothingness pressing down on her. Darkness closed in, suffocating and absolute. Yet within it, she sensed something else—a cold, pulsing void that mirrored her own anguish.

She reached out—not just with her hands but with everything she had left. The void wasn’t just absence—it was hunger, a ravenous emptiness that devoured light and life alike. Yet within its cold embrace, Jenny found an odd kinship, as though the darkness recognized her despair and offered itself as solace. She sucked it in as if it were the air she needed, understanding its nature instinctively. And then she felt it—a faint pulse beneath the suffocating silence, like a heartbeat in reverse. The shadows weren’t rejecting her; they were waiting.

A shadowy tendril stretched out to her, brushing against her hand like a living thing. For the first time, she truly understood what Dravisha meant about delving into the darkness.

Dravisha unclasped her hands, smiling satisfied. “Well done, little witch.”

Jenny dropped to the floor choking and coughing, saliva bursting out of her mouth. “You… weren’t supposed to hurt me…” she rasped.

“Pain is part of the path to magic,” Dravisha replied coolly. “Without it, you’ll never master the darkness. Get up—we aren’t done yet.”

Jenny sputtered and gasped, her vision still blurry. She got up on unsteady legs, slowly adjusting, taking deep breaths, in and out.

“Now summon the tendril again,” Dravisha demanded.

Jenny reached out beckoning for the darkness to come again. She welcomed it in, and it answered her. Very slowly, a shadowy tendril slid into her hand and coalesced into a dark orb. It was small but it vibrated with intensity. It was beautiful.

Jenny held it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. She was exhilarated. She never felt more alive than at that moment, while holding that shadowy little orb.

“You’ve got talent,” Dravisha said approvingly. “Now release it and summon it again.”

Jenny did so. She summoned and released the tendril again and again and again. Hours passed by as Jenny and Dravisha practiced that one exercise, until it became nearly muscle memory. By the end, Jenny’s arms ached, her throat was raw from breathing heavily, and sweat dripped down her back.

“This is the foundation of your shadow magic training. Any spare moment you have, you will use it to summon that tendril until it becomes second nature to you. You shouldn’t have to think about it. It should just happen, unconsciously, instantly. Understood?” Dravisha said.

Jenny nodded. It still took Jenny three seconds to grasp the tendril and another second to make it into an orb. According to Dravisha, that was four seconds too long.

The door abruptly opened, and Richter stepped in. He raised an eyebrow, taking in Jenny’s disheveled appearance and Dravisha’s smug grin. “I see you two have been busy,” he remarked dryly. “I’ve had my butler prepare your outfits for the evening.”

Jenny collapsed to her knees exhausted. “Thank the almighty,” she muttered under her breath.

“Don’t. Say. His. Name.” Dravisha said sternly.

“Sorry,” Jenny mumbled, wincing as she pushed herself to her feet.

They went downstairs, where they were greeted by two immaculately tailored dresses and fashionable cloaks laid out on velvet cushions. The satin dresses shimmered in the candlelight, sleek and cut low enough to expose plenty of cleavage. The cloaks added charm to the ensemble, their rich fur lining glinting softly against the dim glow of the chandeliers.

The butler had also prepared fine jewelry: amethyst earrings and a matching necklace for Jenny’s violet dress, and ruby-studded accessories for Dravisha’s crimson gown.

They both immediately got dressed, helping each other adjust the intricate clasps and ties. The satin slid over Jenny’s skin like water, cool and smooth, while the fur-lined cloak draped heavily around her shoulders, exuding warmth and opulence. As she fastened the delicate clasps of her jewelry, she caught a faint whiff of lavender.

Dravisha adjusted her gloves, flexing her fingers experimentally. “Not bad,” she admitted, examining her reflection in a nearby mirror.

As a last touch, Jenny cast her glamour spell, adjusting the structure of her face. Her raven-hair became silver-white.

As the pair descended the stairs of the foyer, Richter and Konrad both raised eyebrows.

“You two will definitely be turning many heads tonight,” Richter commented.

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Konrad gave no more than a subtle smile as an indication of his thoughts.

The butler guided them to a waiting carriage that stretched longer than most, its polished black exterior gleaming under the dim light of the estate’s lanterns. A handsome chauffeur stood by the door, his posture impeccable as he greeted them with high professionalism. Jenny did her best to act the part of a refined lady, smoothing her dress before accepting his proffered hand to step inside. Dravisha followed suit, her movements graceful, and her presence commanding even within the confines of the carriage.

The interior was a study in luxury: plush red leather seats, rich velvet curtains adorned with gold embroidery, and intricate decorations that shimmered faintly in the low light. Jenny settled into her seat, feeling the weight of anticipation settle over her. Jenny already felt fluttering butterflies in her stomach as the carriage started. Tonight, would mark her first foray into the Bramholt underground and she needed to impress everyone, especially her father.

“Will you relax?” Dravisha said, shaking her out of her thoughts. “You look incredible. All you need to do is act confident.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jenny muttered under her breath.

“It is,” Dravisha agreed, smirking. “But that’s irrelevant. Let’s face it—you have everything you need: money, looks, two great personalities.” She gestured vaguely toward her chest. “All you need is some confidence, and you’ll sweep them off their feet. Piece of cake.”

“Thanks,” Jenny deadpanned, rolling her eyes despite herself.

“You welcome.”

They came to a stop. The chauffeur opened the carriage door and proffered his hand to help them out. Jenny and Dravisha accepted, stepping onto the cobblestone street. In front of them loomed "The Crimson Paradise," its skeletal structure bathed in harsh red spotlights. It reminded Jenny of a half-eaten carcass, with its ribcage jutting unnaturally out of the ground. Brutal red windows stared back at her from all sides.

People dressed in the most expensive and gaudy fashions walked in and out, their laughter sharp and brittle against the night air. Prostitutes lined the sidewalks, waving to potential clientele with practiced smiles. Everywhere, the scent of lit cigarettes mingled with something darker—sin, ambition, desperation. As they approached the entrance, Jenny scanned the crowd, her gaze lingering on a group of sharply dressed men near the door. They must be this place's security.

Jenny regarded the guards briefly before stepping past them. They moved through a giant gate with smaller doors embedded within, entering a foyer bathed in dim amber light from crystal chandeliers overhead. Distant laughter, the rattle of chips, and murmured conversations drifted from the main chamber. Their heels clicked sharply against the dark wood floor as they approached a cashier caged behind thick glass. Once Jenny exchanged her coins for chips, they made their way into the heart of the Gambling Den.

Tables dominated the space, each surrounded by patrons whose faces ranged from gleeful to hollow-eyed. Men and women dressed in garish finery leaned over felt-covered surfaces, their expressions tense as fortunes shifted with every dice roll or card turn. To one side of the room stood a bar carved from dark mahogany, its surface polished to a high shine despite the grit clinging to its edges. Bottles of expensive liquor glinted under the dim lights, and bartenders juggled glasses with practiced ease, serving drinks to gamblers who either celebrated their wins or drowned their losses. Patrons slouched on stools, some muttering to themselves, others locked in hushed negotiations with shadowy figures lurking in corners.

Jenny started with blackjack, a game she found safe and predictable. She had always been good at counting cards, manipulating the odds just enough to tip the scales in her favor without drawing suspicion. After winning a few modest rounds, she cashed out her winnings and scanned the room for the real prize: poker. Spotting an open seat at a lively table, she slid into it smoothly.

The current round was already underway, so she waited patiently, observing the players. When it came time to buy in, she placed thirty gold marks worth of chips on the table. One of the patrons, a wiry man with a sly grin, whistled softly, leaning closer to get a better look at her. “Not bad,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Try not to lose it all in one place, sweetheart.”

Jenny did her best to act seductively, batting her eyelashes and subtly adjusting her posture to expose more of her cleavage. “Well,” she purred, her lips curving into a coy smile, “I’m hoping experienced gentlemen like yourselves can teach me a few new tricks.” She wasn’t sure if it worked, but judging from Dravisha’s approving nod from across the table, she hoped it had.

The men around the table laughed, though their amusement carried an edge of condescension. The wiry man smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Watch and learn, sweetheart,” he drawled mockingly.

Jenny’s first two cards slid across the felt: a King of Hearts and an Ace of Diamonds. A strong start. She resisted the urge to smile, keeping her expression neutral as she studied the other players. Jenny didn’t raise big, preferring to watch the demeanor of her opposition first. She was cautious, studying the psychology of each player, and their play style. Once she knew who the loose players and who the nits were, she started playing more aggressively.

Soon enough, she noticed specific tells: the loose player tapped his fingers when bluffing, while the wiry man’s grin faltered slightly whenever he held a weak hand. As the hours passed, Jenny racked up pot after pot, her stack of chips growing steadily. The men’s mocking stares turned into hostile glares, their earlier amusement souring into frustration. Exasperated, the wiry man pushed a pile of chips into the center.

“All in,” he declared, his voice tinged with anticipation.

Jenny studied him carefully, noting the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t bluffing—he likely had a strong hand. She glanced at her cards again: seven and eight of hearts. On the table lay an ace of hearts, a ten of clubs, and a six of hearts. She quickly calculated the odds—a flush or a straight were within reach. With 15 outs, she had around a 54% shot to complete either one by the river.

“Call,” she said evenly, tossing her chips into the center with a soft clink.

The room fell silent as the dealer laid down the next card—a four of diamonds. Still no help. But then came the final card: a king of hearts. Jenny felt a flicker of satisfaction as the wiry man flipped over his cards, exposing an ace and a six. His face paled as she calmly flipped over her flush, the hearts gleaming triumphantly under the dim lights.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, leaning back in her chair, Jenny allowed herself a mocking smirk. “Better luck next time,” she said, gathering her winnings. She picked up a few chips and tossed them to the dealer as thanks. Before going to the bar with Dravisha. In total she now held one-hundred and ninety gold mark equivalent of chips.

“So, what now?” Dravisha asked.

Jenny shrugged, signaling to the bartender. “I was kind of hoping to build a reputation and then get invited into higher-stakes games until I get near my father.”

Looking at the glares coming their way from the table they’d left, Dravisha smirked. “Well, you’ve certainly built a reputation.”

“Let’s hope it’s enough,” Jenny said as the bartender approached. “One brandy, please. What do you drink?”

Dravisha looked over at her with a blank expression, “The blood of my enemies, the despair of my victims…”

“Right,” Jenny muttered, rolling her eyes—a habit she’d recently found herself indulging in far too often. The bartender returned with a glass of golden brandy, its rich aroma filling the air. Jenny inhaled deeply, savouring the sweetness before taking a slow sip.

A tall figure in a tailored suit approached the bar. His sharp features and calculating gaze suggested he wasn’t just another patron. He nodded politely to Dravisha before addressing Jenny. “Impressive display earlier. If you’re interested in higher-stakes games, I might know a few places—places where a lady like you can make quite the fortune.” He slid a card across the counter, his movements smooth and deliberate. “Just a suggestion.”

Jenny picked up the card, examining it briefly. It was an invitation to the VIP lounge scrawled in elegant script. “Will have to drop by,” she said casually, tucking it into her handbag.

The man smiled thinly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. “We’ll hope to see you soon.” With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.