It turns out that sleeping with your hand pressed against your chest really does cause nightmares.
In the void, massive slabs of ashen rock drifted aimlessly. On a smooth stone platform, a tiny young girl was surrounded by a swarm of Mind Flayers.
Their tall shadows loomed over her small body—pitiful, weak, and helpless.
Dazed and lost, she looked up. In the girl’s eyes, the purple-red tentacles extending from the Mind Flayers’ octopus-like heads writhed incessantly.
Then, she was lifted gently by many hands. Suddenly, her body stiffened; her skull was cracked open. The Mind Flayers scrambled to thrust their tentacles inside, stirring the psychic-rich gray matter and slurping it up like a Frappuccino.
Gurgle, slurp.
The poor girl’s pupils dilated and went dull. Her head became an empty shell, like a hollowed-out coconut that echoed when tapped…
Wang Yue jolted awake!
Sweat beaded on her forehead, and a layer of cold perspiration coated her back, leaving a sickeningly slick sensation.
The dormitory was dim. Only a Moon Clock on the windowsill emitted a faint glimmer.
Two silver, filigreed petals had unfurled, and a third was mostly open, indicating that three in the morning was fast approaching.
The room echoed with the soft, shallow breathing of the girls. Their small faces were buried in soft pillows, their legs restlessly clutching their duvets.
Wang Yue glanced at Dorothy. Her head was missing, with only two legs sticking out. It turned out she had rotated a full hundred and eighty degrees, burrowing deep into the blankets with her feet resting on the pillow—classic Dorothy.
On the outermost side, Matcha and Dina were huddled together, warming each other like kittens.
On the innermost side, Cerceybe was curled into a ball, her head under the covers, sleeping like a little hedgehog.
Finally, Wang Yue’s gaze fell on Veronica, who lay beside her.
She was wearing a thin camisole nightgown, sleeping on her side. Her blanket was pulled halfway down, revealing a rounded, smooth shoulder, while her small fingers clutched the sheets to her chest.
Her jet-black hair was streaked with strands of white, like highlights, and a greyish, slimy octopus was coiled atop her head.
A dozen or so tentacles were either curled or extended like the soft fingers of a monster, gripping the girl’s small head.
It seemed to be asleep; its water-sac-like body rose and fell rhythmically, and the vents on its sides exhaled faint puffs of air.
You beast. Is a little girl’s head a place for you to sit?
Wang Yue leaned in to observe. As she drew closer, she suddenly noticed that two of the tentacles were the wrong length.
They were positioned at the back of the girl’s head, buried deep in the gaps of her hair, with only an inch of the base visible.
No way… did they go inside the skull? Is the octopus controlling the girl’s brain?
The thought occurred to her immediately because there was a parasite in her own brain serving a similar purpose of surveillance and control.
She reached out, moving with the extreme gentleness of a pickpocket, parting the hair to see for sure.
Veronica suddenly moved. Her head twisted ninety degrees in an unnatural jerk, her eyes snapping open to their limit. Her lightless pupils stared straight at Wang Yue!
Wang Yue nearly died of fright!
Her heart seized, a sharp pang of terror lurching in her chest. Just as a scream was about to tear from her throat…
Puppet activated!
In an instant, transcendent power overrode biological instinct, seizing control of her entire nervous system.
First, it suppressed the glottal muscles, rendering her mute—not a single sound could escape.
Next, it performed micro-adjustments on her facial muscles, making her expression appear perfectly natural. The corners of her mouth even turned up slightly into a warm smile.
“Vinnie, are you awake?”
“What are you doing?” Veronica asked, her voice flat and measured.
“Sorry, did I wake you? There was some dust in your hair; I was just brushing it off for you… Ah, I need to use the bathroom.”
Wang Yue hopped off the bed and pushed the door open. Once in the hallway, she closed the door behind her and clutched her chest, her heart still pounding with lingering fear.
She walked quickly toward the end of the corridor, her expression growing more solemn with every step.
It was almost certain now—that octopus was nothing good.
The girl wasn’t its friend; she was its mount!
No, not even a mount. Lacking self-awareness, she was more like a vehicle.
That evil octopus was actually using its slimy, disgusting tentacles to manipulate a poor, innocent girl!
Wait, she couldn’t rule out a misunderstanding. Perhaps it was just an octopus Veronica had raised since she was little. Just an ordinary octopus. By the seaside, on a broken ship, with the sea breeze blowing and the waves surging—two small things depending on each other for survival.
If she reported this to the school directly, it might trigger an overreaction from the faculty. They might kill the octopus and scatter its ashes, and then Veronica’s friend—possibly her only friend—would be gone.
My acting just now was decent. I shouldn’t have alerted the octopus. There’s still a chance. I need to come up with a foolproof plan to get that thing off her.
Thinking this over, she moved through the deep, shadowy corridor and reached the washroom at the end.
Demon worship was a staple of the Witch Academy, and demonic cultural symbols were everywhere.
The washroom walls were covered in large murals made of glazed tiles, praising the great deeds of demons.
The wall opposite the door was the most detailed.
At the top of the image, a Great Demon gnashed its teeth and brandished its claws, roasting skewers made of priests and nuns over a fire.
At the bottom, Paladins were being slaughtered by monsters, their armor discarded as hellfire singed their backsides while molten lava awaited them ahead.
To her left was a silver mirror that took up half the wall and a long row of dark green marble sinks.
Wang Yue stood before the mirror, her reflection staring back.
She had to admit, every part of this body was perfect. The black camisole framed her exquisite collarbones, her chest rose slightly, and her figure was elegant with a waist one could wrap their hands around. Her long, straight legs were pressed together without a single gap.
She turned the ram-headed faucet. Water pooled in her palms. It was glacial water—clear, crisp, and drinkable.
The sound of a toilet flushing came from one of the stalls. Someone pushed the door open and walked out, stopping beside her. It was Mapeel.
