"Uh… what is that?" I was still staring at the finger on the shelf, trying very hard not to panic, scream, or both. “is that a… human finger?”

  "You mean this?" Elvira asked casually and gave a casual little shrug, like I’d asked about a candle holder. "That’s a zombie finger. Super useful in alchemy. We use it to make some interesting potions."

  I blinked.

  "You… drink those potions?"

  "Of course not!" she laughed. "They’re for enemies. It’s part of our poison-brewing module. You serve it to someone you really don’t like. You know — pour it into someone’s goblet and they either die a dramatic, convulsing death… or just melt. Which is also fatal. And probably painful. I mean… I assume? It was my favourite subject last year. Kinda sad it’s over."

  “Right. Of course. Poison for enemies…” I repeated, slowly realizing what kind of institution I’d landed in — and, unhelpfully, picturing a potion with tiny bits of zombie finger floating inside it like ice cubes in a glass of cola. I’ve always had a very vivid imagination.

  “And who exactly are we poisoning?”

  “Oh, the usual,” she said breezily. “Clerics and Light priests, a few demon lords we don’t get along with, some separatist dark mages, the Inquisition…”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  She ticked them off like they were items on a grocery list.

  After hearing all that, I suddenly wanted nothing more than to be back home. I really started missing my mum, my blanket, and my embarrassingly ordinary life.

  It had been a long night, and I wished I could curl up under my throw, pretending this whole accidental trip into another world had been nothing more than a stress-induced hallucination.

  But nope, it’s my new reality.

  I sighed and dragged myself to the shower to rinse off the lingering dungeon trauma and whatever emotional grime had settled on me.

  No spare clothes, of course. So I wrapped myself in the biggest towel I could find and did what any reasonable girl stranded in a dark-magic academy would do: attempted to hand-wash my bra and jeans — which, by the way, now weighed roughly the same as a soaked corpse and felt just as cheerful.

  Half an hour later, slightly less traumatised but still squishy in all the wrong places, I curled up on Elvira’s sofa, silently praying that morning would reset the world and return me to my own bed.

  It didn’t.