LIVING A LIFE OF A SALTED FISH

Prologue: Abducted by the villainess.

The thunderous storm blared, waking my consciousness from my deep slumber of nightmare. Soon, the echoes of the pitter-pattering rains resounded through my ears as I became more conscious of the surrounding environment.

As I opened my heavy eyelids, the painting on the ceiling piqued my interest. There was lava and fire; dark smokes and more shadows; countless contorted demons and fiends; the typical representation of what hell looks like. 

I don't quite understand, but I know that I already died. It was painful and pretty tragic. My life that is.

I was on my way home after an exhausting day of work, but I remember myself, feeling happy with how I got my monthly salary. But it was the middle of the night, and I encountered a robber. Of course, I fought back; he was taking my hard earned salary, and that was my payment for that month's rent, and as well as, the only income I have left to support myself. Otherwise, I would end up like a beggar, sleeping in the streets.

So I fought back, struggling as I kicked the robber with my heels, and just like what happens in most cases, I was stabbed multiple times and died from blood loss. 

The next thing I knew; I found myself waking up here.

I don't suppose that this is what the afterlife looks like? 

In a short time, I found myself growing tired admiring the beauty of the painting. Rather focusing on the insignificant matter, I sat up as I looked around the strange environment that I was in. 

The room is definitely not mine.

The soft master bed, the small mahogany drawer beside it, the full length mirror sticking on the white wall, and the painting of hell on the ceiling. 

All of it is not things I could find in my room. After all, I'm so poor that I could barely afford three meals a day. But I don't think this is what hell or heaven looks like either.

Despite the peculiarity of the situation, I remain calm observing everything. I grew up in a harsh environment, a simple weirdness like this is not enough to faze me.

Standing up, I went in front of the mirror, displaying a familiar yet unfamiliar face.

A woman in her early twenties, wearing a silky black gown is what I'm seeing in front of the mirror. Hair and eyes are black; nothing odd about that. Skin colour is more full of life than I remember it to be; it was more smooth, white, and young. 

The figure is not so tall and not small; just the right amount of height of 5 feet and 8 inches tall. And the body has all the right curves, which is weird. Since I'm slender and 6 feet tall as far as I recall. I suppose I'm a person that people often call flat-chested, but now, my front area seems to have grown rather big. No wonder my chest felt heavier than usual. 

Behind me, there is a dedicated hole at the back of my black gown, and the tail near my butt is sticking out from that hole in the gown; the edge of the tail is like a hair-brush of a painting, and when I touch it, I feel quite sensitive like I'm grabbing my reproductive organ. 

Quite erotic, isn't it? I thought to myself as I snorted silently.

I tilted my head to the side, becoming more curious of the eccentricity of the situation. I picked the tail-like brush in front of my face, and the hair-brush glowed, shimmering in the dark room.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, and I glance beside me, staring at the unfamiliar exquisite woman who suddenly entered inside. 

"Nisha, what are you doing?" The woman questioned, covering her eyes with her smooth slender hand, but still peeking in between her fingers.