All Mine, But Not All Yours (Obey Me!)

A Fateful Letter

This was by far the weirdest letter Noah had ever received. When he'd seen it, resting on top of the pile of mail on the counter, he had expected it to be just another college brochure. He'd opted not to go to college until he was financially secure, and that time still hasn't come yet. He wasn't sure what possessed him to open the strange, slightly torn envelope, but he did nonetheless; and it was the biggest mistake, or perhaps the greatest blessing, of his life. He gently broke the pentacle-shaped seal, revealing the even worse-looking parchment inside. As he slowly took the letter out of the envelope, unfolded it, and began reading:

"Congratulations!

I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to the Royal Academy of Diavolo.

Please return this letter with your signature to confirm your participation.

We are looking forward to welcoming you as a part of our new program.

Yours sincerely,

Diavolo"

"What the hell...?" As he finished reading the last sentence, he mumbled, "Where is this even from?" He searched all over the tattered and torn paper of the envelope for an address, but couldn't manage to find anything showing him where this mysterious letter came from. Perhaps the letter was a carefully made prop for a LARP group that was sent to the wrong address? In that case, Noah could appreciate the dedication. He rolled his eyes and chuckled at the thought, "Just sign the paper, see what this is all about."

He set the letter down on his kitchen counter and began his search for a pen. He approached his junk drawer where he kept all of his miscellaneous and half-used items. He rummaged through it and quickly fished out a black pen with a chewed cap, and hastily scribbled on the back of his hand to make sure that the pen was still usable, which, luckily, it was. He walked back to the parchment on his counter and scanned for the spot where he could jot down his signature, writing a sloppy version of his last name in the box at the bottom: Garcia. He then leaned back, chuckling at how the signature clashed with the more elegant and regal style of the letter.

He waited a beat, watching the letter, almost expecting something grand to happen, but nothing did. He eyed the paper disappointedly as he stood up, snatching the paper from atop the counter, and, returning it to its envelope, set it right above the trash can. "That was stupid," he mumbled to himself, "Damned role-players." He returned to watching some random TV show Netflix had picked out for him, still thinking about that insipid letter every once in a while as the night dragged on. When he grew too tired to keep his eyes open, he decided to head to bed, momentarily forgetting the letter altogether. He lazily undressed and climbed onto his mattress and under the covers, and as his head hit the pillow, he felt a strange sensation in his gut, as if he were being watched. Despite the odd feeling, his dulled senses hardly even reacted, dismissing it as superstition.

Then, he felt a whisper in his ear, "Excuse me, have we gotten you at a bad time?" The voice that spoke was cold and serious, but he could hear hints of confusion that were being poorly hidden. He shot up and whipped around, eyes wide and every hair standing up on end. When he turned around, he was met with ruby red eyes running up and down his figure, then finally locking eyes with his own. "Well, you're certainly not what I was expecting."

"Excuse me??" Noah said, startled that there was suddenly a strange, judgmental man in his room. However, through the confusion, he began to realize he wasn't in his room. What was once his nice, soft bed, was now a firm red carpet; and the comfort of his small bedroom was now replaced with an eerie grand courtroom. Despite the frigid temperature of the room, he felt increasingly hotter with embarrassment. As he futilely tried to cover himself with his hands, he continued, "Who the hell are you, and where the hell am I?!" His eyes darted around the room, trying to come to his own conclusions before the man standing in front of him could supply an answer.