Highcliff Girl in a Clown-Arse World

The Count left her alone after that.

Good.

Otherwise, Gods willing, the very thoughts in her mind would have been venomous enough to melt through his pale, undead flesh.

Elisa lay still in the absurdly comfortable bed, her fingers twitching.

Five years of her life—gone with the wind.

What should have been the prime of her years, the years she gave away to a cause greater than herself, had been stolen from her. She was meant to end the Blac’hil family, and it’d have been all worth it. Now all of her effort meant little to nothing at all.

This dynasty that had thrown away so many lives to participate in a war no one asked for... 

For those crimes, she made peace, and soon devoted herself to ending them. To infiltrating the enemy’s ranks, to playing the long game.

Now she was waking up in silken sheets and demon-infested halls, surrounded by people who knew her—people she had supposedly lived among, allied with, befriended.

They probably knew secrets and facts she no longer even remembered about herself.

It was unfair.

How much had she given away? How much of herself had been offered up in those lost years?

Of course, she had expected to form connections. That was the entire point. But for them to know her—to truly know her like a friend and confidant, while she remained in the dark? That she made herself of all people vulnerable in a time like this?

Elisa had to swallow back bile.

Had she wanted to kill herself?

Go away, treacherous brain. She couldn’t have. It must have been framed. Like the Count had said.

Because there was no way she would have surrendered like that. Not after everything.

A knock at the door interrupted her spiral. She turned her head, muscles still stiff.

A woman entered, balancing a tray of steaming tea and folded linens against her hip.

A maid. The same human.

Not a prisoner. Not shackled. Her presence alone made Elisa tense.

A collaborator? A servant? A fool?

Elisa narrowed her eyes. "What is your name again?"

The woman blinked, caught off guard, then smiled. "Cynthia. Gods, the poison did a number on you, didn’t it?" She shook her head as she set the tray down. "The Count was there to save you, you know."

A friend, then.

She exhaled, shifting in the sheets. May as well ask.

"What was he like?" Her voice came out hoarse, uncertain. "Did he treat me well, over these years?"

Cynthia raised a brow, amusement glinting in her eyes. "At the start? You didn’t want him to."

That was the least surprising thing she had heard all day, and it only had been a few hours.

"You constantly butted heads. He always made comments about the fragility of humans, so he had to look after you, of course. You flicked him off like an ant on a table. A bit too much protection for your liking. Something about the fact you weren’t a pet to be groomed and drooled over constantly."

Elisa scoffed. That tracked.

"But then you gave him a right thrashing." Cynthia grinned. "It was honestly amusing. Men. Demonkin. What a combination. They always like a challenge. But I’ll give you this—he’s a keeper."

Elisa’s breath hitched.

I cannot believe I didn’t ki—

She swallowed. She shouldn’t entertain her thoughts, not when was surrounded. "Something for him to conquer, huh?"

Cynthia shrugged. "That’s how they are. Power, control, the thrill of it. But it’s more than that, at least with him. It is not a typical relationship by any means. It was fiery and passionate, as expected. But there were buddings of something else that I sensed. Well, too late now."

"A villainess then, huh? As the stories say. The girl who sold her country out for the affections of a monster."

"Some definitely do, but your actions have spoken more than their shallow views of you."

"The end results don't matter. It's the means."

Cynthia didn’t know how to respond to that.

Without further ado, Elise pushed herself up—too fast. Pain tore through her muscles, hot and sharp, like she was walking through mud laced with needles.

She gritted her teeth. "May I see the outside?"

Cynthia frowned. "Are you sure? You can barely sit up, let alone—"

"I need to see the damage."

"Ah. Highcliff was a very different nation five years ago, miss. You’d be surprised," Cynthia murmured. Then, she stepped forward. "Here. Let me help you."

Elisa took the offered hand, and immediately regretted it.

It attacked the muscles.

The poison still lingered in her body, making every movement feel weak.

But she pushed forward anyway, because that what good Highcliff girls do.

\\

Elisa almost fell face-first onto the pavement.

Cynthia caught her arm with surprising strength. “Woah there, let’s not break what the Count fought so hard to save.”

Elisa barely heard her.

The manor overlooked a cliffside, one of many in Highcliff—hence the name. But the view before her was unlike anything she had ever seen.

Working gas lamps lined the streets below. Their warm glow pulsed rhythmically; powered not just by oil but by runic magic woven into the infrastructure.

Buildings more than four stories tall stretched toward the sky in the distance. Tall, imposing, yet elegant—reinforced with magic that bent architecture past its natural limits. Some still bore the scars of old fire damage, of the war that had burned through the heart of this place, but beneath the char and ruin was progress.

Construction.

Life.

Elisa’s breath hitched.

There was greenery.

The last time she had seen Highcliff, the land had been scorched, stripped of anything worth saving by the retreating Three-Jagged Concordant. The fields had been salted, the rivers poisoned with blood and soot.

A place she had once sworn to liberate from any foreign power.

Did it still need liberating? Of course it did. It doesn’t erase her goal. Short-term, the city will thrive, as do all demonkin states do. But culture usually changes with it. Soon, Demon Meritocracy will infect the minds and states of the people.

They did not need them to direct how they defend their walls against the Bi-Millenial Invasion. They don’t need direction when they can stand on their own two feet. They’d just make them weaker. Yet…

"Gods…"

Cynthia, still holding onto her arm for support, followed her gaze with a knowing smile. "I was hoping to show you this under better circumstances."

Elisa swallowed. "This shouldn’t be possible."

"Oh, I don’t know about that. Magic speeds things along, sure. Runes are evidence of that. But… look, Elisa. Demonkin. Humans. Fey. All of them."

That was what stunned her most of all.

This wasn’t just demonkin dominion.

This was a city.

Her voice cracked. "How is this possible?"

Cynthia shifted her weight, watching her closely. "You tell me. You helped build it."

"That’s not..."

Somewhere in the five missing years, she had been part of this.

"It’s strange, isn’t it?" Cynthia continued, resting her elbows against the railing. "You fight for something, dream of something, dedicate your life to something… and then you wake up, and it’s already happened without you."

Elisa didn’t answer. She was blind.

Her fingers curled against the stone ledge, heart pounding as the wind carried the distant murmur of voices, of hammers striking wood, of merchants calling out their wares.

She had spent her youth dreaming of a Highcliff free from Kael’s kind.

Yet the Highcliff before her was something far more complicated.

Cynthia exhaled, stretching her arms overhead. "Guess the big bad Count did something right after all."

Elisa shot her a look that could kill.