Chapter 3: Alien Foods

Thalina stood in front of what could only be described as a mountain of pearls.

Her jaw slackened as her brain processed the monumental task ahead of her.

She bent down, picked up a pearl, and inspected it under the dim glow of magic-infused walls.

Yup. Dusty as hell. She dropped it back into the pile, which made a sound like a cascade of coins mocking her. Every single one?

Eryssia's shrill, nasal voice echoed in her head, stabbing her with memories of earlier.

"Head over to the west wing," the walking pig-in-a-dress had barked. "You'll see the pile of crystals that haven't been cleaned yet. Clean it up."

Thalina had the audacity—yes, the nerve—to think it wouldn't be that bad. Crystals, how hard could that be?

She'd thought as she skipped over to the west wing. And then she'd seen it. Not a "pile" but a continental tribute of pearls stacked high enough to rival a mountain.

If this was punishment, Eryssia had outdone herself.

"Why the hell did I make this world like this?" Thalina muttered, glaring at her creation. "What kind of masochist creates a world this stupid?"

Her brain provided the answer immediately: You, dumbass. You did.

To distract herself from her impending doom, she surveyed the other workers bustling about, noticing the stark disparity she had created in this world.

Females were abundant, their flowing, nearly nonexistent clothing designed to attract unmated men.

And oh, were they desperate. Sure, they were technically supposed to be "working," but Thalina could see a few "accidentally" dropping things so male workers could pick them up. Smooth.

And the men? All disgustingly attractive.

Their chiseled features, flawless skin, and otherworldly grace made the females fawn over them like pigeons fighting over bread crumbs.

But, of course, she had also written that once a male mated, he was locked in for life. No loopholes. No escape.

He'd become obsessed, worshipping his female as if she held the universe in her hands.

And females? Well, they could mate as many males as they pleased. Equal rights, baby.

Except... that wasn't exactly playing out here. Most of the females were only here for one thing: high-status lords.

They weren't working to make ends meet—they were working to catch a rich, unmated man's eye.

Thalina groaned and turned back to the pearls. Her choices—her "brilliant" world-building—were staring her down.

She regretted everything. Especially that plot twist where she, as the female lead, had seduced all three lords and gotten killed for it. Genius, right?

"Not this time," she muttered, grabbing a pearl and wiping it halfheartedly. "This time, no seducing lords. No plot twists. Just survival."

Her vow was noble, sure, but as she glanced at the shimmering, mountainous pile of pearls, it hit her: survival also meant scrubbing these things for hours on end.

"Yeah," she sighed, grabbing another pearl. "This is totally better than dying."

5 HOURS LATER

Thalina slumped against the pile of pearls, her arms dangling like limp noodles.

She wasn't even halfway through, and her stomach growled like an angry bear demanding snacks.

So this is what readers mean when they say, Just because I fantasize about it doesn't mean I actually want it. She groaned, rubbing her aching neck.

"I hate this world," she muttered, glaring at the shimmering heap that glinted mockingly under the magical lights.

"I hate everything about it. Especially you," she pointed accusingly at the pearls. "You're my villain arc."

Sweaty, smelly, and entirely fed up, Thalina flopped onto the ground in the most dramatic way possible.

"Please, whoever's listening, I promise to be a good author! Just give me back my boring, snack-filled life on Earth."

She threw an arm over her eyes, pretending to swoon. "Take me to the land of air conditioning and instant noodles!"

But the universe didn't care about her suffering.

The pearls remained stubbornly uncleaned, and her stomach rumbled louder. She shot upright. "Fine! Food first. Then a bath. Then... maybe I'll cry a little."

She trudged toward the exit, muttering, "Where even is the kitchen in this stupid castle?"

Her lack of a map—or common sense—was becoming a serious problem. Note to self: next time you create a fantasy world, write a freaking survival guide.

As she shuffled along, two hideous girls with sour expressions and even sourer vibes stormed toward her. Instinctively, Thalina backed up. "Uh, hello... girls?" she greeted nervously, trying to keep her tone light.

Beads of sweat formed on her already-sweaty forehead. Fantastic. Now I'm gross and terrified.

"Avaris told us you hurt her," one snarled, raising her hand.

"What? Wait—!" Thalina's protest was cut off by a gust of energy that sent her flying. She hit the ground with a thud.

"Ow! My waist!" she yelped, clutching her side. "Did you rehearse that move or something?!"

The second girl loomed over her. "Today, you're gonna learn your place."

"Wait! I did it for your own good!" Thalina cried, throwing up her hands.

The girls paused, exchanging confused glances.

"What do you mean?" the first asked warily.

Thalina hesitated, then put on her best innocent face. Alright, time to channel my inner actress. "Did Avaris tell you why we fought?"

"No..."

"Of course not," Thalina said, shaking her head with exaggerated sadness, the kind that would win her an award if this world had acting competitions.

"She came to me and confessed she wanted to steal all three lords for herself."

The girls' expressions faltered, but Thalina wasn't done. She threw in a dramatic pause for effect, channeling every overly dramatic villain she'd ever written.

"I tried to tell her that was selfish—she couldn't leave you two with nothing! But she got angry and attacked me to keep me quiet!"

Gods, this was so dumb. How did these characters not see through this kind of thing in my book? she thought, almost cringing at herself.

But then again, she did write Avaris' crew as petty, shallow opportunists who would believe anything that validated their jealousy.

Sure enough, the girls' faces darkened with suspicion—not toward Thalina, but Avaris.

"How do we know you're not lying?" the second girl asked, her tone sharp but her confidence clearly shaken.

Thalina gasped theatrically, clutching her chest like they'd just insulted her honor. "Me? Lying? Look at this face!"

She gestured wildly to her makeup-smudged features. "Would I do this to myself if I wanted the lords' attention? I mean, come on!"

The girls exchanged uncertain glances, and Thalina could practically hear their tiny brains working overtime.

Right on cue. You're such predictable little pawns, she thought smugly, resisting the urge to smirk.

"Fine," one of them finally said with a reluctant nod. "But if you're lying—"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll 'come for me.' Got it," Thalina muttered under her breath as they stomped away, their overdramatic exit almost as bad as her acting.

As soon as they were out of sight, she let out a sigh of relief, muttering, "Like they'll even find me. I'm out of here the second I figure out where 'here' even is."

Her stomach growled, a loud, obnoxious protest that made her groan. "Ugh, fine," she grumbled, glancing back at the glimmering pile of pearls one last time. "Still not my problem."

With a flick of her red hair and a bounce in her step, she spun on her heel and skipped away, determined to find food, a bath, or ideally, an escape plan.

THE ROYAL KITCHEN

Thalina stared at the bowl of food in front of her, her stomach twisting.

The thick, dark liquid glistened ominously, dotted with small, glowing orbs that lazily floated on the surface like tiny trapped fireflies.

It was supposed to be porridge. Supposedly.

Beside it sat a piece of jerky so dry it looked like it might shatter if dropped. How in the world did these aliens survive on this?

Her lips parted, then closed again. She didn't remember specifying what kind of food the aliens in her story ate, but she was starting to regret leaving that part vague.

Couldn't it have been something… less stereotypical? Less terrifying?

"What is wrong, female?" The kitchen head's voice cut through her thoughts.

His concerned tone and furrowed brows betrayed his worry that she was questioning his skills.

And she was.

Thalina flicked her gaze back to the porridge, her appetite vanishing as her stomach churned. Life choices? Questionable. This meal? Even more so.

The male shifted awkwardly before her, wringing his hands together. "Would you like me to remake it?" His voice cracked slightly with unease, breaking her pity meter right in half.

Thalina raised her eyes to him, noting his tense shoulders and the deep crease in his brow.

His fingers fiddled nervously, as if afraid she might scream at him for daring to serve such a dish.

Of course he cared. He was a male. A female wouldn't give a damn.

"A-ah." Thalina stammered, guilt swelling in her chest. There was no way she could tell him the truth—not when it wasn't his fault. She had written this alien world to be like this. This was on her.

"It's… okay," she lied, mustering the most reassuring smile she could manage.

His stance softened almost immediately, the tension melting from his frame as his hands fell to his sides.

"Where do you keep your ingredients?" she asked, determined to figure out how to fix this disaster herself.

The male's face brightened at her question, and he motioned for her to follow him deeper into the kitchen.

"Be careful," he said over his shoulder, glancing back to ensure she wasn't about to trip over a stray pot or stumble into a disaster.

Thalina nearly rolled her eyes but restrained herself. "I'm fine," she muttered under her breath, biting back the urge to remind him she wasn't helpless.

Or at least, she hoped she wasn't.

Thalina stepped into the kitchen and blinked in surprise.

The shelves were lined with an assortment of unique ingredients that seemed to defy logic, and yet, as her eyes wandered across the jars and bags, she froze. Was that… garlic?

But amidst the fantastical, her eyes snagged on something utterly ordinary—earth ingredients.

Garlic. Flour. Ginger. Cinnamon. Turmeric. All of it labeled with the strangest names, like someone had played an intergalactic game of "rename the spice."

She squinted. "Why is garlic called Vampire's Doom?" she muttered under her breath.

The shelves carried an odd mix of raw and dried meats too, though one thing was missing. Oil.

Her brows furrowed. Did they only boil and roast their food? That explained a lot about the unappealing porridge she'd just left behind.

Her gaze swept over the jars, and then—was that pepper? Her heart leaped. Pepper! Finally, a chance to spice up this flavorless world. She reached out eagerly, but before her fingers could so much as brush the jar, the cook's voice thundered behind her.

"Don't, female!"

Thalina jumped, her hand freezing mid-air. The male practically sprinted to her side, his expression a mix of panic and determination. He gently grabbed her wrist, cradling her hand like it was made of porcelain.

Thalina blinked up at him, baffled by the drama. "What's wrong?" she asked, pulling her hand back.

He sighed, shaking his head. "I forget how silly and fragile females can be."

Silly and fragile?

Her eye twitched. This motherf—no. She took a deep breath, clutching onto the shreds of her composure. He was lucky they weren't in the 21st century.

"These," he said gravely, pointing to the jar, "are Burn Berries. They sting horribly if they even graze your skin."

Thalina stared at him, then at the jar. "Burn Berries?" she echoed.

"Yes." He nodded solemnly.

She squinted closer at the jar, then back at him. "Those are peppers."

The male looked affronted. "No, they're not. We use them to treat injuries."

Thalina blinked again. Treat injuries? She opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure where to even start.

She decided on the simplest question. "Wait, how do you cook your… food?"

His face lit up, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, clearly taking her question as a compliment.

"Well," he began, puffing up his chest slightly, "I just take these medicinal herbs"—he gestured proudly at the spices—"and place them all in the pot."

Thalina's jaw dropped. "At the same time?!"

"Of course!" he said, beaming, clearly proud of his culinary efficiency.

She stared at him, her eye twitching again. "And… and the glowing ones?"

"Oh, those are special. They boost energy and heal fatigue," he explained, misinterpreting her horrified look as curiosity.

Thalina pinched the bridge of her nose, resisting the urge to scream. "And… what flavor does this method create?" she asked, her voice tight.

"At the same time?!" Thalina's voice shot up, laced with genuine concern.

"Yes, at the same time," the male replied with absolute confidence, his chest puffing out as though he'd just revealed a culinary masterpiece.

The gleam in his eyes made it clear—he'd mistaken her shock for admiration.

Thalina's lips parted, but no words came out. She was torn between educating him on the crimes he was committing against food or just letting him live in his blissful ignorance.

"And then," he continued, motioning toward the glowing jars of what Thalina knew were spices, "I add one of these for a special kick."

"Special kick?" she echoed, her tone skeptical.

He nodded proudly.

She narrowed her eyes at the jars. Sure, they glowed like magical treasures, but she couldn't imagine putting something radioactive-looking into her stomach.

Her curiosity got the better of her. "And, um… what benefits do these give?"

The question left her mouth before she could stop it. The male froze mid-motion, turning to her slowly, his expression… suspicious.

"What?" she asked, immediately regretting her slip-up.

The realization hit her like a slap. She was supposed to be from this world. She should already know these things!

The silence stretched. Thalina scrambled to think of an excuse, but before she could spit one out, the male's expression softened into something much worse. Pity.

Oh no.

He leaned closer, his sharp gaze roaming her face. For the first time, he seemed to really look at her.

His eyes traced over the faint, jagged marks on her cheeks, but instead of recoiling, he lingered.

Her features were delicate, softer than most females he'd seen.

Her skin had an almost otherworldly glow, smooth and flawless apart from the scars, which oddly only added to her appeal.

Her lips were a softer shade of blue, tinged with a faint silver sheen, as though they'd been brushed with moonlight.

They curved in a way that made them look perpetually pouty—like she was about to complain about something at any second.

Her hair was striking, a cascade of deep red waves that fell past her shoulders, the kind of color that drew attention even in a crowded room.

And her eyes—wide and bright, the kind that made her look innocent even when she was clearly plotting something—held him captive for a moment too long.

Her figure was...

"You pervert!" Thalina's shriek snapped him out of his trance.

The male jumped, his hand flying to his chest as if her voice had physically struck him.

"I'm sorry, female!" he stammered, his face flushing an impossible shade of blue. "I didn't mean—! I was just noticing—!"

He cut himself off, clearing his throat awkwardly.

She folded her arms across her chest, glaring at him. "Noticing what exactly?"

"Uh…" He fumbled, his ears practically glowing now. "I just thought… your parents must have been very protective of you."

Thalina blinked. "What?"

"You're…" He hesitated, then blurted out, "Perfect."

Her brain short-circuited. Perfect?! What kind of shameless nonsense—

"Y-you're so perfect it's obvious they kept you hidden," he rushed to clarify, completely misinterpreting the horrified look on her face. "From danger, I mean! You must've been so sheltered!"

Thalina opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again like a fish gasping for air. This was too much.

She'd come in here for food, not to have a full-blown existential crisis over how males in this world apparently had no filter.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, determined to steer the conversation back to safer ground.

"Um… can I just… have some of these, uh, medicinal herbs?" Her voice wavered slightly, but she ignored it, hoping to escape this embarrassing exchange as quickly as possible.

The male, oblivious to her inner turmoil, perked up instantly.

His chest puffed out again, and his face brightened as though she'd just asked for his autograph. "Of course!" he said enthusiastically.

But before he could reach for the jars, a new voice sliced through the room like a whip.

"You might as well get your own."