"I really envy your level. The words I write always come out dry—even I don't like reading them. I'm afraid aside from this, I really have nothing else…" Heather gestured in front of her chest with both hands, joking about herself in an unusually upbeat way.
Having that at least adds thirty points to your overall charm…
Bella gave a dry laugh. This topic was heavy—far too heavy!
She remembered very clearly that the reason she was able to move into this dormitory was thanks to a small charm spell. As for what her roommate relied on? That went without saying.
In truth, Heather was an excellent roommate in every respect. She was clean, had no bad habits, and even knew how to cook. On a daily basis, she was a feast for the eyes. The only issue was that sometimes, when Bella saw Heather hanging out her intimate clothes to dry, her expression would turn a bit awkward—the size of those clothes was simply far too exaggerated…
"I'm heading out. You keep writing," Heather said. Her relationship with her adoptive parents had grown very strained. Every weekend, she went to San Francisco to work part-time, mainly to avoid them.
Bella didn't have much to say about that. Even biological parents could end up in conflict, let alone adoptive ones.
"I recently met a really interesting guy. You'd never guess what he does for a living. I'll introduce you sometime," Heather added mysteriously before leaving.
"Sure," Bella replied in a very perfunctory manner. Statements like that were no different from "Let's have dinner sometime"—you just heard them and moved on.
Bella continued writing furiously, adding details and polishing her prose. Meanwhile, Heather drove to San Francisco to meet her boyfriend and work part-time.
Heather worked at an ice cream shop. The owner believed that as soon as customers saw her figure, they'd feel an uncontrollable urge to buy ice cream, so he hired her for holiday work without the slightest hesitation.
While Bella was carrying out a massacre in Paris, Heather met a man. At the time, he came into the shop with a female companion to buy ice cream. As a woman blessed with exceptional physical attributes, Heather was quite conservative in matters of romance. Despite how well their conversation flowed, she made no further move.
It wasn't until a week ago—while she was at Stanford—that Heather heard the man's girlfriend had died in a car accident. After the two happened to run into each other on the street again, their relationship finally began to warm up.
Max, a young man with a small mustache, wearing a black helmet and riding a scooter, walked cheerfully into the ice cream shop. Heather greeted him with a big hug.
The two hit it off unexpectedly well. Their hobbies were similar, and even the matters they encountered in daily life overlapped in many ways.
After a passionate kiss, they sat down on nearby chairs to eat ice cream.
"Damn it! I bust my ass watching the shop for a whole month, and that black-hearted boss only pays me eight hundred dollars!" Mustached Max complained angrily.
Heather laughed and teased her boyfriend, saying with more than a little pride, "My roommate treats me really well. I just cook a few meals and earn eight hundred dollars a month! If you add in this job in San Francisco, my monthly income is even higher!"
Earning less than his girlfriend made Max feel somewhat dejected.
That was when he began to think about opening his own shop and becoming his own boss.
But what could he actually do? He hadn't even finished high school—he was basically useless!
Fortunately, the "black-hearted boss" he complained about had left him with an occult handbook. Whenever he ran into questions, a phone call would get him a fairly professional answer.
Under the influence of that boss—and the subtle impact of the work environment—Comrade Max, a contemporary idiot youth living under the Stars and Stripes with an empty head like a blank sheet of paper, was forcibly transformed into a believer in occultism.
From the Church of Scientology to Rosicrucian doctrines, from the three essential points of animal sacrifice to precautions for astral projection, he crammed himself full of theory.
He wanted to open an occult shop because that was all he knew—and all he could do.
To show off his abilities, Max strutted like a peacock in front of his new girlfriend, flaunting his knowledge.
He quickly sketched a symbol on paper. "Do you recognize this?"
To his complete shock, Heather actually did. The busty girl examined it closely for a moment. "Isn't this the Great Heptagram of Solomon?"
Max was stunned. Are Stanford students really this hardcore? You even know this?
Heather smiled shyly. "My roommate is writing a book that involves a lot of different religions. She told me about this symbol."
In reality, as Bella's roommate, Heather's understanding of occult matters was far from shallow. Even though she wasn't particularly interested, constant exposure made it unavoidable. Seeing it often, hearing about it often—especially with a professional explaining things—naturally led to comprehension.
People influence one another. Some individuals possess an innate charisma that causes those around them to unconsciously imitate their behavior. Many leaders are like this, and Bella had similar traits.
As a result, both Max and Heather saw traces of Bella reflected in each other. They didn't consciously realize what those similarities were, but they formed a crucial part of their mutual attraction.
Max believed that modern college students were all fascinated by occult knowledge. Heather's unknown roommate represented a broader trend! The shop he worked at only survived because the owner didn't care. If he managed it seriously, he was sure he could make a fortune.
To have more topics to talk about with her boyfriend, Heather frequently discussed occult matters with him.
When Max couldn't answer a question, he'd call the "black-hearted boss." When Heather ran into difficulties, she called her roommate.
Their occult knowledge could only be described as skyrocketing.
Talking about mysticism, watching ghost movies in cemeteries—Heather had believed her happiness would last forever. Then the nightmare arrived.
On the second floor of Max's workplace, the two were just about to do something pleasurable when the door was suddenly pushed open.
A blast of icy wind rushed into the room, instantly extinguishing all passion.
Max turned his head—and froze.
Standing behind him was his ex-girlfriend: dressed in a white robe, barefoot, hair disheveled, eyes glowing red.
He was dumbstruck.
Two seconds later, his teeth began chattering. This had to be a hallucination—his ex-girlfriend should already have been buried!
His nostrils twitched as he caught the heavy scent of damp soil. Terror surged to its peak.
"Xiao Ai… Xiao Ai… y-you… me…?!"
His voice was dry and hoarse. The next instant, his ex-girlfriend's pale hand clamped around his throat.
Her fingernails were packed with dirt and splinters of wood, as though she could crush his neck in the next second.
"Who is she?" the ex-girlfriend demanded sharply, pointing at Heather.
At that moment, Heather was just as pale with fear. Her husky blue eyes were filled with terror. She had met Max's ex-girlfriend before and knew she was dead—but who, exactly, was standing in front of her now?
Note: I'm keeping the name "Xiao Ai" for 1-2 chapters as I'm unsure how to adapt it yet. Besides, this name is short-lived.)