SPIDER-CHICA!

Raphaela could feel it—something was terribly wrong. Her mouth felt unnaturally heavy and dry, even though saliva was dripping uncontrollably down her chin. The sight of her own face lying on the bathroom floor, like a discarded mask, didn't help ease the mounting terror. She didn't need a medical degree to know that even the world's best plastic surgeon couldn't fix this nightmare.

Her heartbeat quickened, the rapid thud growing louder in her ears, drowning out the howl of the wind outside. Panic began to take hold, its cold grip tightening around her chest. Raphaela knew the only way to deal with this was to face it—rip the bandage off, no matter how painful.

With trembling hands, she whipped her hair forward, letting it fall over her face like a curtain, shielding her from the truth. She stood there, motionless, taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart before she confronted the horror she knew was waiting in the mirror.

Just do it, she told herself.

In one swift motion, she flicked her hair back and struck a power pose, hoping—praying—it might offer some comfort.

But nothing could prepare her for what the mirror revealed.

Staring back at her was a creature she barely recognized—a grotesque, nightmarish version of herself. Her once familiar face was now covered in thick, spiky brown hair, each strand sharp like needles. Six large, pitch-black eyes stared at her from the reflection, cold and soulless. Two tusk-like fangs jutted out from either side of her mouth, glistening with saliva.

Raphaela tried to scream, but the sound that escaped her throat was an unnatural, chilling hiss, echoing off the bathroom walls. As her jaw opened wider, three rows of jagged, razor-sharp teeth gleamed in the dim light.

Her hands flew to her face, but the rough, bristly hair and the sharp edges of her fangs only confirmed the horrifying truth. Tears filled her six eyes, spilling down her now inhuman face, mixing with the saliva that dripped from her twisted mouth.

Raphaela stared at her reflection, a mix of emotions swirling within her. "I am hideous," she thought, "but amusingly cute like an emoji." She smiled inwardly, knowing that her new face made such expressions challenging to discern.

Sinking to the floor, she tilted her head back, gazing at the ceiling. With six eyes, focusing on a single point proved to be quite the challenge. Her mind raced with possibilities for her future. Should she flee to a remote location, hiding from the world? Or perhaps turn herself in to the authorities, allowing them to study her transformed body?

"At least I wouldn't be the only freak in a government facility," she mused. "There might even be some alien buddies. After all, I've always been fascinated by extraterrestrial life forms. It would be like meeting a celebrity!" She giggled, but the sound came out like static over a radio, startling her.

"Geez, what was that?" Raphaela muttered. "And I don't even smo—"

"Come to me," a voice interrupted, causing her to bolt upright.

"God?" she asked hesitantly.

"No!" A different, deeper voice boomed.

"Come to me," the first voice repeated.

Raphaela's heart raced. "I've heard this voice before," she whispered, scrambling to her feet.

"Come to me," the voice insisted, growing more urgent.

For reasons she couldn't explain, Raphaela's instincts drew her toward the window. As if guided by some unseen force, she approached it and peered outside. Her breath hitched—there, standing in the middle of the deserted street, was the beautiful woman from her dreams. The figure stood perfectly still, her arm outstretched, beckoning silently with an almost hypnotic grace.

Heart racing, Raphaela grabbed a scarf and hastily wrapped it around her face. She didn't want to risk getting caught for indecent exposure. With trembling hands, she flung open the window, climbed out onto the ledge, and carefully lowered herself down the side of the house. When her feet touched the ground, she glanced up, but the woman was gone.

"I knew it! I should've kept all my eyes open…" she muttered to herself, frowning. "She must have gone inside."

Without hesitation, Raphaela darted across the empty road and rushed to the house where she was sure the woman had fled. It stood dark and foreboding, like a relic of forgotten horrors. She knocked on the door, calling out, "Medea!" But there was no answer. She tried again, knocking louder this time.

Just as her knuckles grazed the wood, the door flew open with a violent crash, as though someone had ripped it open from the other side.

The house was a tomb. The air inside was thick with abandonment. No one had lived there since the murders twelve years ago—everyone knew that. Dust hung in the beams of moonlight filtering through gaping holes in the roof, and birds flitted in and out, their wings stirring the silence. Broken stairs led nowhere, and the walls sagged under the weight of decay.

Raphaela hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, her breath shallow. She wandered through the hall and into what remained of the lounge. There, in the center of the room, stood a lone table. Upon it, untouched by time, sat a gleaming silver grail with a folded letter tucked beneath.

The liquid inside the grail swirled, a thick, bubbling red elixir that seemed to pulse with life of its own. Her curiosity piqued, Raphaela reached out and lifted the grail, revealing the note underneath. Written in sharp, scrawling letters were the words: Throw me.

Despite the cold whisper of doubt in her mind, Raphaela—naïve and impulsive—did as the note commanded. The moment the paper left her hand, it ignited in midair, bursting into wild black flames that licked the air and twisted into a swirling vortex of shadows.

From within the flames, the beautiful woman from her dreams emerged, wearing the very same nightgown Raphaela had seen before—Miss Austin's nightgown.

"Hello, my dear," the woman purred, her voice dripping with mockery. "If you've found this letter, it means I'm long gone… sucker!" She threw her head back, laughing cruelly. "And by now, you've realized you're no longer human. Oh, and as a bonus, your face? Absolutely hideous. A true insult to anything that remotely resembles a face. Honestly, you probably look like a rat's butt with buttons glued to it."

The woman's laughter rang out, cruel and exaggerated, yet strangely captivating. Despite herself, Raphaela remained unaffected. The insults didn't sting; in fact, they were rather creative.

Medea's eyes glittered with malevolence as she grinned, clearly entertained by her own jokes. "I know what you're thinking. How could this be real? How could I, sweet Raphaela, be cheated like this? How could an old woman across the street be so… beautiful?" She twirled, her nightgown swirling dramatically around her. "Yes, yes, my dear. It's me. Medea Austin! Lightning! Thunder! Applause!" She thrust her arms into the air, as if commanding the elements themselves.

Raphaela braced herself, expecting some grand spectacle of sound and fury. But… nothing. Silence filled the room, and no special effects followed Medea's theatrical flair.

Medea slowly lowered her arms, her smile never faltering as she tilted her head back and gazed at the ceiling, as if basking in applause only she could hear.

Raphaela, meanwhile, felt the weight of the house around her. This was no ordinary encounter. She was trapped in something far darker than she could have ever imagined. And whatever Medea had planned, Raphaela knew she was merely at the beginning of a twisted game.

"Hey... hey, over here!" Medea's voice rang out suddenly, her tone teasing and light. Raphaela instinctively glanced around, expecting something dramatic to happen, but there was nothing. No grand display, no effects. Just the eerie emptiness of the ruined house.

"I know you probably looked around, trying to figure out where all this was happening," Medea's voice continued, as if reading her mind. "But nothing's really here. There's only so much a person can do with a recorded message, you know? So, how about you do me a favor and use that imagination of yours? I know it's a powerful one."

Raphaela felt a chill crawl up her spine. Medea's voice, though playful, carried a weight behind it. She found herself stepping forward involuntarily, drawn into the phantom conversation.

"Anyway, let's get to the heart of why you're here," Medea said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I bet you're wondering what I've done to you, aren't you? Well, the truth is… I've done nothing." Medea paused, letting the words hang in the air. "You were the one who made all those little wishes, thinking no one was listening. But the thing is, we're always listening."

Raphaela's pulse quickened.

"Who's 'we'? Oh, just the usual—me, spirits, demons, even the big boss himself—Satan. Every wish you whispered, every desperate plea? I wrote it down, and I set things in motion. I nudged Simon and his little goons to come after you, knowing that poor, lonely Raphaela would need someone to save her. And who was there to help? The harmless old lady across the street." Medea's voice took on a syrupy sweetness. "I invited you into my home, bathed you in that special potion. You remember, don't you? The one that linked us spiritually, began the process of us... switching."

Raphaela's breath hitched as fragments of that night flooded her mind—the strange bath, the words Medea had whispered.

"Do you remember what I told you, Raphaela?" Medea's voice grew softer, almost affectionate. "Thank you for—"

"Helping you relive your youth," Raphaela murmured, finishing the sentence.

"That's a good girl," Medea cooed. "And all you had to do was sign the contract to finalize the transaction. But you, being so blissfully naïve, thought it was all a dream. Oh, Raphaela..." Medea chuckled darkly. "I bet you're wondering what you've become. You see, in order to live as long as I have, I had to become something beyond human. Something that doesn't age, that defies time itself—a demon."

Raphaela's eyes widened, her mind racing as Medea continued.

"Yes, I travelled far for this. I went to Japan—heard they were the leading experts in demonic transformations." There was a smirk in her voice. "I met an old woman who had done exactly what I'm doing to you now. She was a Jorogumo, a spider demon. She tricked me, just as I've tricked you. But unlike her, I'll give you a little warning."

Medea's voice turned cold, calculating. "I became Jorogumo, forced to drain the life from humans to survive. I lived in the high trees of the Japanese forests, feeding on the life force of pathetic, desperate men—perverted boys who stumbled into my web. For centuries, I fed and waited. It took me over a thousand years, Raphaela, to gather enough power to take on the form of an old woman. To finally escape. But I needed someone like you—a bright, naïve girl—to finish the process."

Raphaela's stomach twisted as Medea's words sank in. She had been nothing more than a pawn, a means to an end.

"But unlike the woman who tricked me, I'll tell you something important," Medea continued, her tone now deadly serious. "If you want to keep your human form and the power that comes with it, you'll have to do more than just wish for it. You'll have to feed. And not just on their life force." Medea's voice dropped to a cruel whisper. "You'll have to eat them. Just like you did with Simon, Phil, and Jack."

Raphaela's breath caught in her throat. Images flashed through her mind—disjointed, violent memories she had tried to bury. She had tasted blood. She had devoured them.

"Don't pretend to be shocked," Medea's voice mocked. "You know you did it. Unfortunately, that's just the way things are now. You're a predator. It's how the cookie crumbles." Medea's voice lightened again, as if discussing something trivial. "But because I'm such a nice person, I've prepared an elixir for you. It'll give you back your human form for... oh, eight to five hours, depending on how much power you've drained. After that? You'll have to feed again."

Raphaela's heart raced, her thoughts spinning out of control. She had been cursed—twisted into something monstrous. But there was no escaping it now.

"And if you want to get your original body back?" Medea's voice softened into something almost sympathetic. "You'll have to do what I did. Find another poor, unsuspecting soul to trick. Pass the curse along. Good luck with that." There was a sickening finality in her words. "Bye!"

As the flames of the message flickered out, leaving the room in eerie silence, a bird swooped in through the broken roof and—of all things—pooped on Raphaela's head. But she barely noticed. Her eyes were locked on the grail, still glowing with the elixir.

Without thinking, she grabbed it, her hands trembling as she lifted it to her lips. She took a deep breath, then swallowed the potion in one swift gulp.

Her body tingled, then burned. She stumbled to the dusty mirror hanging above the fireplace, watching as her face shifted and contorted—until, finally, it was hers again. The reflection staring back at her was human, for now.