Prom Dreams Side Story
Volume 6: Claire - “Emptiness”

by QZProductions

Two Years Ago

Whoever seeks the aid of Ronove, giver of servants, shall prepare these materials three: a sliver of bone, a tuft of hair, and a piece of skin, all human, to give his creation form. These materials must then be offered to the demon within a seal of blood, and only then shall the empty vessel, the slave of its master's will, appear before him.

It had remained unchanged for centuries: the blueprint for the perfect servant, the unwavering familiar that could carry out any task set forth by its master. However, it was not just the task of the servant that would be determined by its creator - its form, its name, and its very identity were also subject to his or her whims.

For one such creation, the process was no different. From the hands of Ronove first came its consciousness. Then came its form - a delicate figure, one which resembled a girl on the verge of adulthood, with flaxen hair and a smile one could easily mistake as genuine. Finally, its manifestation complete, it opened its eyes, its gaze fixed tightly on the one who had given it life.

"You who have sealed the pact of blood," it said, its voice airy yet decidedly mirthless, "Ronove, giver of servants, has accepted your offering. In return, I, your familiar, offer you my service."

From her chair, the girl who had summoned the entity grew pale. Her blue eyes widened in both terror and awe, her frail arms shook as she clutched the grimoire tightly.

"You..." she stammered, "I... I can't believe it... it actually worked...!"

The familiar took a brief moment to adjust to its new body, taking note of the clothing she had manifested in - a green uniform exactly the one its maker currently wore. From the wealth of information about the human world implanted in its consciousness, it was able to determine that it was a school uniform. Indeed, it supposed, its mistress was but a simple schoolgirl, one who had unconsciously created a being similar to herself. It then returned its gaze to the girl, its expression slowly forming into one that a human might call "reassurance".

"Fear not, Lady Dolores," said the familiar, approaching her and extending its hand - this, she knew, was a common gesture used by those of this culture to encourage trust. "I am here only to serve you. My only purpose is to obey your every word - such is the nature of my kind, after all."

Dolores flinched, sinking slightly into her wheelchair at the entity's approach. She eyed it warily, her gaze darting to its face, its hand, and back again.

"...You'll," she said, her voice still laced with a hint of fear, "you'll really... do whatever I ask...?"

The familiar nodded, its seemingly warm smile unwavering.

With a gulp, Dolores timidly lifted her hand - then, she took the hand of her creation. After a moment, she finally began to relax, sighing deeply in relief.

"I was so scared the ritual would go wrong," she said. "I've - I've never tried a spell like this before..."

"You're fortunate to have the blood of powerful witches and warlocks in your veins," said the familiar. "Lord Ronove only grants his power to those deemed worthy to wield it - you ought to be honored."

Dolores' face brightened. "I'm so glad," she said with a timid smile, "now I'll finally have someone to talk to..."

The entity tilted its head. "Talk to? ...I assume you mean for me to be your social companion, Mistress?"

The girl nodded eagerly. "Mm! I, um, don't have a whole lot of friends at school," her gaze lowered, "or... anywhere, for that matter." She quickly perked back up, however. "But now that you're here, I won't be so lonely anymore, will I? Even if I did make you myself - I have a friend now, don't I?"

For a moment, the new creation seemed slightly perplexed by its mistress' wishes. Most witches or warlocks used their familiar to amass power, wealth, or fame - so it came as a surprise to hear that, over all else, this girl simply wanted another presence to share her thoughts with.

But it was just as well - after all, who was it to question its creator's motives?

"I suppose you do, yes," it stated; it would have to acquire a better understanding of the concept of "friendship" during its time in this world.

Dolores let out a giggle. "Finally, a real friend..." She used her other hand to hold her servant's, although the grip of her fingers was weak. "So, um... what should I call you? Do you have a name, or...?"

"My name will be whatever you wish it to be, Mistress."

"Oh! Um..." Dolores pondered this for a moment, then grinned. "How about... Claire? It suits you - at least, I think it does."

The newly named familiar nodded in approval - it was a suitingly feminine name for its new feminine form. "If you believe it suits me, then I have no problem with it."

"All right, then - from now on, you're 'Claire', all right?" Dolores lowered her hands. "We'll just tell people you're my classmate - you are wearing the same uniform as me, after all. I bet no one will notice!"

Claire straightened herself before her maker. "As you wish, Mistress."

---

Loop Three, Day Two

She did not flinch as the door to the music room shut behind them. Wherever that boy wound up outside of it was none of her concern - that would be entirely up to her mistress' whims.

For now, Claire's only job was to play. Her fingers ran effortlessly up and down the keys of the piano as the all-too familiar sounds of Liszt filled the air once more. She had a theory as to why Dolores enjoyed this particular piece so much; perhaps, she thought, it embodied the titular "Dreams of Love" that she had so earnestly believed in during life. Although Claire had only a superficial concept of what these so-called "dreams" entailed, she did at least know they encompassed a wide range of human emotions, from euphoria to desire to purest affection... and it was this fact that made the well of unadulterated hatred in her creator's heart all the more perplexing to her.

"...Mistress," said Claire, her playing continuing uninterrupted, "if I may...?"

From her chair, Dolores' eyes twitched before opening once more. "What is it, Claire?" she said curtly, almost annoyed that her concentration had been suddenly broken.

"We both know that I have no desire or ability to question your orders," she continued, "but there is still one thing that none of my knowledge of humanity can properly explain - and I was hoping you could enlighten me."

Dolores cocked an eyebrow. "Enlighten you?" She scoffed. "I thought you familiars couldn't feel curiosity..."

"Correct," said Claire, "but in order for me to properly carry out my orders, I require as thorough an understanding of them as possible - wouldn't you agree?"

With a sigh, Dolores relented. "All right, fine, then. I suppose I can try."

"Thank you, Mistress." Her hands moved to the right side of the piano, skillfully performing the complex interlude that had given the piece its reputation as she spoke. "I was simply wondering: if you truly did hold so much affection towards this boy, Kyle Mason... why have you chosen to torment him?"

Dolores grimaced in irritation. "What? ...Claire, explain yourself. What kind of an idiotic question is that supposed to be?"

"Well, from my admittedly limited understanding, love and hatred are two opposing sides of an emotional scale. They are, to put it one way, mutually exclusive to each other." She returned her hands to the center of the keys, beginning the next section of the piece. "I simply fail to understand how you can seemingly harbor such intense feelings of both towards him; how you want to make him suffer like the others, yet spare his life at the same time."

Dolores' grip tightened on the arms of her wheelchair, her face further contorting into an expression of rage. Then, suddenly, the world around them stopped in its tracks - dust that had swirled in a sunbeam stood still in the air, and even the strings of the piano froze in place, casting an eerie silence throughout the room, and indeed, throughout the entire fabricated world she now called her domain.

"...You..." she hissed. "You would dare question me like this!? Question my reasons like this!?"

Claire turned towards her mistress, her expression unfaltering. "Please do not misunderstand, Lady Dolores. As I've said, I have no intention of questioning you. I simply want to hear your answers, nothing more."

A shadow seemed to fall over Dolores' features. "Even if I told you, you'd have no hope of understanding." She glared, her cold blue eyes staring straight into her minion's. "Something like you could never understand...!"

"Mistress, I -- "

"SILENCE!!"

Even a being as unmoved as Claire couldn't help but flinch at the sudden wave of magical energy emitted by the frail young girl. This was undoubtedly the power of her hatred, a power magnified many times over by the sacrifices she had claimed for the demon king. She did as ordered, however, and remained silent.

"Love and hate aren't just phenomena you can study!" continued Dolores with a frenzied look in her eye, "They're what dreams are made of, what nightmares are made of - even we humans could never hope to define it!" She bellowed, the full brunt of her anger directed straight towards her familiar, "So what makes you think that you can, huh!?"

For a moment, Claire almost seemed taken aback by this - yet, even still, she said nothing.

Dolores hung her head, her grip on her chair loosening somewhat. "...You're nothing but a shell," she said, "an empty vessel for me to impose my will on..." she shot one last glare at her servant, "so act like it."

Claire paused to take in her newest order; then, slowly, she turned back to the piano.

"...As you wish, Mistress."

The dust by the window fell once more, and Claire continued her playing. Satisfied by this, Dolores shut her eyes, immersing herself in the music once more.

Perhaps she was right - perhaps she never would understand the change in Dolores' heart. But, then again... who was she to try?