Day 1: Diplomacy for Demons 101
Julie slapped down a thick tome onto my desk with the kind of dramatic flair that would make a courtroom stenographer nervous. The cover read in blood-colored ink:
'Infernal Etiquette for the Eternally Damned: Revised 666th Edition.'
"I already hate this," Leni muttered.
Julie leaned forward, dead serious. "Do you know how many ambassadors you offended last time?"
"I was being casual!"
"You saluted the Orcish matriarch with finger guns and said, 'Ayyooo.' She thought you challenged her to single combat for mating rights."
"I mean… she did back off."
"She also mailed us her husband."
There was a long pause.
"…Is he cute?"
Day 2: Walking Like a Threat
Posture training was hell. Literally. Julie had brought in a vampire duchess whose hips had diplomatic immunity and whose high heels clicked like execution countdowns.
"Hips forward. Eyes up. Stride like you're walking into a room to steal souls and state your deepest secrets," she hissed, adjusting my stance with a riding crop.
Leni tottered in heels that looked like a blacksmith's revenge fantasy. "This is cosplay. Punishment cosplay. This is what happens when hot topic runs hell."
Two guards fainted as she passed.
"You're weaponizing awkward hotness," Julie muttered, scribbling notes. "That's progress."
Day 3: Speech Class for the Socially Inept
Julie tossed cue cards onto Leni's lap.
"Read this line again. With menace."
"'Dear fellow monsters, I hope this year we can all work together and not, you know, maim each other.'"
Julie blinked. "Why do you sound like you're auditioning for a middle school musical?"
"Because I never learned how to monologue without screaming internally."
She groaned and threw her head back. "My last speech was, 'Don't steal the office fridge pudding.' Now I'm addressing demonic royalty."
Julie crossed her arms. "You've never had a single speech in your past life?"
"God no, I stumbled saying hi to the doorman at my apartment building."
"…We're doomed."
Day 4: Fan Mail Roulette
"You've received 132 fan letters this morning alone," Julie said, dropping a burlap sack full of envelopes and questionable perfume onto Leni's lap.
"From who?! I haven't even spoken to that many people!"
"This one is from a guy named Rikk the Skull-Cracker. He's in love with your voice and wants to know if he can be your leash."
"…Julie."
"Don't worry. I already responded. Told him to send photos first."
"JULIE."
"This one's just a crude sketch of your boobs. Signed, 'Your #1 Monk.'"
Leni blinked.
"This one's got… toe clippings in it."
"Burn it."
"They're gilded in gold."
"Sell it."
Day 5: Diplomacy Doomsday Drill
A simulated ballroom materialized through illusion magic. Noble monsters from all realms floated, growled, and oozed around the room. I stood in the center wearing a shimmering obsidian gown so tight it had its own gravitational field.
"Your task," Julie whispered, "is to not offend anyone, propose to anyone, or start a war."
"Light work."
Three minutes later, Leni had complimented a Slime Noble's 'thickness,' elbow-bumped the Basilisk Queen (which almost turned her to stone), and spilled cursed wine on a lich's ceremonial bones.
Julie calmly handed her a potion labeled 'Emergency Ego Dissolver.'
"You're improving."
Day 6: Spa Day, Apparently
"To center your aura, we must first cleanse you," Julie said.
"You mean like a blood ritual?"
"No, like a mani-pedi. And a face mask made of volcanic ash, phoenix tears, and powdered basilisk fang."
"Are you sure this isn't overkill?"
"You shed literal hellfire scales last week. Your cuticles look like they've been through a civil war."
As Leni sat in a lava-hot tub surrounded by infernal beauticians massaging her horns, she couldn't stop thinking how, 'I used to draw catgirls for rent money. Now I'm one spa treatment away from arson.'
Julie sipped demonberry tea. "Looking good, hun!"
Night Before the Pageant
I lay sprawled across a fainting couch in her quarters. Wearing a glittering robe made of spider silk and crushed dreams. My back ached, and my heels were blistered. Julie had made me memorize more demonic handshakes than one should ever need outside a cursed poker game.
"Tomorrow," Julie said, placing a shimmering dress on a mannequin, "you're going to charm the pants off an audience of nobility who think love is a weakness."
Leni groaned. "What if I trip?"
"Then you trip hot."
"What if I swear?"
"You swear hot."
"What if I fall on my face and cry?"
Julie smiled. "That's fashion, baby."
I rubbed her face. "What if I… I don't know. What if I'm not this person?"
Julie sat beside her.
"You aren't. But you're the only version we've got right now. So, own it. Fake it. Be a disaster with dignity. That's more than most royals can manage."
There was a long pause. Then Leni burst into laughter. The kind of laugh that spiraled between exhaustion, absurdity, and resignation.
"…I'm going to die."
"I hope not, we'd be a judge down."