Chapter 7 : No Fair, This Isn’t How You Play!

Seeing Milly nod hesitantly, Stacy took her hand and led her to a floor-length mirror that stood taller than a grown man, carefully examining their reflections.

The mirror showed the adorable figure of a white-haired girl—like a winter spirit formed from the first snowfall. Her long, silken hair, as pure as fresh snow, flowed down to her ankles, a shimmering cascade like the Milky Way poured across the earth—ethereal and dreamlike. Her small, delicate face bore features as finely crafted as a porcelain doll’s, with pale, translucent skin flushed with a healthy pink, tempting anyone to reach out and pinch her soft, childish cheeks.

Milly instinctively reached out a tiny hand to touch the reflection. The girl in the mirror mimicked her, pressing her palm tightly against Milly’s on the other side of the glass.

White hair. Blue eyes. Pity they weren’t red—otherwise, she’d be exactly my type.

Milly stared, momentarily dazed. This was the kind of girl she—he—used to adore in games. But why… why was she the one staring back from the mirror?

A rustling sound jolted Milly awake.

The white-haired girl in the mirror first widened her eyes in shock, then frantically clapped her hands over her body—one over her chest, the other below.

The tattered rags had slipped down, sliding off smooth skin. Before, the cloth at least gave the illusion of clothing. Now, she was completely bare. The mirror reflected every inch of her pale, unblemished body in cruel clarity.

Milly’s face burned crimson as she whirled to glare at Stacy.

One of Stacy’s hands had already torn through the last of the cloth—and was reaching for her again. Milly dodged just in time.

Pervert…

Seeing Milly dodge, Stacy didn’t rush to grab her. The little thing was naked—nowhere to run. With a flick of her fingertip against the gilded wardrobe beside the mirror, she summoned a black velvet-silk nightgown. It was time to dress the little one properly.

When Milly saw the gown, her ears flushed deep red.

She’d always thought she’d never have to wear girls’ clothes in this life. But here she was—about to make an exception?

No. No way. Not happening.

Losing her original body was bad enough. If she put on that, she’d have nothing left.

Seeing Milly try to bolt, Stacy let out a cold huff, yanking her back. Ignoring the girl’s protests, she forcibly pulled the nightgown over Milly’s head.

Once Milly was dressed, Stacy stepped back, studying her carefully. Though she didn’t understand why the little one resisted so much, something still felt… off. She’d have to dig through the wardrobe later to find what was missing.

The mirror reflected the white-haired figure once more—except now, a tiny face burned with shame and fury.

“Who in their right mind designed this lace-cutout waist corset?” Milly clutched the slipping silk neckline, her fluffy snow-white hair swaying at her waist as she stepped back. Her gaze dropped—wait, since when was there a garter belt on her leg? And it had a bell—she could hear it jingle with every movement.

A bell on a leg ring? Is this some kind of contest to see who can scream louder? That woman did this on purpose. Just wait till I rip it off.

She reached for the bell—but instead of cold metal, her hand met soft fabric. She looked down.

Stacy had slipped a pair of white silk stockings into her palm.

“Need help putting those on?”

No way!

Grabbing the stockings, Milly stormed off to the bed, huffing. Letting Stacy help? That was just an excuse to grope her. Last night, right before she fell asleep, she’d caught someone sneaking a touch along her waist. If she let her put on the stockings, who knew what would happen—Stacy might end up clinging to her legs like a starved leech.

Staring at the white silk in her hands, Milly hesitated.

She’d always loved white stockings—on others. But wearing them herself? That was a whole different story.

But Stacy was still watching.

Milly gritted her teeth, carefully sliding one foot into the silky fabric. It was her first time, and she’d never even seen someone put them on—these long stockings were harder to manage than she’d expected.

After a great struggle, she managed to pull one up. Just as she reached for the second—

Snap!

A white garment landed right on her face.

She peeled it off—and froze.

In her hands: a pair of white lace panties.

She wasn’t supposed to… wear these… was she?

Clutching the delicate fabric, Milly’s heart pounded.

Putting them on meant crossing a point of no return. It meant saying goodbye to her old self—forever.

But if she didn’t… she stole a glance at Stacy. That woman’s smirk was terrifying. If Milly refused, Stacy would probably march over and put them on for her.

Absolutely not.

It’s just fabric. Just a tiny piece of cloth. It’s fine. It’s fine.

Gritting her teeth, Milly pulled the panties up in one swift motion.

At the moment they settled into place, a jolt surged through her—like an electric shock straight to the brain.

For a fleeting moment, Milly’s eyes went blank.

She felt it.

Something important… had just been lost.

Numbly, she picked up the second stocking, about to slide it onto her small foot—when she caught sight of Stacy approaching.

In one swift motion, Stacy snatched the silk from Milly’s hand, tossed it aside, and pinned her down onto the bed.

“Mmm!”

Milly let out an involuntary, adorable gasp—like a startled little beast—causing Stacy to press down harder, savoring the reaction.

Milly felt danger flare in her chest.

She knew—that line must not be crossed.

But this body was too weak. Even with both hands pushing, she couldn’t stop Stacy’s hand sliding downward.

No…

Just as the hand reached its target, Stacy abruptly stopped.

Today’s goal wasn’t exploration.

Instead, she began tracing something—right there—on Milly’s inner thigh.

“Don’t move.”

Stacy’s breath brushed against Milly’s skin, sending shivers across her body. A faint sting followed each stroke—her nails were carving symbols into flesh, using Milly’s body as parchment.

When she finished, Stacy lifted the hem of the nightgown.

On the inside of Milly’s thigh, strange, rune-like marks now glowed faintly—like ghostly scribbles.

Stacy pointed to the first symbol with her left hand. Then, with her right fingertip, she gently touched Milly’s forehead.

Immediately, the word Milly flashed into her mind.

So that scribble… meant her name?

Stacy didn’t explain. She moved her finger to the next symbol.

Another word appeared in Milly’s mind:

“Stacy.”

The first time the perverted woman had revealed her name.

Then, her fingertip drifted to the final symbol.

But this time, no word appeared in Milly’s mind.

Instead, she clearly heard a sound—soft, foreign, and unfamiliar.

Not telepathically implanted.

Spoken—by Stacy’s own crimson lips.

“Repeat after me.”

The sound was guttural, awkward. Milly tried twice, but only managed garbled noises.

Stacy didn’t show anger. Instead, she pointed to her own lips, signaling Milly to mimic her mouth shape. To help, she slowed the pronunciation—deliberately, patiently.

Milly copied her as best she could. The sounds were still far from perfect, but closer. With a few more tries, she might get it right.

Milly waited for the next demonstration.

But it never came.

Instead—suddenly—her world spun.

The ground didn’t shift.

She did.

Thick, thorny vines burst from the ceiling, coiling around Milly’s bare left foot, yanking her upward—until she hung upside down, dangling from the ceiling.

Below her, Stacy wore a faint, unreadable smile.

“Three tries are up, little Milly. Wrong pronunciation means punishment.”

Huh?

No fair! That’s not how you play!