title: verglas
summary: Look, I didn't ask for any of this. The last thing I needed was to get transported to a world of pedophiliac kings, emo-wannabes with ridiculously long hair, and blue-haired children with an unhealthy obsession for tits. The worst part? I would never get to go to the Wiz Khalifa concert I prepaid for.
epigraph: (n.) a thin coating of ice or frozen rain on an exposed surface.

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open sesame

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I'm going to kill my father.

This is the only coherent thought that runs through my head at the moment. Needless to say, there's been many times when Abe's pissed me off, but getting lost in a termite-infested underground maze with no service really took the cake.

Oh, hey, look—there's death crawling my way in the form of a prehistoric arachnid. It's okay, I didn't need a functional heart anyways.

"SWEET MOTHER OF JESUS!" I suppose there were more appropriate phrases that could've been used in this situation, but the rational part of my brain reasoned that if I was going to die, it'd be better going down with a prayer.

Again, I'm going to kill my father.

"We're going to Turkey?" I echo, making sure I'd heard right.

My father nods enthusiastically, undeterred by the less-than-happy hues coloring my voice. I cringe as I watch him prance about, knowing him well enough to know that the only reason he was so enthusiastic about this trip was so he could visit the freshly unearthed city in Cappadocia.

I, on the other hand, preferred not to spend my summer covered in a sheen of sweat trying to scavenge my way through dirt houses.

"Why don't we go to Hawaii instead?" I offer, forking my salad.

"But darling! Hawaii is so overdone! Wouldn't you rather visit an exotic country? Think about the culture! The food! The history."

"I like Hawaii better. There's a beach and hot surfer guys."

"We're going to Turkey and you're going to like it."

In that moment, I had an epiphany—

I was going to die without going to the Wiz Khalifa concert I prepaid for.

This is injustice.

I knew I should've become a prostitute when I still had the chance. Damn you, moral conscience.

Also, because I'm a dumbass, I end up getting even more lost. Courtesy of stupid bats and satanic spiders. Is this what I get for eating that damn grape when I was supposed to be fasting?! IT WAS ONLY ONE GRAPE!

It's okay, Brae, You're not a slut. You always picked the pepperoni off the pizza before eating it. You're not a slut.

The lord should love you enough to not let you die, right?

I begin to enter the first stages of hysteria.

"I'M SORRY!" I scream, falling to my knees. I tremble from both the cold and fear, reverting to a fatal burrito position. I rock back and forth, big, fat tears rolling down my chin, and decide it's a good time to start embracing religion. "I'm sorry for eating that grape during Ramadan. I'm sorry for searching up twerking tutorials on YouTube. I'm sorry for contemplating Channing Tatum's dick size and refusing to get married to that old coo—I mean, nice man that my father picked out for me. AND I'M SORRY FOR GOOGLING DANIEL RADCLIFFE'S NUDES WHEN I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE STUDYING FOR MY ALGEBRA TEST! I BEG OF YOU, LORD, FORGIVE THIS SINNER!"

Okay, that second to last statement may have been a stretch, but I came out here expecting to have a shitty time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now.

I'm a good person. I don't deserve to die.

When I'm just about ready to give up on life, the answer to my prayers arrives. What else would you call a golden butterfly looking thing that just so happened to pass by? It's a sign from God!

Because I'm a bigger dumbass than I originally thought I was, I follow the weird glowing thing into an even weirder chamber. The walls are endless and round, littered with strange, archaic symbols and glyphs Abe would've killed to study.

The butterfly flutters to the middle of the room encompassed by a circular staircase. Since I have nothing else to lose, I follow it, being mindful of my footsteps.

It rests on the surface of a podium, touching the remnants of an enlarged, carved text. The letters are foreign, almost otherworldly in appearance—and yet, I find myself opening my mouth—

"…open sesame..?"

And that, my friends, is how you get transported to a world of pedophiliac kings, emo-wannabes with ridiculously long hair, and blue-haired children with an unhealthy obsession for tits.

All because of a damn grape. Fucking hell.

A/N: Hello! This is my first attempt at a Magi fanfic, so feel free to give me feedback/critique on what you thought and whatnot. If any of you were confused, the main character, Brae, is basically cursing her father, Abe, for taking her to one of the many underground cities in Turkey where she gets lost.

I hope you all had fun reading!