SPIDER-CHICA!

Raphaela sprinted back to her room, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. She closed the door behind her and, with trembling fingers, removed her shirt and pants. Her jaw dropped as she caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror.

"My God," she whispered, tracing the contours of her newly sculpted abdomen. "Was I working out in my sleep? Or maybe... maybe my wish really did come true?" A giddy laugh escaped her lips. "I can't wait to tell Jasmine about this!"

Her elation was short-lived. As Raphaela approached her dresser to grab her phone, she glanced out the window and froze. There, standing on the porch across the street, was Miss Austin. The elderly neighbor stood unnaturally still, her eyes fixed on Raphaela's window, a hand raised in an eerie wave.

A glacial chill raced down Raphaela's spine, as if someone had poured liquid nitrogen along her vertebrae. Fear, primal and overwhelming, began to set in. Her heart thrashed against her ribcage like a caged beast, and beads of cold sweat formed on her brow. Stumbling backward, Raphaela collapsed onto her bed, clutching at her chest.

"What's happening to me?" she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why am I shaking? Is... is something terrible going to happen today?" These questions echoed relentlessly through her mind, a cacophony of dread that refused to be silenced.

Even the shower—usually a source of comfort—offered no respite. The icy water beat against her skin, but it couldn't wash away the unsettling thoughts that clung to her like a second skin.

At the breakfast table, Raphaela was bombarded with questions from her family. "Where were you yesterday?" "Why aren't you wearing your glasses?" But their words were distant, muffled, as if she were underwater. The earlier elation about her miraculous transformation had evaporated, replaced by a gnawing apprehension.

As Raphaela entered the school grounds, she became acutely aware of the stares. Students who had never spared her a second glance now openly gawked. She was no longer invisible, no longer the girl whose name teachers struggled to remember. She had become... someone.

Boys approached her, thrust love letters into her hands. Even a few girls and—was that Mr. Johnson, the algebra teacher?—seemed eager to profess their sudden adoration. A part of Raphaela swelled with joy, her face glowing with newfound confidence. If she received one more compliment, she felt she might ascend to a higher plane of existence.

"Well, aren't you Miss Popularity today," Jasmine quipped as Raphaela slid into her seat. "And where are those Coke-bottle glasses of yours?"

"Jas, you won't believe what happened," Raphaela began, her voice hushed with excitement. "Last night, I had this crazy dream and—"

The classroom door banged open, cutting off Raphaela's confession. Mr. Cummings strode in, his perpetual scowl etched deeper than usual.

"Alright, you uncivilized village brats," he growled, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on Raphaela. For a moment, she could have sworn she saw a flicker of recognition—or was it fear?—in his gaze. "Quiet down and let's get on with the day."

As Mr. Cummings began his lecture, Raphaela couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted in her world. The joy of her transformation warred with the lingering dread from the morning. She glanced at her reflection in the window, startled to see a faint purple glow in her eyes.

What exactly had she agreed to in that dream? And more importantly, what price would she have to pay for her newfound perfection?

Recess finally rolled around, and Raphaela could barely contain her excitement. She couldn't wait to spill all the tea. The moment she and Jasmine found a quiet corner, she launched into her story, recounting every detail of the strange dream—the wishes she'd made and how, oddly, they all seemed to have come true.

"That's kind of creepy if you ask me," Jasmine said, popping open a can of cola. "I mean, I'm happy for you and all, but something doesn't sit right with me. Signing blood contracts? Finding ashes? Your finger actually getting pricked? Major red flags, girl."

Raphaela shrugged, trying to sound casual. "I know, right? But... nothing bad has happened so far. So, I guess it's fine?"

Jasmine raised an eyebrow. "I hope so, for your sake. Anyway, I won't be able to walk you home again today, sorry."

"It's fine," Raphaela replied, though a flicker of unease passed over her.

"Simon and his goons didn't bother you yesterday, did they?"

"Nope, nothing like that."

"Good. Remember, if he ever tries anything, come straight to me, okay?"

Raphaela rolled her eyes, laughing. "Yes, mother. I'll come running to you even if I just need to use the bathroom."

Jasmine chuckled, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous."

Their laughter filled the air, bringing a lighthearted close to both recess and the school day.

As Raphaela made her way home from school, a sense of déjà vu washed over her. She found herself at the very spot where Simon and his cronies had accosted her yesterday. Right on cue, Simon emerged from behind a tree, flanked by his henchmen, Jack and Phil.

"Alone again, are we?" Simon sneered, his voice dripping with false bravado.

But something had changed in Raphaela. Where fear once resided, a serene confidence now flourished. She cocked an eyebrow, her voice cool and collected. "Don't tell me you were waiting for me, Simon Jones. Got a little crush, have we?"

Phil nudged Jack, a look of confusion crossing his face. "You know, I've been wondering the same thing. What do you think, Jack?"

"I... I don't know," Jack stammered, clearly uncomfortable with this turn of events.

Simon's face flushed with anger. "Shut up, both of you! If you're not going to help, just go home." He thrust his hand out. "Hand me those eggs. I saw them on sale at the market and thought, 'Hey, I've never egged anyone before.' And look who I found—the perfect test subject."

Raphaela's lips curled into a smirk. "Oh, how sweet of you." With deliberate slowness, she removed her bag and coat, her movements fluid and graceful. "Come on, bro. Throw it right here." She tapped the center of her forehead, her eyes gleaming with challenge.

"With pleasure," Simon growled. He wound up like a major league pitcher and hurled the egg straight at her face. In a blink, Raphaela's hand shot up, snatching the egg from the air. She crushed it effortlessly, the yolk oozing between her fingers.

"Oops, mission failed. Care to try again?" Her voice was light, almost playful.

Simon's face contorted with frustration as he grabbed another egg. Again, Raphaela caught it with ease.

"Ha! This is fun. Got any more?" She was openly taunting him now, reveling in her newfound abilities.

"You seem to be on your game today," Simon snarled, his face now a deep crimson. "But let's see how you handle three eggs at once!"

Raphaela stretched her arms wide, a confident smirk playing on her lips. "Why do you have to make it sound so dirty? Just bring it, bro."

"Load up, boys! We're doing this double time!" Simon barked.

"Yes, sir!" Phil and Jack chorused, their enthusiasm waning.

"Whatever tickles your pickles, boys," Raphaela laughed. "I'll even close my eyes for you."

"Don't mock us!" Simon roared. "Fire!"

What followed was nothing short of miraculous. The boys unleashed a barrage of eggs—all 117 of them—with every ounce of strength they possessed. Raphaela, her eyes still closed, moved with inhuman grace. She twisted, ducked, and weaved, dodging every single projectile. It was as if she were performing an intricate dance, each movement precisely calculated to avoid the incoming eggs.

As the last egg sailed past her, Raphaela opened her eyes. The boys stood there, mouths agape, their ammunition exhausted and their egos shattered.

"Oh, boys," Raphaela cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Don't look so disappointed. I saved one for each of you." From behind her back, she produced three eggs, her eyes glinting with mischief and something... darker.

As she took aim, a flicker of purple energy danced across her irises. In that moment, Simon and his friends realized they had grossly underestimated their former victim. The tables had turned, and Raphaela was now the predator.

"Now," she purred, "who wants to go first?"

"No way... she's really gonna hit all three of us at once," Simon muttered, his voice edged with doubt.

"Oh, yeah? Take this!" Raphaela called out, winding up as if to throw. Instinctively, all three boys flinched, covering their faces.

"Ha! Jokes," she teased, grinning wickedly.

Simon peeked out from behind his arms. "I knew she couldn't do it."

But before he could lower his guard completely, the eggs hit. Splat! One after another, each boy was struck dead center on the forehead, the eggs exploding with a sickening crack and gooey splatter.

"Guess I could do it after all," Raphaela said smugly, tapping her finger against her lip in mock innocence.

Simon wiped the yolk from his face, seething with rage. "You're gonna pay for that, you little—" His voice dropped to a low, venomous snarl. "Let's get her."

Without hesitation, the three boys charged at her. Raphaela didn't move. She stood perfectly still, her face unreadable, as if she knew what was coming.

Simon's fist flew through the air, landing a brutal punch to her face. The impact sent her crashing to the ground, and within seconds, they were all on her—kicking, stomping, like a pack of wild animals. Their boots thudded against her body, over and over, with a sickening rhythm, as if they were trying to crush the very life out of her.

Minutes passed, their breaths heavy and labored. Finally, they stepped back, their chests heaving with exertion.

"Do you think she's dead?" Phil asked, his voice shaky.

Jack's eyes darted nervously to the still figure on the ground. "I think we went too far, Simon..."

Simon glared at them, frustration bubbling up. "And that's my fault?! She's not dead, she's—"

A sound cut him off. A soft, sinister laugh. It started low, almost a whisper, but it grew louder, more unsettling.

She rolled onto her back, her eyes gleaming with something dark, something unnatural, as her laughter turned maniacal, filling the air with a haunting, spine-chilling echo.

"See! See! She's fine!" Simon shouted, his voice betraying a flicker of relief.

But Jack wasn't convinced. His voice wavered as he stepped back. "I... I think we broke her."

Raphaela's laughter only intensified, and for the first time, a shiver ran down Simon's spine.

"I'm not broken. I'm just fine," Raphaela whispered, her voice low and chilling.

Suddenly, four large, hairy spider legs burst from her back, lifting her off the ground with a slow, eerie grace—like Dracula rising from his coffin. She tilted her head to one side, eyes glowing with dark amusement.

"Scared, Simon?" she asked, her voice a dangerous whisper.

Simon, trembling, clenched his fists. "No, I'm not!" he shouted, charging forward. His fist flew toward her face, but this time she caught it mid-air, her grip like a steel vice.

With a sickening crack, she crushed his hand. Blood splattered across the ground as his bones jutted out grotesquely. Simon's scream tore through the air, but it was cut short when Raphaela shoved her hand into his mouth, gripping his jaw with terrifying strength.

With one swift motion, she ripped his jaw clean off and tossed it aside like a piece of trash. Simon gurgled, blood pouring from his ruined face, but she wasn't done. She released his hand, her two thumbs pressing into his eyes with unrelenting pressure. His muffled cries grew weaker until she gripped his skull and, with monstrous strength, tore him in two. His body crumpled to the ground in a bloody heap.

Phil and Jack stood frozen in horror, their faces pale, fear paralyzing them.

Phil made a desperate attempt to run, but Raphaela's spider leg lashed out, snagging him by the face. With a brutal slam, she smashed his head into the ground, flattening it like a pancake, blood pooling around his lifeless body.

Jack, trembling, tried to flee, but one of her legs speared him through the chest, lifting him off the ground. He screamed in agony as she brought him closer, her dark eyes gleaming with hunger. Without hesitation, she consumed him alive, his cries fading as his body disappeared into her ravenous maw.

When her monstrous hunger was finally sated, Raphaela's spider legs retracted, and she collapsed, her body returning to its human form. Darkness overtook her.

Raphaela awoke with a jolt, her entire body aching. She was on Medea's couch, her muscles sore, her mind spinning.

"I see you've finally woken up," Medea said calmly, placing a warm cup of coffee in front of her. The scent filled the air, comforting but unfamiliar.

Raphaela rubbed her head, wincing. "What happened? How did I end up here?"

Medea took a slow sip of her own coffee, her eyes watching Raphaela closely. "I found you lying on the side of the street after those boys were beating you. Luckily, I got there in time and chased them off."

Raphaela scoffed bitterly. "So… I didn't fight them off? I didn't kill any of them? It was all just a dream?"

Her voice cracked as she looked away. "I couldn't even defend myself… how pathetic is that?"

Medea's gaze softened. "Don't say that, dear. Our minds have ways of protecting us from harsh realities. Sometimes, dreams are how we cope."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," Raphaela muttered, getting up slowly, her body trembling. "I'm just going to go home."

"You sure you don't want some coffee? It might help."

Raphaela shook her head, her voice breaking as tears welled up. "I doubt it."

Medea watched her closely, concern etched in her features. "You sure?"

Raphaela's voice wavered as she turned away. "Yes."

Raphaela headed home, feeling the weight of everything that had happened. As soon as she entered her room, she threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow. She pulled the blanket over her and let the tears flow, silent sobs shaking her body until exhaustion finally claimed her.

The next morning, she felt slightly better, though a dull ache lingered inside her. She went to school, mentally bracing herself for Simon and his goons to ridicule her as usual. But when she got to class, they were nowhere to be seen.

"Huh, that's weird. Simon never misses school," Jasmine commented, glancing around. "His dad would never let that happen. Remember that time he had a fever, and his father still made him go to school?"

Raphaela shrugged. "Yeah, so?"

"Don't you think it's strange?"

"Not really. Maybe he's got a guilty conscience."

Jasmine frowned. "Why? What did he do?"

Raphaela's eyes darkened for a second. "Never mind."

As days turned into weeks, Simon and his friends remained absent. Three weeks passed, and whispers spread through the school. The police were asking questions, and missing persons posters with Simon's face plastered on them appeared around town. But Raphaela couldn't care less. She assumed Simon was hiding out of shame, avoiding everyone after what had happened. Her life, on the other hand, was going great—better than it had in years. She no longer had to walk on eggshells, constantly watching her back. And as Simon's absence grew, her popularity rose. High school was becoming more blissful than ever.

Or so she thought.

One Wednesday morning, Raphaela was jolted awake by an unbearable itching sensation on her face. Groggy, she reached up to scratch but felt something wet. Her pillow was drenched—though it didn't feel like sweat. Unease creeping over her, she stumbled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

She turned on the faucet, splashing water over her face. Something felt... off. Certain parts of her face were prickly, like stubble on her dad's chin, but much rougher. Absorbed in the odd sensation, she didn't notice the water turning a deep, unsettling red as it swirled down the sink.

Still rubbing her face, she turned to grab a towel when she heard a soft, wet splat on the floor behind her. She glanced down—and froze. A rubbery, skin-like mask lay crumpled on the tiles.

"Funny... I don't remember putting on a face mask," she mumbled to herself, dismissing the unease creeping up her spine. She shrugged it off and brought the towel to her face, wiping vigorously.

But something was wrong. Even with the towel covering her face, she could still see... the ceiling. Confused, she yanked the towel away. To her horror, she could see the ceiling, the sink, and her feet—all at the same time.

Her heart pounded in her chest as panic set in. She reached up to touch her face and accidentally jabbed herself in the eye. Yelping, she tried again, only to poke herself in the eye once more.

She swallowed hard and tried to touch her forehead—only to jab herself in the eye again.

Terror gripped her as the realization sank in. Something was horribly wrong. Her breathing quickened, and with shaking hands, she turned to the mirror.

What she saw made her blood run cold.