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It seemed that when it came to the life of one Donald Duck, his bad luck didn't just make his life go wrong : it made it go worse, and worse, and worse, going deeper and further than he ever would have thought possible. Then again, who could have seen him becoming an essential sex slave to an insane sorceress? Not that anyone would actually call it that... although everyone who knew about it certainly thought it.
But of course, this still wouldn't be the lowest point Donald's luck would bring him. There was always further down to go when it came to hell.
The "little romantic hideaway", as Magica called it, was of course in the deepest, darkest, most hidden spot of the city - beneath twisted trees and over bubbly swap, making sure no one wandered in there by accident. As a testament to Magica's raging narcissism, of course the large dark castle was shaped like her head. Subtlety was never her strong point.
For once, the grand entrance to this so-called palace was closed. Not locked, just not open. Usually when Donald arrived, it was already open and waiting for him. (Much like Magica herself.) This would be the first of many oddities that day.
But of course, this still wouldn't be the lowest point Donald's luck would bring him. There was always further down to go when it came to hell.
The "little romantic hideaway", as Magica called it, was of course in the deepest, darkest, most hidden spot of the city - beneath twisted trees and over bubbly swap, making sure no one wandered in there by accident. As a testament to Magica's raging narcissism, of course the large dark castle was shaped like her head. Subtlety was never her strong point.
For once, the grand entrance to this so-called palace was closed. Not locked, just not open. Usually when Donald arrived, it was already open and waiting for him. (Much like Magica herself.) This would be the first of many oddities that day.