Well, Bonnibel, it seems you've finally gotten your wish, Marceline thought bitterly. The pink princess had told the Vampire Queen to drop dead more times than she could count. Such things happen when you make it your personal life mission to annoy someone, and have the opportunity to carry such a mission out for centuries. And of course, Marceline would already reply with the obvious retort of, "Already did sweetheart."
Now, it seemed, it was finally happening. And the ruler of the Candy Kingdom was probably sitting in her marshmallow palace, not even sparing a thought for Marceline. Probably busy with her science bizz. Maybe sending Finn and Jake on a fool's errand.
Ironic, considering this was all Bonnibel's fault.
Being a thousand years old, one would think that Marceline would be somewhat wise, controlled even. But the vampire was still ruled by her emotions. No matter how long she hung around Ooo, she never stopped following her heart (funny, considering her heart didn't even beat). Unfortunately, her heart had gotten her into a lot of bad situations. Like into fights with Bonnibel.
They should be used to the cycle by now. Every couple of decades they would get together, live out the honeymoon stage, and then fall apart after a few years. Twenty to thirty years pass by, and they reconcile again in an endless vicious cycle that drove them both to the edges of insanity. So Marceline decided to end it.
Knowing she couldn't break the cycle as long as she continued to care for Bonnibel, she turned to the Night O'Sphere for aid. Her father was unable to complete the procedure she wanted, but knew a guy who knew a guy who heard of a guy who knew somebody's sister, and sent Marceline on her way with an encouraging pat on the back, no doubt thinking that once her emotions were ripped from her, his precious daughter would finally want to become chaos and rule the demon world.
What Marceline didn't think of, in her frenzied haste, was that, duh, she was in the Night O'Sphere. Everything comes with a price. Every compliment an insult. Every inhabitant a liar. Including the old witch that lived in the fire caves that knew how to rip away emotions.
"Usually the price is a soul. I get to feed and you get to become a demon. Or zombie depending on the power of your will," the old hag said, "But you already lost your soul. So I'll have to come up with something of equal value."
"I'll give anything," Marceline said desperately.
That was the wrong thing to say.
The old witch smirked. "Will you give me your body?"
Marceline raised both eyebrows, appalled, and started to bail, when the witch said, "Oh no dear, not in that way. I meant literally giving me your body, for my essence to live in, while you would live out your days in mine. I promise you that once your emotions are gone, you won't care that you look like this."
Marceline hastily agreed, and the old witch instructed her to lay down on the floor of the cave. She was soon covered in a sticky hot black substance that resembled tar. The witch's chanting was muffled so Marceline couldn't make it out. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, and she was slowly being seared out of her skin. She tried to open her mouth to scream, but she couldn't. And then suddenly. It stopped.
And then... It didn't stop. The burning continued deep within her gut.
Her body was no longer encased in tar. It was sitting up, across from her, blinking, stretching, and cackling.
"You came at perfect timing," came her voice. "Here I was, about to die from a fire demon's curse... And along comes the vampire queen, desperate."
"Fire demon's curse?" Marceline repeated. Oddly enough, she wasn't worried.
"Yes. You know how the fire demons can be. You make them angry from a bad trade, then can be quite... Well... Fiery."
"You tricked me," Marceline stated in a monotone.
"Of course I didn't. I don't feel emotions anymore. And now that you're in my body, neither will you. Your old body, my dear, is quite full of turmoil. I'm just relishing in it. You're undead, and yet, so alive. Have fun with death. Say hi to him for me, though I highly doubt you'll care."
And with that, the witch floated lazily out of the cave.
Maybe Marceline should've felt stupid, or cheated, or angry, or afraid. But she wasn't. She didn't feel anything at all. Even as the burning in her veins grew stronger still, eventually consuming the mottled skin she now wore, she didn't care. And when she thought about Bonnibel, she wasn't hurt, and she didn't feel those stupid little fluttering sensations in her stomach that she refused to call butterflies, none of the conflict that used to arise when she thought of the beautiful princess.
However, when the Vampire Queen finally did become ash in the hellfire, emotionless or not, it was fitting that her last thought was of Bonnibel's face.