I wanted to deny it, to laugh, to run. But standing in that alien chamber with his aura flickering around us, all I could do was stare up at him—drawn, terrified, and unable to pull away. For a heartbeat, I thought he was going to kiss me. The air between us crackled, his hand still pressed warm against my cheek, his mouth was close enough that I swore I could feel his breath. My stomach flipped, my pulse raced out of control; I was terrified and exhilarated all at once. But then he pulled back, his jaw tightened once again, and his eyes shuttered shut. Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode away, with his aura trailing like the tail of a storm.
I stood frozen, staring after him until the curtains/door swallowed his silhouette.
What the hell just happened?
I pressed my hands to my face, trying to catch my breath. None of it made sense: him, me, this place, my life. What evenwasmy life anymore? Was I even alive? Or was this some cursed afterlife some sick entity thought I deserved?
I didn't even know if it was night or day. I hadn’t seen a sun since Rotodex was swallowed, yet somehow there was light everywhere here—pale and shifting, cast by fires that burned blue and sigils that glowed with no source at all. And the way we moved from one place to the next, floating through empty space like it was nothing, like gravity and distance didn’t exist.
I’d never been good at physics, but even I knew this wasn’t how the universe was supposed to work. My head started to pound, and I pressed my palms harder into my temples. Too much. Too big. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.
And I definitely didn’t want to think about that… thing—thatMorlockcreature with the glowing eyes and blood-stained teeth. A shudder racked through me. I curled into myself on the shimmering bed, wishing for a moment of silence, of normal, of anything I could understand.
But there was no normal here. Not anymore.
When I woke, my head was full of static and sand and a music-box whine that made the world wobble. For a moment—less than a moment, an echo—I thought I’d made it home. The impossible city, the Abyss, all of it: a narcotic dream, a trick of fever, or perhaps the psych ward’s best pharmaceuticals. It was so easy to believe. The sheets were silk, or something like it. The ceiling arched overhead, painted with pale gold glyphs that seemed to pulse and rearrange themselves if I looked too long. Definitely some drug-induced hallucination. Even the air tasted different, sweet and cold. If I concentrated hard enough, I could almost remember my old bedroom, the pitted white paint, the crack that spidered from the corner of the window. My mother’s voice, sharp and worried in the next room. My father’s footsteps on the stairs. For an instant, I was a child again, waking from nightmares and knowing that if I called loud enough, someone would come running.
Until I turned, and just like that, the illusion shattered.
A figure, tall and silver, stood at the foot of the bed. Its skin was a flawless mercury, so thin I could see the blue arteries curl beneath. Its coppery eyes were fixed on me with the patient intensity of a surveillance camera. It wore a flowing yellow dress that, like its wearer, didn’t move.
I recoiled, sending the covers skittering to the floor. “Jesus?—!”
The figure tilted its head, as if it had all the time in the world to observe my panic. Its voice, when it came, was a smooth, androgynous monotone. “The master is waiting. You are to join him for breakfast.”
I gawked, and it took me a moment to remember the servant from last night. I hadn't paid close enough attention to discern if this one was the same. “Were you… watching me sleep?” I managed to push out, since my throat was still thick with sleep and confusion.
The servant didn’t answer. Instead, it—he? I’m going with he—offered me a shallow bow, impeccable, precise, dismissive. As if even acknowledging the question was beneath him.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up and out of me. “Okay. That’s not unsettling at all.” I tried to compose myself, scrubbing my hands over my face. “Look, tell your master I need a minute. I smell like a corpse, and I look like something that crawled out of a storm drain.”
Still no reaction. Just that strange, inhuman patience. It could have been a statue or a ghost haunting the room. I reached for the edge of the bed, realizing I had slept in my clothes, the same ones I had been wearing since I’d been taken from Earth.
"Uhm, I need… a shower, clothes?" I told the servant, who could have been a robot with all the emotions he showed.
Instead of an answer, he glided past me, silent as wind, and pressed a splayed hand to the panel beside one of the grand pillars. The wall didn’t open; it melted, a perfectseam dissolving into existence. Inside was a closet; the kind you saw in movies about rich people, with rails of clothing that looked spun from spider silk. The colors ranged from solemn black to an iridescent blue so electric it made my teeth ache. Next to the closet, another panel peeled away, unveiling a bathroom that should have belonged to a palace or a particularly extravagant cult leader.
I took it all in: the bathing pool sunk into the floor, the walls tiled with shifting pearl, the sink that glowed faintly as if lit from within. Steam curled languidly from the pool. There were no obvious pipes or fixtures, but the air smelled of something sweet and comforting. I couldn’t place it, but it reminded me of rain on grass and held a slight citrusy scent.
The silver figure gestured toward the bathroom, its face as blank and impassive as before. I was done being confused. That would come later, when I had caffeine and distance from the previous day’s horror. For now, I shuffled toward the bathroom. “Fine,” I muttered. “Alien spa day. Why not?”
Inside, the heat was soothing, the humidity a gentle slap to my sinuses. The pool was big enough for three people, but I saw no sign of jets or nozzles, just perfectly still, hot water. A stack of towels—or what passed for towels—lay folded on a slab by the edge. I tested one: warm, weightless, softer than anything natural.
I took off my filthy clothes and slipped into the water, where my muscles instantly unknotted. I shut my eyesand listened to nothing. For a moment, I let myself dissolve into the sensation, forgetting where I was.
Then, as I dunked my head, I heard a sharp click behind me.
I snapped upright, hair plastered to my face. The servant hadn’t moved from the doorway, but now I saw that it held a small tray in one hand. On the tray: a squat cup, steam rising from its surface, and a glass vial no bigger than my thumb. The cup looked like it might have been carved from bone, but the liquid inside was a deep, reassuring black.
The figure advanced, set the tray on the lip of the pool, and retreated to a respectful distance. I eyed the offerings, half-expecting them to be a joke or a trap. Curiosity won out. I took the cup, sniffed: rich, bitter, familiar. Coffee. Or a passable imitation.
I drank. The taste was like an electric shock, a jolt of normality in the otherwise deranged landscape of my morning. I drained the cup, wiped my mouth, and eyed the vial. It had no label, just a sliver of oily green liquid. I considered ignoring it, but something in the servant’s posture suggested that was not an option.
“What is it?” I asked. “Alien mouthwash?”
No answer, of course.
I uncorked the vial, hesitated, then tipped it back. The liquid burned, but not unpleasantly. I felt a tingling at the base of my skull, as if tiny insects were massaging my cerebellum. The fog in my head cleared instantly. I blinked, startled by the sudden clarity.
