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I’m drifting half out of the ship, half in, but even then it feels as if the infinite universe is reaching for me with inexorable fingers, with hands made of whorls of starlight, of depthless lightless chasms that hum like monsters of the cosmos. The air in my lungs feels like a dare. I’m challenging the firmament in its horrible power, and it is gazing right back at me, unimpressed.
Our knowledge is so minute, a tiny droplet in a vast sea that never ends, and we had the audacity to think we knew what we were getting into.
Yes. Confused, but… something else. Something deeper, a coiling snake of sensation in my chest. My skin hums with the sense of uncanny familiarity.
He is walking. But there are no imperfections, no tics that come with growing up in a human body, no favored legs or crooked smiles. He is too perfect.
“Ami,” he says, my name supplicant on his lips. “I would never hurt you.”
He’s watching me with an almost overwhelming intensity, his unblinking black eyes framed by unnaturally long lashes, head tilted down slightly, as if he’s starving and I’m a meal.
In my head, I’m back home, and no one is dead, and I’m as close to happy as I ever got, on Earth.
I’m a hapless Theseus. Who, then — or what — is the Minotaur?
no, I’m here. In the docking bay. Only, I can’t remember how I got here. The last thing I remember is Dorian. And…
to erase the burning image of my dead lover.
