Humans. Humans hate us.

But if they knew our sacrifice they would gladly pay our tithe.

The first step is always cold. The limitless expanse stretches out, perfectly flat as only glass can be. There is nothing there, nothing to reflect but reflection itself. It is a cave without fire, space without stars. Death without life.

Or it would be if the few crimson droplets didn’t mar the pristine surface. The reflections make it look like a color by number with only the red sections filled in.

My leather boot breaks through and the surfaces copy it immediately, each turning a rusty brown then the black of my sock then a scramble of pigment as the rest of me enters. The shadows of walls emerge then are immediately swathed in a dizzying array of light. The colors warp and change like a house of mirrors until each finds the one that suits them best wrap it around themselves.

I’m left shivering off the chill in a clearing in the middle of the forest in springtime, at least that’s what it looks like. The gravel doesn’t crunch under my feet and the flowers that fall from the trees around me never fall into my path. Looking closely the trees have bare, empty parts, like the blue pixels were left out of a television.

I bend down and feel the ground, but it is completely smooth, almost frictionless under my fingers. I suction cup a small flag to the ground and start walking. There is little time for sight-seeing, besides, I’ve seen this all before. It’s beautiful, but it is just a glorified subway tunnel.

My nostrils flare. There is only one smell here and it happens to be the one I was born to track. This must be a relatively young replicant. It should know not to cut it’s prey so close to the entrance. I start to run.

It is desperate, desperate to furnish its home with something other than the whims of the other side. They start with small items, but their lust for color cannot be satisfied. The red of the humans is so unique, but it fades so quickly. I just hope that it was waiting until it’s inner sanctum to go searching through the human organs for new colors.

I’m close now, I can feel it. The smell of sweat mixes with the scent of blood and my ears can just hear the sound of whimpering.

There is a corner ahead, I can tell by the fact that the blood trail turns and then disappears, emerging only as I round the corner.

The boy is there, sitting on the ground holding a bloody hand to his face. The replicant crouches before him, cradling his cheek in its hand.

It is a sharp thing, angular and mostly white. This one has adopted the shape of a woman and  clothing likely from the people that made it. Steel toed boots and a colorless safety vest drape off its thin frame, empty without its usual shade of yellow.

I slow down, there is no cover to hide behind in this place so silence is the best I can do. It doesn’t seem to be making any threatening moves, but I still move as fast as I can, using my enhanced agility to crawl soundlessly across the floor, relying on the boy’s sobs to muffle my approach.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

I’m close now, maybe ten feet away when the boy catches sight of me out of the corner of his eye. His eyes widen and he turns his head. The replicant snaps its head to follow his gaze.

I move before I have even made the conscious decision to do so, clearing the distance in a bound and tackling the replicant to the ground. My glove is at its throat in an instant, sharp, aluminum oxide points millimeters away from its skin.

It’s then I realize that the boy is dry eyed and it is the replicant that is sobbing.

“No!” the boy yells and tackles me off of it. We both go rolling until we impact a wall that looks like part of the rest of the forest.

I roll to my feet growling and pin the boy to the ground, instincts taking over. My fangs shoot down, driving their points into my lower lip as I rip his hands away from his neck. 

Then I see the vein already lying open there. A tiny crystal keeping the blood from erupting onto the floor.

“Please! Stop!” The replicant yells behind me, crying shiny tears into its pale vest. “He was shaving and slipped. I had to save him.” It falls to the floor and curls into a ball.

There is no time, already the crystal is cracking, unable to stand the pressure of a human artery. I bend close and dig my fangs an inch under the cut. I take a little blood, just enough to get my saliva running.

Instantly the boy calms down as the numbing effect takes hold. I mend the torn vein in his neck with barely a thought, as natural as breathing for a human. Vampires would have died out eons ago if they couldn’t keep their prey alive after feeding. The boy smiles then falls into a deep sleep courtesy of the neurotoxin.

I straighten up and turn to the replicant. 

“Take him,” it says, blue sadness coloring its voice and complexion, “take all the colors. I’ll go back to being empty again. Take my trees, take my rocks, take my home, just keep him safe.”

This close I can see how young it is. It likely hasn’t even figured out how to join its home to the mirror dimension yet. It hasn’t met the rest of its bloodthirsty kind. Borrowed color suffuses its cheeks.

Any of the others would end it on the spot. I guess I’ve become sentimental in my old age. I take the boy and leave the way we came. Behind us, the color fades away, dropping to nothing when the colors from my clothing are no longer close enough to illuminate it.

The replicant follows silently, frequently glancing from the beautiful flowers rippling in a nonexistent wind to the emptiness behind us. It puts its head down and nods to itself.

I push the boy through the entrance and turn towards her. The green of his pajamas disappears from the leaves, leaving a confusing mass of pinkish blobs. Her head bows lower

I hop through the entrance, appearing suddenly in a soulless white bathroom, the only color the spray of already drying blood on the sink and mirror. The boy sleeps unconcerned on a pale bath mat. Not a single color to furnish your home with inside these four walls.

I sigh and reach into my pack, pulling out a roll of long rectangular pieces of paper and press them into the mirror. Then I grab my things and leave out the thickly curtained window.

I’m not there to see the paint swatches hit the ground, not there to watch the sudden bloom of color come rushing into the trees. Not there to see the smile bloom on her face.

It won’t be much, only enough color for a small closet, but it should be enough.

Even a ribbon can be a bridge from insanity in a hopeless place.