Lenora
“Sara,” Alex says, fingers clenching the material at your waist and tugging you closer. His forehead’s warm against yours.
“It’ll be okay, Alex,” you lie. Warm raindrops trickle down your cheeks, mingling with tears. You lean forward and steal a salty, desperate kiss. The ground shakes and cracks splinter across the barren, rocky soil like throbbing scars.
“You need to go,” you murmur, cupping his face, stubble sharp against your palms. His eyes close.
“I can’t leave you. I won’t,” he rasps.
“You must. Please.” You step away, dropping your hands to press against his chest as he tries to follow. “Alex, please. Go now and I’ll still have time to make it to one of the other space stations. My cousin said she could sneak me aboard.” What’s one more lie on top of all the others?
“Then she can sneak us both!” Alex says, grasping your hands tightly. You had argued over this. Hot, angry words snapped back and forth, ever since he won a place on one of the stations and you had not.
“Please, Alex. I’ll contact you as soon as I’m on board the Prospect, promise.”
His enthusiasm crumples before he surges close, kissing you as if it’s the last time. You kiss back with everything you have, knowing it is.
The transporter whines again and you shove Alex towards it, hugging your elbows tightly as he takes one step and then another.
You wave, smiling brightly as Alex turns at the ramp one last time before ducking into the darkness of the transporter’s interior. There are no windows so he can’t see when your smile falls or how your whole body spasms briefly as you catch a sob in your hands.
Alex will wait for your call. He’ll send out his own messages. Seeking the Prospect, and then the Hope’s Victory, and every station he can reach, waiting forever to hear your voice. And he’ll wait. He’ll not stop waiting.
“And cut!” Mr Gleick (rank 16,239) shouts and the rain switches off. I wipe my hands down the front of my skirt and flick the hem, yet it still clings wetly against my thighs. I wait for the director to flicker into being. He's one of many avatars to appear, the space filling as they sort out the set and the milling extras dressed in Old Earth styles. A woman wearing a purple polka dot frock accesses my avatar’s appearance and adjusts its settings, drying out my dress and hair. I smile gratefully.
“Very moving, Lenora. You truly did justice to Sara’s self-sacrifice.” Mr Gleick rubs under his eye as though to remove a tear.
I bob my head with a pleased smile, still feeling Sara’s twisting knot of determination and anguish in my stomach. It’s day two of filming and it’s already becoming a familiar sensation after filming. At least I’m living up to MsDanikaStarburst expectations.
Torin jogs from the transporter looking none the worse for wear, though he’s combed back his wet locks in a somewhat dashing manner. He waves off the polka dot lady, comfortable in his wet white long-sleeved shirt. It sculpts to his chest and arms leaving little to the imagination.
“And what about my performance, Bert? Did you like how I added a touch of acknowledged denial?”
“It was a little heavy-handed,” Mr Gleick says.
“You wound me!” Torin staggers back with a hand across his heart. How is he able to shift back to his original personality so quickly? I want to run to his side and kiss him senseless!
“I believe this is a wrap for today,” Mr Gleick announces, ignoring a chuckling Torin.
By the end of filming Threads of Time, viewers will experience the tragic love story from every perspective – from Alex’s or Sara’s or any of the extras’ eyes, see what they see, feel what they feel, and hear their innermost thoughts. Jersey Sinclair (rank 39,439) wrote the epic as a multi-timeline love story of the evacuation of Old Earth, based loosely on historical records. Yet Sinclair has written not one ending but six. Audience members will be able to choose their own, whether triumphant or heartbreaking.
Sinclair hovers behind Mr Gleick like a shadow, her hands flickering as she examines the most recent recordings. Young as she may be, her avatar’s face is a blank canvas, though her economical movements express a sense of satisfaction.
“Tomorrow,” Mr Gleick declares, “we’ll start on the conclusion during which Alex and Sara choose to stay on Old Earth and die together.”
I wince. My heart already feels crushed, however I suspect it’ll be the most well received conclusion. Everyone adores angst.
After a murmur of understanding from the set, Mr Gleick disappears, his shadow, Sinclair, with him. Torin’s left grinning at me.
“That kiss was truly magical.” Torin’s grin is smug as he steps closer. “I think our fans are going to be swept away.”
Even if I want to re-live it myself, the production’s privacy programs ensure nothing on set is recorded on personal systems. Instead, I’ve only my unaided memories to remind me of how soft his lips are and the warmth of his mouth. Then again, Torin seems quite happy to repeat the experience for me. As he leans forward I take a teasing step back.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“It was okay,” I manage, returning his smile with an unimpressed eyebrow, and drop out of the Cyberinth. I sit on the bare floor for a moment as my body relaxes, swamped by Sara’s desires for Alex.
“Hugo?” I call out and he’s there, leaning above me, his lips faintly turned down with concern.
“About time, I was getting bored! How’re you feeling?”
“Disconnected,” I admit, trying to focus on the smooth, white walls instead of the dry wastelands of Old Earth echoing in my head.
“What’s your name?” he begins.
“Lenora Rey.”
“What’s your rank?”
“9,672.”
“Your parents’ names?”
“Harold and Belinda Abbott.”
“Try again, Nora,” Hugo frowns. My tongue darts out to wet my lips.
“Dylan and Mari Rey.”
“Good, good. How about favourite food?” Hugo shuffles back as I unplug from the system and stretch, exhausted but knowing I’ve only minutes to settle back into myself. Torin will be waiting outside. He’s experienced in shedding roles like a snake its skin, and that wicked smile in the Cyberinth hinted he’s planning more. I answer Hugo as he lists through all the questions he can think of and when he finally gets to silly ones (“Who do you think is the best looking on Triumph?” “That would be you, of course.”), I’m myself again.
“Time to go live,” I sigh. I roll my shoulders and double-check the failsafe Blocks are in place. I have to avoid thinking of spoilers for my fans. Hugo grunts as he adjusts his own settings so I can see him, while my fans will be oblivious to our interactions.
The door unseals and I step outside, blushing as Torin is indeed waiting for me in all his muscular glory.
“Do you mind walking with me?” I ask, blinking up at him through my lashes. “I would like to change.” I gesture to the white skintight bodysuit covering me from ankle to throat to fingertips. Torin’s suit is a dark grey with electric blue piping that makes him appear even taller.
“Of course, my dear,” Torin says with a small bow. Hugo shimmers on my other side, grumbling how Torin is as fake as false teeth, which only encourages me to admire his smile.
“Your portrayal of Sara is award winning.” Torin praises. “You make her real. Her love, her determination, and devotion.”
It’s flattering to hear. Hugo groans. I can imagine him rolling his eyes beneath his wide-brimmed hat.
Why do you hate him so much? I send Hugo.
“I don’t hate him. I’m just not excited he exists.”
“You’re teaching me so much, Torin,” I reply as we reach my changing room.
“Then would you do me the honour of having dinner with me Sunday night?” Torin asks as I rest my palm against the lock. It swooshes open, though I ignore it, studying Torin’s face. His smile is earnest, his lips curl in a bashful half grin that’s borderline arrogant, however I can see his uncertainty beneath. It’s a strange power to have over someone like Torin Hunt.
“That would be lovely,” I say as my followers are busily dissecting his every facial tick with excited squeals of glee. He sighs with relief, shoulders straightening as he bounces a little on the spot.
“Excellent. How about 8pm? At Starshine in Neptuna’s Realm?” he asks, all self-assured now I’ve agreed. “Shall I meet you there?”
“Sure,” I manage and his smile flickers. I should’ve insisted he pick me up from my Cyberinth entry point. Too late to change my mind so I play coy.
Torin’s lips shift into a far more predatory grin then he dips his head in acquiescence. It’s rumoured his eyes are as blue as the sky before the world ended.
“Then I bid you good evening and I look forward to Sunday night,” he purrs, plucking up my hand and whispering a kiss across my skin.
The flush that spreads across my cheeks and down my neck is surprisingly uncontrived. I slip into my room with a relieved sigh as Torin leaves.
He’s doing my ranking a world of good. I skip over to my wardrobe. And when he Friends me I’m almost guaranteed a spot in the top thousand.
“But you’ll have to keep yourself there,” Hugo warns, slouching by the door.
You doubt I can? I pout. I gesture for him to spin around and he rolls his eyes as he turns.
“Things happen,” he says. “Remember Wallace?”
“He’s hard to forget,” I mumble, pawing through the outfits I’ve brought from home and pulling out a blue skirt.
My followers comment and I drop the blue skirt in a puddle of swishing fabric, pulling out the green dress instead, its edges soft and lacy. I close my eyes and peel off the bodysuit, ignoring my followers begging for a peek, before slipping the dress over my head. I look at myself in the mirror, giving a twirl, and wait for approval.
“Your motor-carriage’s waiting,” Hugo reminds, back still turned, and I reach out to touch his shoulder before stopping, remembering he’s not physically present. I’ve not made such a mistake in years and I internally shake myself.
I plan to leave the filming studio as quietly as possible.
“Miss Rey! Lenora!” A bubbly high-pitched voice calls out and I groan. A high ranking follower giggles and I send out a Friend request to show my approval, swapping out my lowest ranking Friend.
“Miss Rey!” The voice pants as Susie Benedict (rank 66,961) bounces in front of me, making me stop. “You mustn’t have heard me! I’ve been calling out from the change rooms!” She laughs and I plaster on a tight smile. The poor girl fails to notice. Instead, she holds out a small plastic box covered in cheery smiley faces, its lid cracked and lovingly sticky taped.
“What is it?” I ask when the girl continues to smile. Her attempt at high fashion, layers of black and white, make her look like a child wearing her mother’s clothes. She’s at least five years my senior yet she’s taken to following me around like a duckling.
“Your profile says you like coconut slice!” She proffers the container again with barely concealed pride. I take the container hesitantly and crack it open. Indeed, inside are biscuits, topped with pink-dyed shredded coconut. I feel a headache start up behind my right eye. They look home manufactured.
“Thanks.” My eyes drift to the motor-carriage waiting a few feet away. I’d almost made it, too. “Look,” I double-check her ID, “Susie, I’ve got to go. Thanks for these,” and then I make a break for the motor-carriage.
I sink into the back seat with a sigh, swinging the door shut behind me. I’m exhausted though I can barely think about it, let alone act on it, as my followers keep me constant company. I settle my bag by my feet, dropping the container beside it, and peer through the dark-tinted window as Susie Benedict waves a little too enthusiastically.
“Home, please,” I say and I focus lazily on my followers’ updates as the motor-carriage hummed, entering traffic.
The abrupt silence is unnerving.
Hugo? I question, as a private bubble activates in the small space of the motor-carriage, my followers’ comments disappearing. Hugo shrugs innocently then tugs his hat down low, crossing his arms and leaning back into the seat as though he’s planning to take a nap. I glance at the driver, confused.
“Hello, Lenora,” says a familiar voice.
“Wallace?”
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