White encompassed Elia’s vision. When she turned her neck, she noticed the world around her was a featureless white plane. The bright space of nothingness stretched on and on. The only indication that she was in an actual place was the slight shadow where her feet connected with the ground.
If Kasimir’s treatment worked, then he could definitely work on user comfort. This emptiness was murder on her eyes. Then again, maybe death lasers were the one thing that could give her a true death and this was the afterlife.
“Dentist death laser. What a stupid way to go. Zero out of ten.”
Her voice was dampened so much she could barely hear herself talk. This place was so impossibly vast, it was as if you could put the world in here and still have space left over.
All her other dreams had been more personalized and grounded. This one felt artificial. She didn’t like it.
“Rye? Are you there?”
Space wheezed, or coughed. Either way, Elia felt like she’d just been put in an ice shaker as up turned to sideways and down turned inside-out. Then, just as suddenly, everything was as before, except her face was planted in an invisible mound of what felt like dirt.
“I hope that’s a yes.”
There was a grumble of thunder, followed by space breathing out. A small, squiggly black line popped into existence ahead. It swirled and jerked as it drew a small sketch of grass on a hill and sunshine on reality. However, the scene was abstract and awfully two dimensional. The tree looked more like a matchstick and the river continuously rolled in on itself, like a rug caught in an escalator that was also having a stroke.
She chose a spot beside it, sitting her back down on the implied ground between spikes of grass. A songbird sang a short looping song. Elia picked up a flower to pluck it, but it buzzed in her hands before flapping into the air.
“What the fuck?” The flower quickly deformed, changing into a familiar shape. Yolon.
The small slug with fly-wings zipped and zooped around. A second tree that hadn’t been behind her when she had checked slammed down like a wet noodle.
“Woah. Rye, was that you?”
The fly-slug emerged from its canopy unharmed. It tooted at her before turning into a dot and streaking into the distance. The space around her roiled in frustration.
That STUPID fly is laughing at me. A fly. Can you believe it?
“Umm, yes?” Elia said, looking all around and finding no source of the voice. “So Rye, where are we?”
Seventeen times! Seventeen times I’ve tried to clean, clean, clean it up, and seventeen times it escaped.
“Oookay?” It didn’t seem like Rye was listening. “Is everything alright, Rye? Well, it clearly isn’t, but do you need my help?”
The grass under her butt bristled.
I have full control of this place. This is MY dream after all, but I STILL can’t just catch this one itty bitty little thing. I’m a failure. I’m a failure who can’t do anything right. I shouldn’t have tried to become a knight, I shouldn’t have tried to be inventive with my magic because in the end, it was always going to be for nothing!
‘Nothing’ the world echoed, ‘nothing’.
The river next to her unraveled. Elia nervously scooted away from the tree, which had burst into line-art fire.
“You screwed up, sure, but there’s a silver lining. You’re not out of the race yet, Rye.” Especially not if this really was a dream. After all, Elia had an inkling where exactly that missing greater shard of dreaming had gone. “If you need help, I’m here for you.”
There was no answer.
… I’m going to catch you. I’m going to catch you and when I do you’ll… ugh! I will do this, at least. I won’t fail. Not here. Not her. I’ll – hey. Where’d that second bug come from?
Elia suddenly felt like she was being observed from every side all at once.
“Rye?”
The world paused. “Elia?”
An invisible force plucked her by the hem of her armor. She soared into a sky that was blue all of a sudden. Likely she was looking at Rye’s eye. It was impossibly massive, and the attention alone felt like it would obliterate her.
“I think I got you. Gosh, you’re so small. A miniscule Elia, come to rescue me. Hah. While I appreciate the thought, I don’t want your help.”
“Um, actually, this is all a big misunderstanding.” Elia said.
“What? Speak louder, I can’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I SAID ARE YOU OK OR NOT?” Elia yelled.
The eye in the sky didn’t move.
“Umm. I still didn’t understand what you said, but I can imagine it. First of all, no, I’m ok. Something’s inside here with us, but I’m handling it. Secondly… humm, well, assuming you’re here, that means we’re likely not in mortal danger. Hopefully. Maybe. Agh, I don’t even know if this is reaching you.”
“I CAN HEAR YOU OH RYE OF THE SKY PLEASE ANSWER MY PRAYERS!” She breathed in, then added, “AND ALSO I’M GOING ON A PARTY AND I NEED YOU BECAUSE I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO BE NORMAL AND SH–STUFF!”
The pupil dilated. The vibrations nearly tore her body apart, but she bore the brunt of it with full undead tenacity.
“Party?” Rye said, confused. “What party? Oh. Oh no. Please don’t tell me you already killed someone. Actually, you probably did, in which case… no. Let’s assume the best-case scenario. In that case, this is a great chance for you, Elia, to learn what it means to be civilized like the empire which is… gone. Ugh.”
Rye’s voice echoed like a heart wrenching blast wave. It tore at her with power that was so much larger, so much more than she could ever dream of. Elia wouldn’t survive the next sniff.
“Go out there. Do good. Become a better person. I’ll hold the fort in here.”
The eye turned to look at her. In one moment she was in the white dream, in the next she jerked awake in a dark, stuffy room. It took a minute for her to regain her bearings and convince herself that she wasn’t just squished under a million metric tons. Her head hurt. She must have overslept something fierce.
Slowly, she made her way out of the treatment room. Kasimir was hunched over a workshop table, where he was sculpting a marble arm like it was made of clay.
“I think I have all my answers.” She slowly rubbed her forehead.
He looked up at her. “Really? You haven’t even heard my diagnosis.”
Elia blinked, returning to the present. “Well, what’s the verdict doc?”
“As I have come to see, there is some other part of your spirit surrounding the inclusion, like a buffer. It is like it is part of you and at the same time not. I have a dozen fascinating theories as to what it could be, but for all my questions I did manage to elucidate one of your more pressing questions.” He bit his tongue as he pinched a nose to make it longer. “Your condition is stable. You have nothing to fear.”
“Stable, huh?” She chewed her lip.
Yep, this didn’t leave a good taste in her mouth at all. They weren’t merged, but there were definitely parts of her that weren’t there before. Rye stuck inside, doing gods knew what, and she was just supposed to party? To eat food and drink drinks until she dropped? To make merry, find friends, and pretend like everything was awesome?
Well, there were pros and cons to everything in life.
She left Kasimir’s residence, took one look at an assembled group of vampire-like people wearing laurels and drinking fine wines, then booked it straight back and slammed the door behind herself.
“Not a partygoer?” Kasimir asked.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“You didn’t tell me it was now. How long have I been asleep?” Elia shook her head. “I am so underdressed you wouldn’t believe it. Do you know the theme for this party, before I go and literally explode from shame?”
“It’s ‘Emissaries and Empire’,” he said, with zero intention of interrupting his work. “I have a few female togas roughly your size. Check the statues in the far back.”
She thanked him for the opportunity and within a few minutes had something that fit her. Which wasn’t to say she knew how to wear a toga, but hey, that was what she had pants for.
“I hope I don’t get flogged for this fashion disaster.” She tucked her pants up so they wouldn’t show beneath her gold-rimmed party gown, then turned to Quibbles. “Where else would I put my frog?”
“Ribbit.”
“I know, I know. I’ll try to have fun, but no promises.” She sighed, holding him up to her face. “Can’t you do something about that fly-slug Rye’s chasing around? You caught it the one time after all.”
Quibbles slowly blinked one eye, then the other.
“I guess I can’t count on friendly amphibians to bail me out of every situation.”
It was time to party, to look for Mouggen, Cesare, and Nali, and to find out what the heck kind of side effects being possessed by a greater shard could cause. All things considered, acting ‘normal’ while among people was the least of her concerns.
She took a deep breath and stepped on out into the world. The world took that as an insult and immediately slapped her across the face with a scene that felt out of this world.
Humans. All around she was buffeted by the sound of people from big to small, loud to quiet, and all of them looked and acted so, so alive.
A dwarf-sized servant walked past with a tray of colored drinks. She snagged one, listening to the conversations less out of desire and more because she could not escape the constant chatter.
“And then I said: You aren’t a real undead unless you’ve died your first dozen. The poor legionnaire was floored, but I helped him along with his first.”
“Is that vermillion silk? Whose tomb did you order raided to be prancing around in that today? You have got to take me back with you on the next run.”
“Did you hear? The matron isn’t letting our princess out of her sights after she returned. Better to lock that cursed child in her tower forever.”
She perked up at the last bit of dialogue, but the source was lost in the hubbub as a trio of people carried an entire roasted grug past. That set her back some steps as she secured herself a slice or three. By the time she was feasting on that, her priorities were all in a jumble and she barely even knew where she was.
Oh well, the slow, less methodical way it was. At least the food was great. Maybe parties weren’t so bad after all.
“I hear Yolon’s dead and Rhuna was sighted atop Yorivale academy tower,” one haughty voice said some distance away. “That’s a breach of the treaty. There might be a war.”
----------------------------------------
Without a doubt, enjoying herself and being happy about it was the hardest thing she had ever done. This part of the party wasn’t filled with politics, but instead with the casual, often conspiratorial discussions between people in their select groups. There still was music, yes, but between the flutes and string instruments, Elia found herself completely hemmed in by the elegant atmosphere.
Another major contributor were the two women holding her hostage between them.
“Another stuffed swallow?” the one to the left said, a lithe beauty who looked as if hewn from marble, and who possibly was.
Elia whimpered quietly as the swallow found its way onto her plate, right next to some sort of filled vegetable somewhere between an aubergine and a bell pepper. It smelled so unfairly divine.
This was the worst. Not the food mind you, the moment she was done melting from one delicacy her plate already had two more. But these two wouldn’t let her leave at all and the worst thing about that was that some part of her didn’t even want them gone.
It came as no surprise that that part felt like Rye. It had moved her romantic interest from do-not-disturb towards everything-sexual the tiniest bit. Elia wasn’t even going stiff from the way the two gently caressed her arms. It was a tingly sensation, it was driving the crimson into her head and most of all, she wanted to reciprocate.
‘Soft. Warm. Yum. Why worry, why move? Why do anything but open my mouth and suck on the sweet nectar of peace?’
It was everything she wanted and more.
‘But that’s not me. I’ve never even kissed, I need time. A decade sounds nice. Yeah, I’ll start thinking about holding hands in a decade or two. After all, what’s ten more years?’
A hot breath to the right tickled her ear.
“Look at her hair. Beautiful,” said the one who was half caramel-skinned beauty, half desert snake below the waist. She was a witch, part of some ambassador’s entourage. She smelled of Roseberry. “Would you come to my room and celebrate life with us?”
Elia nearly choked on the rest of her food. She always had her viper gauntlet out, but through some divine irony its embellishments fit perfectly with her guilded toga. Much less a deterrent, it had only given her companions a taste for danger.
“I like your eyes,” the witch said.
“I like them too,” Elia answered, trying to deflect.
Wrong.
“I mean, I like yours too. Platonically?” Elia stuttered.
Weird.
Red, piercing eyes stared at her from the left. “She doesn’t appear too taken by you, Olivia.”
The half-snake witch grumbled. “We celebrate death too. Are you familiar with death?”
“I… dabble.” Elia tried to focus on the taste of these miniature chickens with all her might, but no matter how many times she tried to politely ignore them, they always came back for more.
The marble woman stretched, making an infernally cute noise as she laid an arm around Elia’s shoulder. “This cute thing has been leaning towards me all this time.”
‘Cute? She called me cute!’ Elia thought. #NO! STOP! But she’s nice, she feeds me, and she’s hot. We’re not wrinkly or at death’s door so maybe I could try– NOOO!’
Desperately, she looked for an out from this swamp of affection. Her eyes spied a familiar figure. “I’m sorry I have six guy-friends, a frog, and an ongoing personal crisis or four, so I’m not available. You’re all nice, great, call me later – don’t – but I’ve gotta skip and go, go, goodbye!”
She extricated herself from the embrace with a dip and sudden step towards the pink performer playing on his lute and flute simultaneously.
“Cesare. Cesare.” She poked at his ankles, as he was dancing on a table. “Is everything alright? Are they forcing you to dance until you drop? Give me two F minors if they’re holding you hostage.”
“Cesare? I am Julio, the jaunty jolly jumping acrobat, entertainer, et cetera~,” he sang in tune, head turned away. “if you want to ask for a song, do it here, if you want for more, screw off!”
She circled around him.
“Julio. Alright. Is that code for something?” He shook his head. “Where is everyone else? Are they in danger?”
“Not any more here than outside the maroon pact.” He finished his one man duet off, transitioning into a one lute solo. Nobody else was actively paying attention, but he strummed louder anyways. “I’ll be honest, I don’t like this place one bit. They’ve treated us too well so far; Mouggen is trying his hand at debating philosophy with the legendary Hippopopates in the undead flesh. He’s got no chance, bless his heart. Nali has wandered off to places she doesn’t belong, as always, but Karla…”
“What happened? Where is that little murderbean?”
“She was dragged off by a woman most horrific. Terribly pale skin, eyes black like night, and with a complexion that tells me she eats children at night.”
Elia stared at him wordlessly. “Is her name Camille? That’s Karla’s aunt.”
“You met the leader of the pact and survived?” He stumbled, but caught himself. “Did she force you to swear an oath? Is that why we’re being treated like friendly guests?”
“I think she’s just happy that Karla is back,” she answered. “The souls she is spending on us are probably a lot less than the ransom she would have had to pay Rhuna.”
Cesare slowly strummed away with a pensive face. “She didn’t say a word to me when I was in a gaol, she just stared at me wordlessly as if my existence was some offense and well… they all looked so evil.”
“They had a costume party. But that’s good, everyone’s alright.” She breathed in deeply. No need to worry. Everything really was alright. “Wait, did you say they put you in jail?”
“They pronounce it gaol here. Part of the culture.” He looked around, as if any of the many groups of people carousing and stuffing themselves full would bother with them. “Is Rye, you know, with you?”
“We’re having some connectivity issues.” He blinked and she added. “Not at the moment, no.”
His face fell the slightest bit.
Cute.
“Not him too, dammit!” She slapped her cheeks, then pinched them just to get her mind off of internal sensations. “How do you deal with being quartered by these emotions and feelings all the time?”
They stared at each other as Cesare awkwardly strummed his lute.
“Have you tried being yourself?”
“You sound like one of those useless self-help books.” She sighed. “Why would I want to be myself? Nobody likes grumpy, grouchy ol’ Elia ruining their fun. All I know to do is kill undead and rant about things nobody is interested in anyways.”
“Maybe you’ve had the wrong audience. I’ll let you in on a secret:” He leaned in closer. “Everybody here has a ring to make them seem human, but on the inside they’re all quite familiar with the life and death of an undead. Just talk about yourself, you’ll see, they might even see it as a reflection of their own adventures.”
She chewed on his words as people cycled through the various cliques. At some point, she realized that dying of shame was just another one of the many ways to die in this place, and since when was she afraid of dying? Conversely, failure didn’t mean she could just wake up at a bowl and do the conversation over again. She would live, and that thought was terrifying.
At least it would be a new experience.
“Alright. I can do this.” She slapped her cheeks one more time, stood up, and beelined it straight for the nearest group that wasn’t talking about politics.
“Hey, how are you – wow, is that vanilla pudding?” she asked.
One of the girls turned around. “Oh my pact, it’s the girl who completely humiliated the spymaster’s son with a spoon.”
The whole gaggle of adolescents and young adults gathered around her, barring any escape. In that moment, only one question zipped through her mind.
‘Why me?’