Whispering shadows surround us like a permeating aura, stemming from darkness that fills the whole breadth of floor sixty-six like ink in a jar. But it’s not like the floor that skitters, no, this place is different. It’s not just dark, it’s as if we stared at the sun for so long that our eyes can perceive nothing else but darkness. As if they were burnt through by the blinding light. I see nothing. I hear nothing.

I float.

But I’m not dead. Well, deader than a skeleton usually is at least.

This is just what floor sixty-six is. It’s empty.

“I’m a fish!” blubbers the slime inside of me as she pushes some goo through the slits of my shoulder armor and pushes with her arms as if we were swimming.

But the thing about being a fish is that you’re gonna get eaten eventually.

Hearing my thoughts, she yelps and pulls her goo back inside of me and lets me take over the swimming part. It’s not that we’re underwater, it’s just how you move on this floor. Don’t ask me how it works. Dungeon-magic.

  But all the while as I ‘swim’ through the void, I listen to the voices surrounding us. The voices that whisper, but never quite manage to form any coherent words. Like hearing someone talk to you in a dream, the words are babbling nonsense that I don’t actually understand, but I nonetheless ‘feel’ what it is that they’re saying. For what it’s worth, they aren’t saying nice things. The voices that float.

I just keep swimming though, after all, I’m a lizard.

“Bmmmm!”

I nod. Bmmmm.

  It’s not that the voices are alive or even ‘aware’. They’re just voices. Echoes. Reverberations of things that have once been. They’re bouncing around from wall to wall, filling the empty space that I swim through. Like old memories trapped in a jar. My memories, her memories, the dungeon’s memories. All of them come together into a strange jumble of words and feelings that float around here. Sensations that swim around this pool of black-water, all of them just as real and physical as my eyes are.

I float, narrowing my eyes as I swim further, as I see something come into focus.

A silhouette, floating suspended in the void. Her arms outstretched, her legs drifting as if the current were simply holding her suspended in time, her short hair flowing to the side as if underwater, yet it isn’t wet. I narrow my eyes, seeing the fairy of the fountain.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Sleepyhead!” yells the slime, sensing my agitation.

The goo inside of me shifts in excitement. I swim up to her and she opens her eyes, looking at me curiously for a moment and rubbing her own, opening her mouth wide to yawn loudly.

A tentacle shoots out of my armor straight towards the fairy’s face. My arm jolts up and grabs the tendril just in time, as I pull the slime back, restraining her.

“Friend! Friend!” she glibbers in excitement and I shake my head, pushing her tentacle back inside of her.

“That’s not how we make friends down here,” I tell her. But I don’t think she gets it. She bubbles in excitement.

Not understanding in the least what just happened, the fairy finishes her yawn and looks at me, tilting her head as we float.

  “Good morning, little mimic,” says the fairy woman, drifting sideways as the current moves her. She stretches herself out, holding the pose for a time as she extends her body outward towards us. A slimy tentacle creeps down my leg and goes towards hers and I kick my leg back, pulling it away.

“Friend!” protests the slime sadly, not understanding my stopping her.

I cross my arms, looking at the fairy woman floating in the water. “Good morning. Don’t you ever get tired of sleeping?” I ask her, getting to the point.

She floats idly, thinking for a second as the current suspending her has almost shifted her entirely upside down now, her face still at the height of my own. A fresh tentacle shoots out of my back towards the suspended woman and I grab it, yanking it back.

  “I can’t get tired of sleeping. If I get tired, I’ll just sleep more,” says the fairy of the fountain, shrugging and letting out another long, extended yawn. I can see the slime’s face pressing itself next to mine as she, somewhat creepily, stares into the fairy’s open mouth and down her throat. Cultural differences I suppose.

“I’m escaping the dungeon,” I tell her and she looks at me plainly.

“Oh, that’s nice.” She thinks for a while. “You’ve gotten a little darker, little mimic.”

“Darker?” I ask.

“Mm,” she lifts a hand, pointing to my chest. “Your purple is darker. Have you been getting enough sleep?”

“I hate sleep,” I tell her, plainly. Narrowing my eyes in annoyance.

“Oh… that’s weird,” thinks the fairy of the fountain, watching as a slimy hand slowly reaches out, copying her pointing gesture and presses the two tips of their fingers together.

“Friend!” bubbles the slime and the fairy tilts her head, but then waves to the slime with a smile.

“Hello, you’re very lively!”

“Friend!”

The fairy thinks for a second and then nods. “Sure. Friend.”

The slime ripples in delight, my body moving from side to side as she sloshes around inside of my armor, unable to contain her giddiness.

I shrug. “Anyways, you should get to floor ninety when you get the chance. I’m collecting everyone who can respawn there.”

She floats, her hair drifting as she looks at me curiously. “Are you causing trouble again? You really need to find a friend before your mischief gets someone hurt.”

“Have you been asleep this entire time?” I narrow my eyes. “Everyone who becomes my friend dies.”

“Oh,” says the fairy indifferently, yawning again.

“Bad friend!”

I sigh. “Anyways, I have to go now. I’m climbing towards the apex of the world.”

“That’s nice, but you could also just take a nap,” says the fairy, her head drifting as her body hangs loose again, and as she starts to fall back asleep.

“Good night… try not to….” she mumbles, as she huddles herself back into a ball and starts to drift away as the current carries her further. The slime reaches for her again and I restrain her once more as she bubbles in protest at my latest intervention.

I grip my lance tightly with my other hand. I won’t lie, the thought of thrusting it into her stupid, sleeping body passes my mind. But then the slime turns to me, apparently upset that I was considering doing what she wanted to do.

“It’s not the same thing,” I tell her and she tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. I suppose she doesn’t really understand the differences in our two wildly varying contexts of the ‘thrusting’.

I sigh.

Why is dungeon life like this? I just want to live a normal life. Turning, I swim towards the other side of the floor. I’m not going to sleep. I widen my eyes, feeling the sting as I press them wide enough to see it all.

I’m never going to sleep. Nobody can make me. Not the dungeon. Not the hero. Not the thing that reaches. Not the dark-lord himself.

I hate sleep.

I hate them all.

I listen to the strange voices reverberating back to me and I feel what it is that they’re saying to me. About me.

“I hate.”