Under the ever-orange sky, through the unpaved roads of sand and soot, far out and away from the rows and rows of identical dull-gray skyscrapers, lies a lone mausoleum. Not part of any cemetery or burial ground. It is a little house of stone and marble nestled in an oasis of black grass and white lilies. However much like Deviland itself, this mausoleum is quite deceptive, with a storied history to it that few may know and none may speak of.

Deep within this tiny mausoleum’s winding halls, down the dizzying lengths of the spiral staircases, and tucked away neatly in one of the farthest corners of the central chamber was a glossy wooden door. One that could blend in perfectly to any school, university, or office building. Yet completely unbefitting for a house of the dead. Stranger still, if one were to open that door they would be met with a truly astounding sight, no doubt followed by a mountain of questions, most of which concerning architecture.

Velvet carpeting paved the floor, all the way around the length of the circular walls. Black, metallic lattice was bent and contorted into abstract shapes and patterns in a Dali-esque fashion for the wall decoration. With the only source of illumination coming from a single Fresnel light affixed to the center of the ceiling. It was an expansive, pristine realm that dwarfed even the central chamber.

This was the bathroom. The only indication of such truth comes from the bathtub set in the very center of the room, The lone and single fixture giving company to the otherwise empty floor. Within this bathtub was the bubbling, black water from which I have just emerged. Now, sat within the lukewarm pitch-black liquid and taking in my first sights as a new man, I speak my first words:

“Aren’t you afraid of having the water spill?”

My answer came in the form of a wicked cackle from the lady sitting across from me.

“That’s what you choose as your first words?”

I stare at her blankly, my placid expression unflinching. With a blink, and a thought, I decide to expound upon my reasoning.

“Well, I suppose there are other things I could ask, but I’d rather address those with the shortest answers before moving onto the more complex. Broader questions like ‘Who are you?’ would only lead into further tangents. Which would distract from getting your answer as to how you avoid getting mold on your carpet from the possible spillage of water here.”

Yet again, she laughs. Though the way her voice snapped and shattered made it more of a shrill howl. A cry quite contradictory to her neutral speaking voice. A sound quite unbefitting of a woman her age.

“You really don’t want to try that again? To have a second chance to make your first words in your new body have a bit more impact to ‘em?”

“I was speaking genuinely, it’s the most logical way to approach asking these series of questions, is it not? I was just planning accordingly. Besides…I’m plenty satisfied knowing my first words were enough to make someone laugh.”

I retorted, returning a smile. It felt almost unnatural, to speak so casually like this again, for my lips to curl in genuine amusement rather than a facade of pleasantries in an attempt to reassure those that would occasionally check in on me for updates in regards to my health and wellness. Never having anything positive to share, nothing positive to say. All I could muster was a half-hearted twitch of the cheeks and whatever thoughtless words of consolation I could spit at them to pacify their desire to feel good about themselves. They may have cared, it’s possible to some degree. But more so than anything they knew they’d feel guilty if they didn’t check in on me to some degree. Nothing with them was genuine.

It seems my smile had faded, Rhythm leaned forward, but not more than a few inches, giving a more sympathetic look.

“Can’t give at least a little more of a smile than that? C’mon, you’re alive again! It’s not all gonna be bad, promise.”

She spoke not like a dejected owner looking down onto their sick old hound dog. But rather as a counselor would to a troubled child. It’s a tone of voice I had not heard in years, possibly over a decade now. However, I still am nary to believe a word of what she says. I’d be an idiot to give up my trust to the first woman that shows interest in me! I did it before, and it certainly didn’t end well…Besides, I hadn’t forgotten our agreement that this life I’m living now will somehow be worse than what I had previously, I need to press her.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“You moved forward to try and sympathize in an act of intimacy, but stopped after only a few inches because you knew I was the more defensive type. You’re holding back because trying to explain or show off too much would get in my head. You don’t want to shatter the trust you’re trying to build.”

I spoke in my usual soft, yet flat tone. It was certainly blunt, but I had to be in order to knock down her facade and gain a glimpse into her true personality. My gaze met her own, and her expression stayed firm for a moment before being shattered with a smirk and the narrowing of her eyes.

“We’re sharing a bath together, you know. You can’t get more intimate than this.”

The water is warm, yet I am frozen stiff. I opened my mouth to retort but failed to find the proper words.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Sorry to make assumptions.”

“And no reaction to sharing a bath with a beautiful woman alone in a velveted room illuminated under the stage light?”

I paused for a moment to get a good look at her. Despite being in the same bath, just inches apart from one another, my gaze till now had been drifting aimlessly, only meeting her eyes when necessary to speak my piece. When any young man around my age would be pouncing at the chance to cop a feel or act out their favorite scene from whatever porno they kept tucked away on a folder within their desktop. Though I suppose if she’s being so inviting, I could indulge and take in the image of my savior.

Starting from the top of her head, Straight grape-colored locks flowed down to her chest, curling up a bit as they rested upon her collar bones. A small widow's peak splitting her hairline straight down the middle. Rhythm’s hair framed the rest of her face quite nicely, actually. Though upon getting a closer look…She was perfectly symmetrical, to a frankly surprising degree. Not only her hair, but her shady-green eyes and each lash under them were mirrored identically. Her thin brows were equal, not only in length but down to each individual hair follicle. A subtle nose was dotted in the center of her visage, with a fair complexion untarnished by neither blotch nor blemish. Long, thin lips ran across her face, flashing perfectly white teeth when she spoke. The only concerning factor was the shape, each one was triangular, as if her gums were lined entirely with canines or shark teeth. Yet each was of equal length, size and color. Her chin was small and round. The only stone tossed through the reality of such a perfectly-mirrored appearance were the two black rings pierced to the left side of her bottom lip. Spider bites, I believe, was the term used. Her body was slender, with a modest chest size. The way she sat made it apparent she was certainly taller than me, perhaps brushing up to around six feet. I had given thought to gazing lower, but the gentleman in me refused, or perhaps I was simply feeling a tad bashful now that the reality of the situation is setting in.

My gaze drifted upward, towards the particles of dust dancing about under the light.

“Have you ever taken theater classes?” I finally responded. She scoffed, but decided to indulge my pointless musing.

“Not once in my life, though I’ve had friends who were quite the characters themselves.” To which I remarked with a:

“I see, because it looks like you stole these lights right off of Broadway. These, uhm…”

“Fresnel lights.” She answered me. Yes, I was unaware of the name of the light fixture until that moment. It was only after her answer that the fact was cemented in my mind.

I waited a second, then two, reflecting on if I should continue the conversation to maintain a natural flow, or pause to see if she would reveal more information about her past. Of course, there was no way to verify the validity of her statements yet. But it would be a good idea to let her talk in order to cross reference later, checking if she’s the type to brazenly run her mouth or lie through the teeth. But just as I was laying the groundwork, my strategies backfired when she questioned me with a:

“How about you? You have a nice face, good jaw definition, and you certainly put on a show up on that cross.”

It seems the only way to proceed naturally will be to reveal more about myself and my previous life. Best to be truthful and avoid crafting landmines down the road. Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t eager to talk about myself. Perhaps she has a way with words, or perhaps I, a weakness for women. A thin smirk returned to my face.

“Film class actually. Back in high school. I was always a script writer though. The scant few times I was able to act I knocked it out of the park I’d say. Only ever an extra, and only ever with a single line. But I was a cut above, I promise! The only reason I didn’t get picked more often was because I was the more reserved type, I never made myself noticed. Which, to be fair, is the trait of a bad actor. Even the quiet types need to know how to make themselves known in order to market themselves. But then again, the blame may lie on the curriculum for allowing students to decide roles democratically rather than cycling between each facet of the film-making process per project. Nevertheless, I had the capabilities to become a star! All knew it, and none wished to admit it.”

“So you peaked in high school?” She responded playfully.

I say ‘playfully’ but in all honesty a bullet was fired through my frankly overinflated ego. A murder of my self respect had taken place, and I sit here in this tub not with egg on my face, but the entire brûlée. I feel this was the first of many humblings I will encounter, and I quickly flounder to keep my cool before my ever-generous savior relieves me of the fires of chagrin with yet another offer:

“How would you feel about becoming the main character?”

My eyes widened for a moment. Though upon remembering some unfortunate incidents, I sobered up once more. “I’d prefer not to be in front of any cameras.” I answered flatly. Her head tilted to the side along with a disappointed frown, but she seemed to understand my plight to some degree. She studied my words for a moment, then opened her mouth once more:

“Not in that way. Here, follow me for a bit, I think you might like what you’ll see!”

Emerging from the bath with naught a thought for modesty, (nor the poor velveted carpet) Rhythm led me out into the central chamber.