"Oh wow, cancer's back. What a plot twist," Yselle muttered to herself as she stared at the crumpled medical report in her hand. The harsh glow of a streetlamp above barely illuminated the cruel words that sealed her fate.
Terminal. That was the word they had used. That basically meant: you're done.
The first time she got the news, she had cried—loud, messy sobs of disbelief. She had clung to hope, prayed for a miracle. But now? Now, she didn't feel like crying anymore. Rage boiled in her chest, hot and suffocating.
Tch. Was this some kind of cruel joke? The universe really had it out for her.
Her eyes darted back to the paper as if reading it again would change anything. What the hell. Maybe her eyes were betraying her. Maybe this was just some horrible mistake. But deep down, she knew it wasn't.
What now? Tell her parents? Pfft. As if they'd care. They were happy with their own perfect little family, and she was nothing but a forgotten stain in their lives. She had already drained her savings for her first treatment—what was left? A bank loan? Yeah, right. Who would lend money to someone with an expiration date?
Screw it. She just wanted to go home, back to her tiny, crumbling apartment. Either to cry or scream at the sky, demanding why God was so damn cruel. Not that it would change anything. But at least she had the right to be angry.
She exhaled slowly, stuffing the report into her jacket pocket and pulling her hood over her head. The night air was cold, or maybe she was just too numb to feel it properly. Either way, it didn't matter. She had bigger problems than the chill—like figuring out what to do with the scraps of time left to her.
Her life had never been kind. A product of parents who barely acknowledged her existence after their messy divorce, Yselle had learned early that she couldn't rely on anyone. They both moved on. New partners, new families. And she? Just the leftover they didn't know what to do with.
She had juggled multiple jobs just to scrape by, running on caffeine and exhaustion while pretending she was fine. Rent, bills, tuition—she had fought for every inch of stability, only to be knocked back down every time she thought she was getting ahead. When she got sick the first time, she drained her savings just to afford treatment. No one had stepped in to help. Not her father, who had a new wife and two sons who needed him more, nor her mother, who preferred to drown in her new life rather than acknowledge the wreckage she had left behind. Yselle had always been alone.
And now, just when she had finally dared to think she could breathe, fate had thrown another cruel joke at her. A ticking clock. An expiration date she hadn't asked for. Was this her punishment for daring to dream of something better? She wanted to scream, to demand an answer from the universe, but she already knew it would be met with silence. Just like always.
Her sneakers scraped against the pavement as she walked down the dimly lit alley, taking a shortcut home. The smell of damp concrete and old garbage filled the air, and a stray cat darted past her feet. She barely flinched. Nothing surprised her anymore. Except—
A sudden gust of wind roared through the alley, powerful enough to make her stumble. Her hair whipped around her face as she grabbed the brick wall beside her without thinking, trying to steady herself. Then came this deep, strange rumble—not like thunder, but like something bigger, like the world itself was coming apart.
She looked up.
A hole in the sky.
"What the hell...?" Yselle muttered, blinking rapidly, wondering if her eyes were betraying her. No, not a hole—something worse. The edges of the gaping void shimmered like liquid darkness, swirling ominously as if trying to decide what to consume next. And unfortunately, it seemed to have set its sights on her.
"Oh, come on!" Yselle shouted, because of course, this had to happen on top of everything else.
Gravity betrayed her. A sickening weightlessness gripped her body as her feet tore from the ground. Her stomach lurched, a cold, twisting dread sinking into her bones. The air roared around her, a deafening howl that swallowed her panicked screams.
She flailed, desperate for something to grasp, anything—but there was nothing there. Just air. Her heart pounded so violently it felt as if it might burst from her chest. This had to be a nightmare. Or some kind of freak accident.
Her mind raced with frantic possibilities—an earthquake, an alien abduction, the end of the world? "Help! Somebody—!" she shrieked, but her voice vanished, lost in the chaotic pull of the vortex. The sheer force yanked her higher, spinning her in a disorienting spiral. Her lungs burned as the air thinned, her vision warping with a surreal blur of light and darkness.
Was this death? Or was it just the beginning of something far, far worse?
**
Pain.
That was the first thing she felt. A dull ache spread across her body as she became aware of something solid beneath her. Yselle groaned, her senses slowly returning.
Am I dead? It was her first instinct, some vague recollection of falling—of light, or maybe darkness. Everything had blurred together in those final moments.
But then, there was the pain again, sharp now in her ribs as she shifted. Can a dead person feel pain? she wondered.
And then she realized she was lying on top of something…or rather… someone.
Her eyes snapped open. Beneath her was a man, his red eyes wide with shock, his face only inches from hers. A very, very attractive man, she noted distantly. Strong jawline, tousled black hair, high cheekbones—and, oh God, their lips were pressed together.
She had landed on him. And she was kissing him.
"What—!" Yselle jerked back so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.
The man pushed himself up with a low growl, his piercing gaze locking onto her. "Who in the seven hells are you?"