When Rolina turned back, there was no one—only the wind drifting through the bar. The golden gem no longer glowed, its reflection gone. She pretended not to notice.
"A drink, Uncle Marcus," she said.
"Coming right up." He placed two small glasses before them, pouring his special brew. "Fermented underground for ten years. Strong stuff."
Sam sniffed the fragrant liquor. "To success—and to riches!" He gulped it down. "Ahhh! Burns like fire!" His throat flared hot, while Rolina sipped calmly, unaffected.
"One more," she demanded, sliding her empty glass forward.
"Since you're here, visit your mother sometime," Marcus urged. But Rolina thought only of drinking. "Another." She downed glass after glass—ten in total—without pause.
"Enough!" Sam stopped Marcus from pouring more.
"Don't interfere! It's my choice," Rolina snapped. Marcus sighed, realizing why she was this way.
"Sam, what have you done to my niece?"
"Nothing. Though I still wonder what her mother looks like," Sam replied. The mention of family made Rolina grip her glass so tightly it cracked like lightning. "Looks like someone's drunk," Sam chuckled.
"Sorry, Uncle. The glass was too thin," she whispered. Marcus silently replaced it. Hours passed, and Rolina collapsed on the table. Sam and Marcus laughed, forgetting her state. Fuzzy curled beneath the chair, alone.
"Ha! She's out cold," Sam grinned.
"Take her upstairs. I've got a room," Marcus said, pointing to the lift.
"Come on, idiot. Told you not to drink so much." Sam slung her arm over his shoulder, nudging Fuzzy awake to follow.
"Mmhh… I'm not drunk… I'll slap you silly…" she mumbled.
"Quiet. You reek of liquor." Sam opened the room, laying her on a soft white round bed. Her posture tempted him, but he resisted.
"I know you're faking. Won't fool me," he muttered, turning to leave. But her foot hooked his waistband, yanking him back onto the bed.
"Don't leave me. You know we can't be apart," she whispered.
Her hand slid across his chest. "You're drunk. Stop." He pushed it away.
"Why? Can't give me time?" she pressed, facing him.
"I'm tired. You're boring. Annoying. Good enough reasons?" He reclined, hands behind his head. "I'll find you a new toy. Maybe then you'll stop pestering me."
Her fist clenched. "I never wronged you. I just want you to release your stress! It's normal. But you deny me. Look at me!" She grabbed his collar, forcing his gaze.
"From the first day we met, I fell into your trap. I saved you—you owe me your life. That alone gives me the right to kill you. Should I strangle you now?"
"Then why don't you? Think I stayed with you this long for nothing? Let go—I can't breathe." She released him.
"I swore no one would enter my life… until you." Her voice trembled.
"I may treat you like a fool, but never a slave. And truth is—I like you more when you're angry."
Her lips curled into a grin. "Knew you'd soften. Ha!"
"Drama queen. Sleep. I'll be back." Sam left. Rolina hugged Fuzzy, closing her eyes.
But then— "Rolina Estrads!" A voice thundered. She jolted awake. The room was unchanged, yet painted in milky white. Fuzzy was gone.
"Rolina!" the voice echoed outside.
"Who's there?!" she cried, but no answer came. Her feet touched the floor—and she fell.
"Woooahhh!" A colossal white hand caught her, lowering her onto a mirrored milk‑white ground.
She looked up—and gasped. A giant carousel spun slowly, seven horses circling. Atop it stood an old man with a long beard, tall hat, and carnival master's suit.
"What?!" Rolina squinted in disbelief.
"Greetings, lady! Care to try my new ride?" The old man leapt down from the towering carousel, landing unharmed, twirling his cane with delight.
"Who are you?" Rolina demanded.
"I am the sun that never sets. I am past, present, and future. I am the embodiment of dream and imagination. What you see is no illusion, nor a trick to deceive you," he intoned, tapping his cane eight times against the ground.
"What?!" Rolina frowned, baffled.
"It means I'm the eccentric keeper of this carnival," he chuckled.
His face stirred something in her memory. "You… you look familiar…"
"The stone, perhaps? Or maybe just a resemblance. So, lovely one, shall I perform a trick for you?"
"No, thank you. Am I dreaming?"
"Dreaming? Ha! Those who dream rarely know they dream—unless it is a dream they control. Do you believe you control this dream?"
Rolina closed her eyes, willing herself to fly. Nothing happened. "Hmph. I can't even lift myself. This isn't my dream."
"Strange. Then whose?" The old man furrowed his brow. Suddenly, golden light flared from the carousel. "Ahh… that means something." He struck his cane again. The white world dissolved into a star‑filled void. The carousel transformed into a blazing sun, radiating heat like petals of starlight. "Yes! This is the spirit of the sun!" he thundered.
"What does that mean?" Rolina asked.
"It means the stone is the sun itself. It holds past, present, and future. Time waits for none. What you see may be past, present, or future."
"God, get to the point." Rolina muttered, scratching her head.
"Perhaps your friend will seek the answer. I mean the other one." He turned, retracing his steps as though rewinding time, back toward the radiant sun.
"My time is up. We'll speak again, lovely one."
"Wait! Old man!" Rolina cried, but a mysterious force lifted her upward.
She soared, then fell back into her white room. Her feet touched the floor, and she collapsed onto the bed, closing her eyes. "aniloR!" A voice shouted her name backwards, echoing through the void.