Asteria
There's nothing.
Nothing but an infinite ocean of darkness at my feet, swallowing me with every passing moment.
Is there even time in this place?
I can't move. It feels like I'm trying to walk through endless pitch, and with every step, my bones squeeze out the last drops of air inside me. I feel myself decaying bit by bit—pure sorrow seeping through every cell of my body.
I want to scream so badly.
To howl.
From the depths of my being.
To give my soul—somehow—a way out of this darkness.
But nothing comes out.
I feel it clinging desperately to me, as if the alternative would be far worse.
But what could be worse than this suffering?
How did I get here?
_____________
I took a slow breath and focused on the glowing raindrops melting against the tall glass in front of me. Each drop slid down the window in shimmering trails, leaving faint streaks of light behind. I tried to anchor myself to that gentle rhythm, hoping it would calm the unease tightening inside my chest. I pressed my hands together beneath the wooden vintage table and squeezed them between my knees, letting the pressure ground me.
For a fleeting moment I could swear I saw a figure standing outside. A tall shape wrapped in black, still and unmoving, only a few meters away. The enormous window felt almost fragile between us. I leaned forward and squinted, trying to make out a face or a familiar silhouette. The rain distorted everything into shifting waves of silver and shadow. All I could see was a dark mass of energy flowing like smoke between the falling drops.
My heartbeat quickened. A strange warmth bloomed inside me and spread through my body. It rose from my chest into my arms and neck, then flushed over my ears and forehead. My palms grew wet. As soon as I blinked, the figure melted into the storm. Only my own reflection stared back at me. Pale. Frowning. A little lost.
"Hey, where are you?"
The low voice at my side rumbled with concern. It pulled me straight out of the storm of my mind and stirred a familiar guilt. I hated how easily I drifted away from reality when the shadows pressed too close.
I turned toward him and met the steady warmth of his presence. His brown eyes softened as he studied my face. Something inside me loosened. I managed a small smile and let the calm he carried settle into me.
His name was Julian.
"I am sorry," I said with a tired breath. "I did not sleep. It happened again."
His frown deepened. The curls of his beard moved with the expression and almost looked alive. I had to resist a sudden urge to laugh. His entire look made him seem like a warrior from another era. He had the kind of rugged stillness that belonged in old stories, as if he had walked out of a forgotten world into this quiet café. His lashes lowered slightly, guarding whatever he was thinking, and the familiar flutter in my stomach returned.
We had been dating for some time, although the exact length always slipped through my memory. Some days I felt as though I had known him for lifetimes. Other days I felt as though I was meeting him for the first time all over again. Both feelings were strangely comforting.
"I am here," I whispered. I reached across the table and touched his hand. The moment our skin met, my thoughts quieted.
"Maybe you should see someone," he said with another worried frown. He did not let my attempt at distraction work.
"Maybe I should see you in my bed," I teased, leaning forward. Our faces were close enough that I could breathe in his scent. It was warm and earthy, a creamy blend of sandalwood and tobacco and something unknown that always made my pulse skip.
His lips curved with a slow smile. "Anything to help you, miss," he murmured. He leaned in until our lips brushed with the faintest touch.
Heat curled through me and erased everything else. The tension inside me softened into a rising warmth that reached my fingertips. For a moment I forgot the figure outside. I forgot the nightmares that haunted my sleep. There was only Julian and the familiar pull that made my heart beat faster.
"Excuse me, can I take your order?"
The waitress's voice cut through the moment. I pulled back quickly and sank deeper into my seat. My cheeks burned. I hid behind the menu even though it did nothing to protect my dignity.
"I will have a coffee. Black," Julian said. A hint of embarrassment slipped into his voice. He sounded like a child who had been caught doing something he should not.
I held in a laugh and ordered my own drink. When the waitress walked away, the warm tension between us slowly settled again.
The café around us felt like a small world of its own. It always had. It sat tucked away in the oldest part of town, surrounded by narrow alleys and buildings that had seen more years than anyone living remembered. Inside, the walls were covered with antique paintings. Stacks of cracked vinyl records leaned against the corners. Old radio sets and repurposed sewing tables filled the space with rustic charm. Jazz hummed through the room in a soft, nostalgic rhythm. The scent of roasted coffee beans drifted through the air and wrapped around everything like a blanket.
Julian began telling me about a dream he had the night before. He always dreamed in those vivid colors that looked almost unreal when he described them. He spoke about landscapes that shifted beneath his feet and people who glowed like reflections on water. Sometimes I wondered if his dreams were more than dreams.
The waitress returned and placed our drinks on the table.
"Thank you," I murmured as she set my cup down.
And then I froze.
Blood.
A deep red droplet slid across my skin and left a warm trail behind it. My breath shattered inside my chest. The café began to tilt around me. The edges of my vision blurred. I glanced at Julian, from the corner of my eye, waiting for him to react, waiting for him to see the horror spreading across my hand.
He did not notice anything.
It was happening again.
My pulse hammered inside my ears. My fingers shook. I lifted my gaze toward the waitress with slow, reluctant dread.
What I saw tore the air from my lungs.
Blood streamed down her face. It poured from hollow spaces where her eyes should have been. The crimson lines made dark patterns on her cheeks and dripped onto her uniform. Her lips twisted into a wide, impossible smile. Her expression froze somewhere between joy and agony.
She moved with no sign of pain. She acted as though the blood was not soaking through her clothes and dripping onto the floor. Her steps were calm. Ordinary. Wrong in every possible way.
I could not move. I could not breathe. My body shook violently and I had no control over it. The sharp scent of iron filled my nose.
The waitress bent toward me. Her ruined face hovered inches from mine. I parted my lips to scream or beg or whisper something, but no sound came out.
She leaned closer and her smile widened.
Her voice slid into my mind like a blade through fabric.
"Come to me."