Page 23 of Palingenesis

Heat skitters down my forearm, tickling like a feather over my skin, and I jerk away.

Aches be damned, I scramble back until my spine crashes against another hard surface, knocking something over. I don’t even bother flinching when it crashes to the floor next to me, scattering shards of porcelain across the room

“Where—” I growl in frustration and claw at the devices in my ears, the useless shits giving me no indication of my own voice. It sets off a different kind of alarm in my gut when I reset them, only to be met with a flashing orange light.

Low battery.

“Oh no,” I choke, the words nothing but the taste of their desperation on my tongue.

The faint sound of smacking lips echoes, startling me yet again at the sheer clarity of it, and I find myself pressing harder into the thing behind me.

“Your fear, beloved. It tastes divine.”

Smooth and clear as fucking day, the voice rumbles over my skin in a way that leaves the kind of goosebumps that could almost be mistaken as attraction.

None of that is possible, though, as I’ve never been one to add fear to my list of kinks, and I haven’t heard the unencumbered voice of another since I was four.

“No, fuck this,” I sign and push to my feet.

There’s a limp to my steps that I can’t quite feel, and a racing to my pulse as I practically throw myself at what appears to be a couch. I can barely make out the small table next to it, and scramble closer to find my glasses.

A rush of triumph floods my system when my fingers grasp at the frames, smudging the lenses in the process but shoving them onto my face anyway.

The nosepieces dig into my swollen bridge, centering my focus on the ache, and I use the distraction to find my bearings.

It’s dark, save for the flickering light from the fireplace reflecting off the wall scones. A painting hangs above the mantle, another relic of the local legend that expresses his wild hair and clawed feet, and there’s several chairs. A small couch. It’s all old-style shit and creepy with deep shadows emphasizing the layer of dust. Or possibly ash…

But beyond that is a door. It’s heavy and huge and I ignore that the voice doesn’t seem to belong to any physical body in the room as I dive for it and rip it open. A deeper darkness greets me when I do.

I’ve never been one to be afraid of the dark. At least, not the ones that don’t accompany the weighed pressure of caves in the mind, but this …

This place.

It’s as if it is an embodiment of dread, an open well into the unfathomable darkness.

The unsettling bewilderment that keeps tapping at my consciousness.

It all has me pausing at the threshold and gripping the jamb like I’m faced with a decision of great consequence.

Go forward and risk stumbling upon the source of the low laughter filling my head?

Or stay put and hope I wake up?

Chapter 13

The Legend

Terror seeps from his pores, coating his skin in a delicious scent that calls to me more than his resting has.

He is a warrior beneath the armor.

The flight in his metaphorical feathers sends a thrill through me as he runs the halls of my home, choosing wrong at every chance he has been presented with and leading him deeper into the labyrinth of his mind as well as the hallways.

Giving chase appeals me, almost enough for me to engage in the act of tracking him down, but the twists he thinks up entice me more.

He knows of my presence, yet does not acknowledge it.

The human brain is a mystery, but this one holds far darker corners than I anticipated, reminiscent of very few I’ve tapped into before with deep traumas and hidden truths.