EMMA
Back in the victorian room, I look around slowly. My fingers trail along the swirling edges of the ornate mirror. I could have lived here, grown up in this dimension.
I head out to the balcony. The vast sea of black greets me.
It used to be bursting with life, the queen had told me.
The Al Mortem were so ridden with death that they became so obsessed with life. They had the best displays of flowers and gardens in all eight dimensions. No one smelled better than a woman from Al Hara, cross-worlders would say. And no one was as deadly either. Servants of the night, they could suck the life away from you while smiling into your eyes.
Then the queen had also told me her name.
Asmedis.
And she'd whispered mine into my ear, as was their tradition. Our tradition.
I am snapped back
