King of Always: A Fae Romance (Black Blood Fae Book 2)

Isla

Life is crazy and so am I.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. I’m sane enough, just bored, that’s all. Crazy bored and feeling about as content as a caged lion in a circus.

It sucks to be waiting tables in boring old Blackbrook while my cousin traipses around Faery with her hot, fae prince husband and their bouncing baby girl. It’s not fair. Why should Lara and Ever have all the fun while I serve greasy hash browns and double cheeseburgers to frowning, grumpy customers?

Instead of working tables, I’d prefer to be in the kitchen, surrounded by sizzling flames and tendrils of curling smoke. Not that I want to fry burgers for a living—that’s Lara’s gig. Or was her gig before she became fae royalty and high-tailed it out of the human realm for who knows how long.

Nope, I’ll never be fully satisfied operating the grill at Max’s Vinyl City diner. I’d rather be the boss of my very own French bakery and create sweet delights that make people laugh and smile and, okay, if I’m being honest, I should mention that one time when my pastries made a family of three cry—a mom, dad, and a cute little curly haired toddler. They sobbed and bawled, but still swore they loved the taste of my chocolate eclairs—go figure! So weird.

So yeah, triple-layer mousse cakes and cinnamon and ginger madeleines—that’s my kind of alchemy. I don’t need my own magical, pointy-eared fae prince. Nor do I want one, no matter how good looking they are.

Anyway, it’s Friday night, and here I am, plopping two plates of soggy waffles in front of a father and son duo seated at a red vinyl booth, an Elvis Presley tune blaring through the house speakers making my hips rock ever so slightly beneath my purple uniform.

“That’ll be all, Miss. We don’t need your help with the eating of it,” says the dad. Shoulders slumped, faces pinched, he and his son look like they’re at the end of a long, exhausting day.

I smile instead of poking my tongue out like I want to. “Mister, you’d have to pay me to eat that stuff.”

The skinny kid, his face hidden beneath a baseball cap, reaches for the syrup and snorts like a gorilla.

“Hey, don’t add any of that until after you taste them,” I tell him. “The cook’s already drowned them in syrup.”

The kid gives me a grim, sharp-toothed sneer that matches the shark’s on his hat, warning me to mind my own business.

With a sigh, I shrug as he drizzles about a gallon of gunk over his plate. “Okay, then. Hope you enjoy your meals.” And the dental cavities.

Father and son grunt as I spin on my heels and head over to clear the table opposite.

Four plates of half-eaten mashed-up burgers and gravy-soaked napkins stack neatly in my arms. Bang. Bang. Bang. I’m a whiz at this. Normally, I’d pile the coffee cups on top as well, but I’m too tired and don’t want to risk the lot crashing down and getting my paycheck docked for the breakage. Guess I’ll have to make a second trip.

The four jocks who’d been sitting here ten minutes ago, whispering about me and guffawing into their hands as they stuffed fries in their faces, left a heck of a mess. Thanks, guys, the two-dollar tip was worth it.

Feeling decades older than my eighteen years, I stifle a groan, massaging my lower back before picking up the pile of plates. As I move toward the kitchen, an image of my boyfriend’s look of total surprise when I politely dumped his ass over homemade crème brûlée in my kitchen three days ago floats across my mind. Since I broke up with him, I guess that means I should be calling him my ex-boyfriend.

Sam and I had been together nearly two years and mostly got along fine, but the guy loved studying accounting a lot more than he did me. And, honestly, he was about as romantic as a Christmas ham and almost as boring.

“Hey, Isla, looking cute tonight,” says Jaxon at table three as I pass by.

I wink. “Oh, thanks. You too.” Not really. My gaze skims his bloodshot hazel eyes and the dirty, button-down shirt covering his paunch. Another drunk businessman. Sweet enough, but he doesn’t look like the outdoor type who loves camping trips and making out fireside under a sea of twinkling stars. Just like my ex, in a word—he’s dreary.

Sighing, I tuck a loose strand of blonde hair behind my ear and smile at Kate, the other waitress working tonight.

Wish I wasn’t hung up on wanting a passionate guy who’s prepared to do something dramatic to prove his love for me—like Ever did for Lara. Someone interesting and maybe a little dangerous.

It’d be much easier to get a date because, let’s face it, there aren’t too many fae princes hanging around Blackbrook hoping to hook up with a human girl. I think of Ever expressing his undying love for Lara by battling evil air mages and then giving up his crown for her. Unfortunately, he’s set the boyfriend bar pretty high.

“Isla,” yells, Max from his serving hutch, his chef’s hat falling over his heavy brow. “Table seven’s order is up. If it’s not too much to ask, can you come and get it ASAP? The guy looks kinda hungry.”

I grin at his sweat-beaded face and push through the swing door into the kitchen. “On my way, Boss.” I dump the leaning tower of plates next to the sink. “But then I’m out of here. I swapped with Mandy tonight. She’s doing the late shift, and I’m leaving at ten because I’m going on vacation, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and desert me the same as Lara did. But before you go have fun for a month, you can give the ladies’ bathroom a quick once over.”

“But, Max…” I give him my best sad-puppy face.

He sighs. “Fine. Just refill the paper towels, then get outta my sight.”

“Sure thing. You’re the best.” I hide my grimace as I take fried chicken wings and a rainbow-colored smoothie to another businessman at table seven. All three look gross.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s cleaning restrooms. The stench is unbearable. Even though Max let me off the hook for a full clean, my annoying sense of duty has me pulling out cloths and spritzing down the mirrors.

As I polish my reflection, scowling at the piles of hair escaping from my ponytail, my tired blue eyes rimmed with dark circles, I count my blessings because the drudgery of part-time waitressing and full-time studying is about to come to an end in the most thrilling of ways, well, for a while at least.

Tonight!

Lara and Ever have been gone a whole two weeks, and I think I’ve finally found a way to follow them into Faery.

I would never have dreamed that a late-night internet search would lead me to an online spirit conjurer who does business with the local supernatural community, but that’s what happened. Three days ago, I had no idea groups of magical beings lived here in the human realm, let alone that one of them resided a few suburbs away from mine.

The spirit companion dealer put me in touch with a fae in hiding who goes by the ridiculous name of Sally Salamande. Apparently she has a thing for lizards, so maybe it’s not such a crazy nickname after all. And, tonight, as soon as I leave work, that’s where I’m heading—to Sally’s place.

Pastry school has wrapped up for the year, and Mom thinks I’m going to stay with Lara and Ever in Brazil for the summer. It’s completely bizarre how she still believes that Ever runs a charity helping street kids in Sao Paulo. If she’d known what he did to Lara when he first met her in Faery, she would have kicked his butt into the next century instead of welcoming him into our home.

Thankfully, he’s reformed his wicked-prince ways somewhat since Lara freed him from the Black Blood poison, and now the curse has passed on to his younger brother, Rafael. I’ve never met the guy, but by all accounts, he sounds like a typical faery prince—in other words, a self-entitled jerk. Not worth thinking about, really. But I wish him all the best because living with the curse sounds awful—as does a lot of what I’ve heard about Faery, to be honest. It’s a dangerous, frightening place. But still, I’m determined to go there at the earliest opportunity.

Why? Because I want adventure. When I was a child, just like Lara, I was fascinated by her mom’s freaky paintings of the Land of Five. I know what it looks like—a bizarre and beautiful dream that I plan to witness with my own eyes.

I mean, newsflash, faeries and elves and emerald castles are real. Who wouldn’t want to check it all out and drink goblets of mulberry wine at a fae feast? Or run through a magical meadow alongside blue bunny rabbits with butterflies the size of dinner plates trailing behind us? And let’s not forget all the beautiful fae men I could stare at. All things considered, it sounds like a whole lot of fun to me.

After I freshen the towels and wipe down the bathroom counters, I swap my uniform for travel clothes—chunky boots, jeans, a black sweater, and a hooded down jacket, then swing my backpack over my shoulder. I bid my co-workers farewell for the next month, or if I manage to get myself eaten by a mythical creature, possibly forever. Then I ride the subway three stops to the old Gothic quarter where, at ten past eleven, the main street’s restaurants and dive bars are still pumping.

A bright crescent moon winks down at me as I weave through folk coming in and out of the neon-lit joints, then stride past closed dollar stores and a vinyl record cafe. A pizza-delivery guy on a bike whistles at me, and I give him the finger and cross over at the stop lights.

I round a corner into a quiet tree-lined avenue, my attention flicking from my phone to the branch shadows tangling over the pavement. I follow map directions two blocks past the main drag until I reach a sorry-looking brownstone squashed between its taller, tidier neighbors, the number seventy-seven glowing in the harsh light of the entrance lamp.

Dogs howl in the distance, the mournful sound prickling over my skin. I shove my phone in my pocket, push open a low iron gate, and then head up the stoop.

I knock on the wooden door, and it swings open, a blast of heat whooshing out of it that nearly knocks me off my feet.

The middle-aged lady standing in the arched doorway and peering down at me is tall and so thin I could blow on her and she’d snap in half like a pretzel. She’s dressed in a navy pantsuit with massive shoulder pads that, a couple of decades ago, would have been a perfect power outfit for a businesswoman. With her brown hair drawn into a tight ponytail, she looks like a retired lawyer rather than the fae creature she’s alleged to be. So, unless she’s Sally’s housekeeper, I’m beginning to think I paid the spirit conjurer fifty bucks for nothing. She conned me, damn it.

I think of Lara’s faery prince—his fae beauty always peeking through his hot-jock glamor—and inspect the woman more closely, just like she’s doing to me. I’m looking for pointy ears, and she’s wondering who the hell the skinny blonde chick on her doorstep is.

Something dark flickers across her gray eyes, her thin brows arching. “By the Eternal Elements, here you are at last! What took you so long to come visit me?”

Huh? Maybe I resemble a long-lost relative. Or maybe she’s half blind. Or totally crazy. If I have a choice, I’ll take the half-blind option. Sounds safer.

“Hello,” I say, offering her my hand. “I’m Isla.” I give her a polite smile. “I don’t think we’ve met before, so I don’t get how I’ve supposedly kept you waiting. But, anyway, I’m looking for Sally Salamande. I hear she has a thing for lizards.”

Her eyes sparkle as she pushes my hand away like it’s a limp, smelly rag. “Yes, child, you are correct. I do enjoy lizards. Very much so.” She licks her lips. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come inside and sit by the fire with an old herpetologist. I believe we may be of use to each other.”

“What does a herpetologist do, study diseases?”

She chuckles and waves me forward. “No, dear. Reptiles are my specialty.”

“Oh.” A shiver crawls down my spine as I step over the threshold. “I see.”

She leans close and takes a big sniff of my neck, making me thankful for the switchblade in my pack. I’m not sure how to use it, but it’s certainly good to know it’s there.

While I follow her down a long, dark hallway, she whistles a strange tune. It’s sad and mournful and more than a little spooky and makes me think she’s trying to mess with my head and unnerve me. If that’s her plan, it’s working just fine.

In case I’m about to die, I start running through all my past sins, asking for forgiveness and absolution from whichever god or gods are keen to give it to me. I’m not fussy about which one will have me, I’d just prefer not to go to hell or be reincarnated as a snail to be squashed beneath someone’s careless shoe if I can avoid it.

When we come to a bright red door, she gives me a sly grin over her high shoulder pad, then pushes through into a red-glowing room. I suck in a quick breath and blink around, squinting against brightness and a confusing mix of shadow and flame. Am I in hell already?

The air is hot and dry enough to cook a perfect sponge cake in, and I wonder if, like me, she’s a baker of… Hmm…probably not cakes. More likely toads and lizards.

Even the room’s decor is Nouveau Gothic Furnace—dark crimson walls, heavy red-velvet drapes and furnishings, an intense groovy-vampire-mansion vibe. On the far wall of the open plan lounge and kitchen area, a fire roars inside a massive fireplace, gargoyle heads peering between vines and leaves carved into its wooden mantle.

Forget what I said before about it being hot as an oven in here. This is more like a dinner date in a steel mill. Or maybe she’s about to bring out her welding equipment and work on some lovely garden sculptures. Luckily for me, I’m a fan of the flames.

I smile at her and wipe sweat from my brow. The heat is wonderful. I could live here.

“Please,” she says, pointing at two armchairs on either side of the fire. “Take a seat. How did you finally manage to locate me?”

Finally? I step around a fur rug before sinking into a deeply padded chair. “Through Sylvia’s Supernatural Megastore.”

Throwing back her head, she laughs loudly. “Oh, Sylvia—that old windbag. Did you meet with her?”

“Nope. I sent her an email, paid a PayPal invoice, and then—bingo—she handed over your address.”

The rug has a bear’s head attached to it—and gross, it totally looks real! “You’re a hunter?” I ask, nodding at the beast’s glassy gaze fixed on my combat boots. “Or just a collector of… curiosities?”

With a loud huff, she plops inelegantly opposite me.

“Perhaps the latter, but most definitely the former. I do so love a good chase and a fight.” Tapered fingers with the nails painted bright orange fling out and stroke the bear’s fur, and I swear her arm grew three feet just to reach it. The heat must be making me hallucinate. Blinking rapidly, I shake my head to clear it.

She grins. “This one you see here had the heart of a great warrior. His death was exquisite. It happened over a thousand human years ago, but I will never forget it.”

Exquisite for her maybe. The bear? Not so much. I swallow hard, wondering how she killed it. Probably bear-handed.

“So…” I say, stalling for time as I gawk at the room. A large cauldron-like pot hangs over the flames on a metal rod. I don’t like the look of it. What does she cook in it? Past conquests? Human girls who stupidly drop in unannounced? I force my gaze back on her flame-bright nails still tapping the chair’s armrest.

“What can I do for you, Isla of Blackbrook?”

“How did you know where I live—”

She silences me with a flick of her hand. “I know many things about you, girl, so don’t mince words and waste my time. Tell me what you want.”

Wiping a sheen of sweat from above my lip, I shuffle to the chair’s edge. “I’ve been told you can get me into Faery, to a city called Talamh Cúig. Is that true?”

“Why, yes, it is. What reason do you wish to go there? Faery is not a nice place for a young mortal girl. How old are you, dear thing?”

“Eighteen.”

“Wonderful. You are of age, then.”

“Really? For what exactly?”

Her lips thin into a sly smile. “For everything, my dear, absolutely everything. I can do what you ask, but the price will not be cheap.”

I’d prefer not to hand over my hard-earned savings, but if that’s what it takes, I will.

“I need to arrive as close to the Emerald Castle as possible, near where my cousin, Lara, and her husband will be. No funny business like dropping me in the middle of a raging sea or a deserted forest to be eaten by one of those wretched othrius things. Can you promise to get me where I need to go?”

The fae’s brow rises. “I’m surprised you mentioned your connection with the Prince of Air, brother to the current Black Blood Prince, and his lady.”

“Why wouldn’t I mention it?”

“Why indeed? Being known to fae kind is more often a curse than a blessing.”

As if Ever would hurt me. “Fine. Well, what do you want from me? Money? A little bird told me you’re into sunflowers and creepy lizards. I know people who could firm up your supply chain if it’s weird stuff you’re interested in.” It’s true; I have a couple of friends with awesome jobs—a zookeeper and a flower grower.

A cunning smile slides over her face. “No, mortal. I do not want tributes and trinkets or even your worthless Earth-realm money. Instead, I would extract a promise from you in payment, a vow, if you will.”

“A promise? It better not be for my firstborn child.” I don’t want kids, and even if I do have them some day, she won’t be getting her bear-killing claws on them.

The flames crackle beside us then leap higher as if she’s stoked the coals. But she hasn’t moved, not even flickered an eyelash. “Listen closely—the forever-cure to the Black Blood curse will show itself to you, and you will know him—”

“Him? The cure is a person, a guy? What does that mean?”

“Do not interrupt me, child. Simply listen, for your survival may depend upon how well you heed my next words. You will come to know the cure. But you must promise never ever to share this knowledge. Not with your cousin. Not with her husband, the Prince of Air. And certainly not with the cursed Prince of Fire himself.”

“You’re telling me I’ll have the answer to the riddle that the Elemental Court has been seeking for nearly a thousand fae years, and I won’t be able to help them?”

“That’s correct. If you do, the life of the current Black Blood heir will be forfeit.” She issues a dry cackle, and leans toward the fire, spreading her hands in front of it in the shape of an explosion. “Instant death for the Master of Fire. Kaboom!” Sparks explode accordingly.

“Prince Rafael? I’ve never met the guy. Maybe I won’t care too much if he’s barbecued alive for all eternity. And I’m not the least bit afraid of fire.”

“Clever girl. You are right to have no fear of the flames. Creation. Destruction. Transformation. This is the way of fire. You understand its principles well. Now, why is that I wonder?”

Who knows? I’ve always loved the alchemy of fire. It’s why I’m studying to be a chef, a legitimate way to make money from dabbling in the chaos of heat and sparks and flames.

“But how can you ask that of me? It’s wrong to promise not to help the princes. After all, they’re Lara’s family, so by extension mine too. It’s cruel.”

“Does it help if I tell you it is not your job to end the curse? That particular honor will fall to someone else. Remember this. It is important. No matter what you do, Isla, you cannot end it. Even if you were to tell them when you learn of the cure, it will do no good. In fact, it would most likely prevent the curse from ending. The outcome is beyond your control. This I promise you. And fae cannot lie.”

“Okay.” I take a slow breath. “Then I promise you that if I happen to learn the cure to the curse, I won’t tell a soul.”

“Nor will you write it down.”

“Fine. I won’t write it down, either. Or burn it into the bark of a tree trunk. Or sing it from a rooftop. I’ll guard the secret with my life. I vow it. Wait…but what do you get out of this bargain?”

“You wish to know how I will benefit?”

“I do.”

“It is simple. I serve the princes of Talamh Cúig.” Otherwise known as the Land of Five. “And your presence will give them great pleasure. Your presence is required. Therefore, by taking you there, I am helping the kingdom.”

Right. That seems unlikely. But, apparently, she can’t lie. So she must at least believe what she said to be true, which means she isn’t planning to harm me. “Great. Count me in then.”

“Very well.” She gives a sharp nod. “But if you wish to go, you must go now.”

“Sylvia warned me you might say that.” With my boot, I jostle the bulging backpack on the bear rug. “As you can see, I’ve come prepared for a trip. She also said she wasn’t sure if you could open a portal yourself, thought you might need your sister to help—the High Mage who got Lara in and out of Faery.”

Sally’s eyes narrow, and she breathes an indignant puff of air through flared nostrils. “I assure you I can manage this one on my own.” She thrusts her hand out. “Shake on it and seal our deal.”

As I extend my hand, the air around her body shimmers, and the plain-faced woman sitting opposite me disappears, replaced by an incredible sight—a freaky, supernatural creature.

Dressed in a flowing river of orange and red silk that streams over a longer, lithe form, a slow smile spreads over her newly angular face. Red eyes burn, the pupils slitted and emerald green. Her hair is a riot of orange, yellow, and scarlet waves—flames of blue and purple licking over the tips. This lady’s hair is literally on fire.

She spits into her hand and nods at mine. Hiding my grimace, I spit too, then shake her hand, the skin of my palm sizzling like I’ve made a deal with a red-hot fire poker.

A snicker slithers from her lips. “Good. Now put your ugly little pack on and follow me.”

I stand and shrug my backpack over my shoulders. “Where are we going?”

“Below,” she says, and then slinks over to a large painting on the far wall. As she lifts and sets the heavy, gilt-framed artwork on the floorboards as though it’s as light as feathers, I study the hunting scene rendered in rich colors, like an old-fashioned masterpiece.

A pack of giant wolfhounds attacks a creature with the body of a horse and the head of a wild boar, and beside them stands a fiercely handsome blond warrior wearing gold and silver armor and a bloodthirsty smile, about to launch a shining spear into the fray.

“That’s Ever!”

“Yes, your cousin’s husband at his worst. Of course, most fae would consider it his best.”

My heart quickens at seeing him in his natural element, no trace of the glamor that hides his true nature, more than a glint of cruelty sharpening his features. This had to have been before he met Lara. Back when the curse had him in its full grip.

A flash of bright color in the top corner of the canvas catches my attention. Another fae warrior, this one with his back to the viewer. Black and gold armor. A burnished-copper mane of hair. The hint of a strong chin visible as he looks toward the sun setting behind a dark mountain range. Something about his posture makes him appear carefree and easy going. Especially compared to Ever.

“And that other fae is Prince Rafael, the current cursed heir to the Throne of Five,” says Sally, breathing down my neck and making me shudder.

“He looks fun,” I state, not sure why I say it. Both those dudes look scary. To think my cousin married one of them. A shiver rolls down my back.

“He was fun once upon a time. But those days are long past. Come, girl. Let’s not waste any more of my precious time.” She creaks open a long black door that was hidden behind the painting, and I follow a trail of red silk down concrete stairs into a basement. As she walks, she lights ancient-looking wall torches with a snap of her fingers, not once breaking her stride.

“Why do you live in an old place like this?” I ask, just to fill the death-march silence with some noise. “Being a faery, I’m sure you could magic up a stunning, light-filled mansion in the swanky part of town.”

She laughs. “Yes, but it is more convenient to reside directly over a portal with direct access to my realm.”

“This place is a portal?”

“Beneath this basement, yes. And this one is all mine.” She drops off the last step onto a dirt floor, and flames suddenly burst out of the darkness and lick up the stone walls.

“Awesome,” I say, entranced by her fire magic. Despite the low, concrete ceiling, the hexagonal-shaped room seems a lot bigger than the house above, but I guess that’s magic too. Who knows what’s real and what’s illusion? A metallic, coppery scent fills the air as I step down into the room next to Sally.

She fixes those strange red and green eyes on me. “For a magical being to use this portal, they must pass by me. You were correct that out of all my sisters, it is Ether, the High Mage who has a talent for opening portals. But during my time in the mortal world, I have given many valuable sacrifices and worked many spells into the fabric of this portal, so I can open it at will. Step into the center of the circle.”

Heart pounding in my ears, I do as she bids and walk over a line of glittering red dust.

A high-pitched hum vibrates through the air, its intensity making me grit my teeth.

“Look at the floor, if you don’t want to blind yourself, silly girl.”

I drop my gaze as smoke fills the room.

“One more thing,” she says, her palms manipulating the smoky gray clouds, shaping them into bizarre patterns. “When you are in Faery, you must meet and speak with my associate.”

“That wasn’t part of our deal!”

“And now it is. I do not ask much, only that you listen to his words. I will arrange the meeting when the time comes. Do you agree to do this?”

If I want to crash the party in Faery, what freaking choice do I have? “As long as this friend of yours isn’t going to hurt me in any way, then sure. Can you promise me they won’t?”

She cackles like a witch. Seems appropriate, I guess. “Yes, child. I promise I will not hurt you nor will physical harm come to you as a result of meeting my associate. By pain of fire, I swear this.”

Coughing, I close my eyes against the sting, and Sally begins to chant. It’s a horrible echoing noise that sounds like one hundred people reciting a black mass rather than one, the only distinguishable words being, “as above, so are flames below. As below, so are flames above.”

Her voice rises, growing louder and louder, her whole body shuddering and shaking like she’s in the middle of a terrible fit.

“Sally? Holy shit! Are you okay?”

“I suggest you improve your language when in Faery. The fae are unimpressed by profanity. They will think badly of you and, take my word, you should never wish for that.”

Huh. Ever seemed to think swearing was pretty funny.

The chanting grows louder, the heat of the room unbearable, even for me. I feel sick. I might lose my dinner right here, right now, all over a portal into Faery. “Wait, stop. I think I’m gonna pass out… I think I’ve changed my—”

The flames disappear, and I’m swallowed by a vortex of stars, my limbs flung wide as I spin in total darkness. Black; it’s so black and barren and as cold as the grave.

The droning sound is violent, and I wish I would just lose consciousness so I don’t have to hear it, a horrible pressure building inside my skull, undulating through my blood. My veins feel like bike tires pumped to maximum capacity, the air inside still building and building.

Lara, why didn’t you tell me it was like this?

This is it, the end—I’m dying.

I drift on my back like a helpless lump of flesh and bone, endless galaxies rushing past me, a neon whirl of purple and orange lights shooting across the edges of my vision as I float through space and, heck, possibly even time.

If I survive this portal, with my luck, I’ll probably land back in the Jurassic Period and have to use my switchblade against a dinosaur—then I’ll most definitely die. I just hope it’ll be over quickly.

Suddenly, the colors fold in on themselves, dropping me back into the sea of blackness—no stars, no white light, no sound, nothing—and I float onward in an endless void, a forever-night so deep and empty that icy terror fills me.

I feel every molecule of my body begin to shift and swirl and dissolve until, finally, I can’t see myself, or feel myself. I’m nothing—I no longer exist.

Then, like a sack of flour dropped from a great height, I crash into something hard.

The universe stops moving.

I’m still alive, but everything hurts! Where the hell am I?

First my eyes fly open, then my mouth. And I scream as loud as I can.

Then I’m swallowed by the void again.

And I’m gone. Gone. Gone.