Page 35 of Florescentia

I stood tall. Firm.

A dark form protruded. It hazed around the doorframe, creeping up the walls like smoke from a steady flame. It spilled through the floor, weaving itself between the grains of the floorboards themselves. A deep, dark stain like the silver oxide in my library.

From the darkness came familiarity. An outline of a man.

Then, like the clearing fog on a mirror, the shadows evaporated from the head to reveal skin.

The specks of light turn to two eyes and a black star marking his forehead. The white glow turned reflective, shaping into pearlescent irises. The skin was pale, ghostly and ghastly all at once. Yet his hair barely shifted from the black of the void.

A familiar inspiration to its chosen form’s resemblance.

“You wicked, irreverent beast!” I screamed. I couldn’t stop my approach. My bare feet hit the ground with as much conviction as my flight prior.

It was doing this on purpose. To wound me further. A sadistic creature.

My palms smacked against the chest. The thing was still. The man, I should say, was still. Though I wasn’t sure man was an accurate description.

“I rebuke you.” My voice wavered, cracking into a million pieces and held together by spite and passion. “How dare you!”

It finally blinked, a dark brow twitched.

Before I knew it, my finger was jabbing into his chest. “You will not use some vague resemblance to my husband to pretend you are not some beast.”

The eyes of the creature flicked to my hand, and he grabbed it. I heard a faint pop in my wrist.

It was time for my body to argue, to squirm and pull and escape his grasp.

It didn’t budge.

I swallowed hard, the long, clawlike fingers from before wrapping around my wrist. My fingers curled as if to scratch if it got close enough.

It started to use its face. Which was an odd statement as it was, but it truly seemed like it was learning how to use each muscle. There was a frightening edge to its looks. An uncanniness in its eyes, the face too symmetrical, features too rare.

The shadows began to reveal the rest of him, as if he was making it up as he went. First his neck, then his chest and abdomen. Down the middle of his chest, symmetrical inky blotches spread like tattoos.

I was right—he was making a body based on what he knew. But what he knew was very little. At least on a micro level, he couldn’t get it completely right.

I looked up; he was staring at me now.

The light eyes made me jump, and he let me, releasing me from his grip.

In my faltering, I failed to notice that he’d finished revealing his body, which prompted my eyes to squeeze shut before I opened them again—he was indecent, but no parts, no body hair. He only knew the shape of a man, not exactly the assets.

The blotchy tattoos spread to the rest of him, completely symmetrical and stark. Like ink that had been pressed between two pages. It rose and fell over the herculean muscles.

We may have stood there for lack of conversation, or perhaps he hadn’t learned our language yet. Certainly he was still grasping at our biology, but somehow that made this creature of the unknown slightly less of a threat. I doubted he would’ve gone through such effort if he planned on using me for nutrition.

I cleared my throat as I sat against the edge of the empty tub. I crossed my arms over my chest, racking my brain for how to start a conversation with something I wasn’t even sure could understand me in the first place.

I supposed I should start off with the basics.

I brought my hand to my chest, palm flat on the exposed skin above the neckline.

“Lu-ci-a.” I drew my name out, with extra enunciation.

“I’m aware.” His voice was deep, sincere. Lingerings of eerie whispers followed the words like a cologne.

“Oh.” I pursed my lips, crossing my arms tight again. “So you speak?”