Page 47 of Florescentia

She slouched into the chair, pulling the robe tighter over her chest. “I was lonely. I talked to myself until I realized there was someone—or rather, something—that would listen.”

“Your little pets? Peculiars, as you named them?”

She pointed at the bottle, then gestured up.

I took a drink of the liquid, which made me squeeze my eyes shut. I could feel my face shift. My jaw dislocated, then popped back into place, my third eye opened on my forehead before quickly snapping shut.

“Disgusting,” I mumbled, gathering myself. “Go on.”

Her expression was softening, slowly but surely. Who knew great pain of another was such a motivator.

“I would talk to them, and they’d listen,” she said with a shrug. “So I got older, and I realized that this world spares no cruelty for those not in its favor. I was desperate. I asked them, and they showed me.”

“The Peculiars showed you?”

“More like . . . they showed me how to find it within myself. To focus my intention when they opened up to me. It was then that I learned the trade was in intimacy, emotions. I fed them my tears, my stress. They probably ate very well . . .”

She stopped speaking, staring at me.

“Continue.” I took another sip. I held in a gag, my teeth extending and distorting into sharp points before returning to human shape.

This did make her produce a small chime, a quiet laugh.

“Did it scare you?”

“The rituals? The Peculiars?” She laughed at the vagueness. “None of it. When you know that there is always something in the dark, you are never alone. It makes the world much less frightening. It’s much scarier living in a world you cannot rely on.”

“How do you feel about it now?”

She gave me a sideways glance. “The same.”

“I taste a lie.”

“Unnerving, not frightening,” she corrected herself. “Now why are you here?”

“You summoned me.”

“No.” She raised her finger at me. “I only opened the door. You forced your way through. I suspect multiple attempts, by the way you frightened my Peculiars enough for them to close it themselves. I want to know why.”

I sat up, readjusting my position and tucking the bottle by my side. I could tell her the truth . . . just not the part involving her.

“Loneliness.” I repeated her previous answer, albeit a bit more quietly than my previous tone.

She laughed.

“You are cruel.” I threw the couch pillow at her.

She caught it and hugged it tightly, clearly amused, her legs dangling off the chair as she relished the reaction. “How does some unknowable creature like yourself get lonely?”

“Limitless sentience is numbing. Knowing everything means to discover nothing. Knowing things isn’t the same as experiencing them. Senses and emotions aren’t needed when you are everywhere, all at once.” I stopped myself from explaining further, since it wouldn’t be something she could understand.

“Is this the first time you’ve found a door big enough for you to pass through?” Her stare was different this time, curious.

I snapped my fingers and pointed at her. “There you have it.”

“So you owe me?”

“Owe is a strong word, but I am appreciative.”