Sela fell, spiraling toward the gaping mouth below. There was only a worm-like mouth lined with a million teeth: long, sharp, and slick with anticipation. It flexed open and closed, a dreadful rhythm of hunger. The throat was a void of empty blackness, an endless abyss waiting to swallow her whole.
Another dream, she told herself. The knowledge steadied her breath, though it brought no comfort. The construction was not her mind’s design, but the dream was hers. It was only a construct. A lie. And yet it held a truth sharper than its teeth.
As the mouth began to close around her, she shut her eyes and reached out blindly. Her hands caught an impossibly solid and cold fang beneath her fingers, halting her descent. She dangled over the void, her arms burning, her grasp slipping.
The mouth convulsed, enraged by denial. A shuddering force rattled her body, almost shaking her loose. Let go, it seemed to hiss, though there were no words. You cannot win.
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Sela’s grip tightened. She could not hang on forever; even in dreams, limits existed. But she understood this much: there would be no return if she fell. She would dissolve into the blackness, devoured by something vast and nameless. She might exist as something new—some other thing—but Sela, the self she knew, would be gone.
Her struggle was maddening, and then the stars whispered:
“Do you fear the abyss?”
“I fear the end.”
Her mind raced. Find a choice. There had to be a choice. A way to twist the design, to force her will upon it. But the corrupter’s intent pushed back, pressing against her like a hand smothering flame. It would not allow her to shape the outcome. It refused to relinquish control.
The stars wrapped around her, soft and warm, and murmured:
“Foolish dreamer, the fall is the end. The abyss is just a beginning you have yet to see.”
A laugh escaped her lips, echoing through the trembling mouth. The teeth hissed. The void roared.
Sela let go.
