Morgan stared at the outfit.
It was beautiful. And clearly not human.
The first layer was a long, fitted underdress of deep charcoal, the fabric smooth and cool, almost frictionless beneath her fingertips. Over that lay a second piece: a sleeveless overdress in a black so rich it seemed to drink the light, its edges embroideredwith a subtle pattern in muted violet thread. A wide belt of dark metal segments connected by flexible links accompanied it, meant to sit at her waist like a piece of armor softened into jewelry.
Raeska helped her into the underdress first, the material settling around her body like a second skin. It was lighter than it looked, breathable, not restrictive. The overdress followed, its weight reassuring rather than oppressive. When the belt clicked into place, Morgan felt strangely grounded, anchored in her own shape even as they remade her.
Finally, Raeska knelt to change her slippers, trading the soft, mist-grey Majarin pair for darker ones—still silken, but with firmer soles better suited to stone corridors.
Morgan caught sight of herself in a metal panel polished to a near-mirror sheen. For an instant, she did not recognize the woman staring back—a figure drawn in deep shadows and quiet strength, wrapped in alien fabrics that echoed the Void Bastion’s colors.
You look like someone who belongs here,a treacherous little voice suggested.
She pushed the thought aside. “I feel like I’m being dressed for a performance.”
You are being honored,Raeska corrected gently.The Vykan do not squander effort on those who do not matter.
Morgan wasn’t sure whether that made her feel better or worse.
Raeska sat her on a cushioned seat and worked through her hair, drying it with warmed cloths before smoothing it back from her face. She did not braid it elaborately, only gathered part of it away from her eyes, leaving the rest loose down her back in what felt like a compromise between control and freedom.
“There,” Morgan murmured, though her voice sounded distant to her own ears. “I think… that is enough.”
Raeska inclined her head, the motion slow and precise.You are ready.
Morgan rose from the cushioned seat, the fabrics of her new garments shifting like liquid shadow around her. She ran a hand down the charcoal underdress, feeling the impossible smoothness of the material, the subtle give of the overdress embroidered with violet threads. The segmented metal belt sat cool and certain at her waist, grounding her in a body that still felt foreign to her.
She wanted a mirror.
She wanted to see what she looked like now.
But there were none. Not here. Not anywhere she had been allowed to look.
She tried to catch her reflection in the polished metal of the wall panels, but the surface only offered a vague impression—a dark silhouette, a glint of silver at her waist, a suggestion of someone she did not yet know.
“You may rest now,” Raeska said gently.Remain in your chambers. You are safe here.
Morgan hesitated. “When am I supposed to… expect him?”
Raeska paused in the middle of gathering her oils and cloths. She lowered her chin in what might have been a bow.
The Vykan will come when he comes.
Morgan pressed her lips together. “Right.”
In the meantime,Raeska added,I will have nourishment brought to you. It is best to eat. And breathe. And allow yourself to settle.
Ha.As if she could. As if her pulse weren’t still uneven beneath her skin.
“Thank you,” Morgan managed.
Raeska offered another graceful bow—one that always made Morgan feel strangely seen, even if she wished she didn’t—and backed toward the door.
If you need anything, speak aloud. We will hear you.
The door whispered shut, leaving Morgan alone.
Silence—deep, steady, almost reverent—filled the chamber again. She looked around as if seeing the space for the first time. The glowing garden beyond the arched opening. The stone bed platform draped in dark silks. The violet-veined walls. The soft ambient hum that lived somewhere behind everything.
