“W-who are you? I didn’t do anything,” I cry out.
“Not yet. But you will. You can’t help it. Yourkindcan’t help it. Selfishness is in your blood, Nykander.”
I shake my head at her words. It’s not true. It can’t be true.
“There will come a time when you will have a choice to make. And you will make the wrong one. Youalwaysmake the wrong choice…”
Her voice becomes distant, like a faraway whisper.
“You always make the wrong choice.”
I wake up gasping for air. The words resound in my mind.
What was that?
Did I make it up? Was it some type of psychological aftereffect left behind by seeing that individual’s true form?
Or is there something more to it?
I gulp down uneasily as I get out of bed and head to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. My body is heavy,hot.
As if the experience from the dream hadbeenreal.
Was it real?Was that female real?
If so, who was she? What did she mean by the fact that I always make the wrong choice?
I slam the glass on the table, clenching my hand around it until it breaks. Shards of glass tear at my flesh, making megrimace in pain. Yet my mind doesn’t perceive it as such: it’s still too wrapped up in that dream sequence.
The female was similar to the vision I saw at the Lake,beforethe fight with the individual.
I shake my head, confused.
Was it truly real, or am I just traumatized?
Methodically, I take out a kitchen towel and clean up the blood, then the shards of glass. From my medicine cabinet I take out some gauze and cleaning solution.
Going back to my bed, I carefully extract the leftover shards from my skin. The pain slams into me tenfold now, almost as if my body remembered it’s alive—that itfeelspain.
I clean the wound and wrap my hand in gauze—calmly, steadily. Even I am shocked at the clinical way I’m approaching this when any other time I would have been freaking out about it.
But my mind is still not all there. Something isnotright, and I don’t know what.
It takes me a few hours to calm myself, and when I do, it’s already noon. Since I promised Miss Moe I’d come to the restaurant earlier, I get dressed and head out the door.
The weather is slowly starting to warm up, to the point that I no longer need my thick coat. A pair of pants, a long-sleeved shirt and a light long coat are perfect.
Although still unsettled by that dream, the thought of seeing Miss Moe again and spending time with her quickly lifts my spirits.
Last night, as I was falling asleep, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d touched and hugged me, and unsurprisingly, I experienced another bout ofexcitement.
This time, though, in the privacy of my home, I dared todosomething about it. The books only spoke of a certain motion that activates a male’s seed, but they weren’t too detailed. I hadto figure it out on my own through trial and error, but in the end…
Warmth spreads up my neck as I remember the exact moment I spilled my seed for the first time. Her face, her smile, her touch, her scent—all of it captivated my mind until yearning turned to blinding pleasure.
The books certainly did not doitjustice. But no matter how powerful that bout of pleasure was, I can’t help thinking that if I were to share such a moment with Miss Moe, if she were to put her hands on me…
I stop, my hand covering my mouth in shock at my own thoughts.
