Page 19 of Anomalies

My soul.

It’s foreign, this…anger, manifesting itself in an entirely different way—a new way. It cracks and fractures, crawling up my throat and setting my eyes on fire. I feel like I’m burning⁠—

The Captain goes utterly still, his voice dark as death, “Push that back down, Lucina, you don’t know how to use it yet.”

Holy gods.

This isn’t anger.

It’s magic.

7

LUCINA

It’s dark, and all I can hear is coughing. A symphony of it.

Someone is begging me to stay quiet.

“Shh…” A woman’s voice, hushed and broken. “Shh, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

Desperate footsteps echo off the walls, then a second voice floats in, deep and breathless. A man’s voice. “Hurry, we’re almost there.”

I startle awake, my breathing ragged, and there is someone in the corner of my room.

My room—no, my cabin. The one right next to Gemma’s.

The black figure shifts, standing to its full height—seven, maybe eight feet tall. There’s a deep, dark void where its face should be and long, shadowed fingers that hang at his sides. But when it steps out of the shadows⁠—

Blood rushes to my ears, fleeing my limbs so suddenly that they go numb.

Its silhouette has twisted, smoke rippling in the shape of a man. He’s wearing a suit, all-black, and as he crosses the room, I hear the clack of dress shoes on the hardwood.

I’m still dreaming. I have to be. I’m in a drift between worlds; stuck in some seam of space that comes right after dreams. I just haven’t woken up yet.

The shadowed man comes to an eerie stop at the foot of the bed. Then the springs creak as he sits down.

That’s when I scream. But nothing comes out. The blood rushes faster, thicker, my heart throbbing with fear.

He turns slowly to face me, in a way that’s feline. Animalistic. Unnatural. His face is still nothing but a black hole, a swirling pool of darkness that ripples. No mouth, no nose, no eyes— but he’s looking straight into mine. I know it. I feel it.

His fingers, long and spindly, unfurl.

No.

They reach up, stretching across the linen sheets⁠—

No, no, no.

Holy gods, I can’t move. I can’t feel anything in my body.

But I feel his frigid fingers on my cheek. I feel tears slip past them. Then I hear it⁠—

His voice.

Dark and cold and ruthless.

“Shh, don’t cry, Lune Sylra.” There’s nothing human about it, that voice, not as it vibrates off the walls and ripples through the air. “I’m here now.”