Amber light poured gently through the vast glass walls, coating everything in a honeyed glow, turning the world into an everlasting painting of tranquility and warmth.
Lucy gently clasped my hand; her touch was soft and warm, like the lazy sunlight of an early spring afternoon. We walked slowly along the transparent wall, towards a giant amber sun suspended immobile in the sky, forever hovering just above the horizon, fixed within a tapestry of crimson and gold.
Pushing open a door inlaid with delicate golden patterns, we fell instantly into a vortex of delight.
It was an endless celebration. Glasses clinked in mid-air, their gentle ringing like distant wind chimes. Dresses fluttered gently under neon lights, flowing and swirling like ripples across a serene lake. People embraced and kissed, laughing freely; someone fell from a countertop with laughter, caught gently by an even greater wave of cheers and applause. Everything was indulgent and sweet, like drowning slowly in flowing honey, making one forget oneself entirely.
Lucy guided me effortlessly through the throng, her soft hair brushing gently against my cheek, leaving behind a comforting warmth.
Another door opened quietly, and we stepped into another world entirely.
Bright lights illuminated a central sand-covered arena, spotlighting two young, athletic men locked in a graceful yet fierce struggle. Their toned muscles glistened attractively with sweat, each powerful movement highlighting a raw beauty and vitality. The audience watched intently, their eyes ablaze with fascination and excitement. Every forceful collision of bodies elicited deep sighs of admiration—this wasn't violence, but a passionate dance celebrating primal strength.
I caught my breath, feeling my heartbeat quicken. Lucy remained calm and poised, leading me gently forward as if every scene were utterly normal.
Finally, we entered a pristine and elegant exhibition hall.
The interior was bright and immaculate, as silent as moonlight. Tall glass display cases lined the hall, showcasing delicate porcelain, intricate sculptures, and exquisite tapestries, each item seemingly frozen in time and memory. Yet curiously, visitors casually handled these precious objects, carelessly tossing them aside. A delicate sculpture shattered into shards against the polished floor, creating an unsettling yet oddly beautiful sound.
Strangely, nobody reacted. Visitors continued chatting quietly, admiring other pieces as if nothing had occurred. Guards stood immobile, their vacant eyes indifferent to everything around them.
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An unsettling sense of dread crept over me. Quickly, I pulled out my phone to check the time. The screen lit, but the upper left corner—where the time should have been displayed—was starkly empty, as though nothing had ever existed there, a blank space pure and absolute.
I turned to Lucy, my voice trembling slightly, “Lucy...why is there no time here? Why can they destroy the exhibits freely without being stopped?”
Lucy raised her head slowly, gazing at me with tender sorrow. Her fingers gently brushed against my cheek as she whispered softly:
“It’s alright. Even if you’ve overlapped, it’s fine. You can come again next time.”
The air suddenly stilled. Two guards in black uniforms silently approached, their touch gentle yet irresistibly firm as they guided me away. I tried to resist, but my strength drained like water absorbed into sand, slipping slowly into confusion and fear.
Glancing back one last time, I saw Lucy standing quietly beneath the eternal sunset, a faint, enigmatic smile upon her lips—as though the whole world were merely a fleeting dream lingering at her fingertips.
I regained consciousness still sitting in the meeting room chair, my head slightly dizzy, as if I'd just awakened from a long dream.
Instinctively, I looked around, only to find everyone absorbed in their documents or screens. No one seemed to notice my moment of absence—no surprise, no concern—as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
A colleague glanced at me, handed over a cup of coffee casually, and smiled lightly. “You okay? You seem out of it.” His voice was indifferent, indicating nothing was particularly worth paying attention to.
I was soon sent to the company's infirmary.
The infirmary was clean and sparse, the faint smell of disinfectant lingering in the air. The medical officer, a young man with a strong build and neatly cut short hair, looked at me with calm, sharp eyes. Without small talk, he placed an ice pack on my forehead and said directly, “You're awake? I’ve already recorded your case. It's nothing unusual.”
“What case?” I asked carefully.
The officer glanced at me, his voice calm and firm: “Dissociation. It's common—nothing to worry about.”
I tried to ask further, but the officer had already lowered his head, continuing to fill out paperwork without further explanation.
The evening felt unusually long. I switched on the television, finding only dull and meaningless images flickering on the screen. Messages from colleagues were conspicuously silent. No one asked how I was. I opened the fridge, poured myself a glass from the unfinished bottle of gin, and stared blankly at the transparent liquid.
The next day, I went straight into the infirmary and confronted the medical officer. “Yesterday you mentioned ‘dissociation.’ What exactly did you mean? Why wouldn’t you clearly explain it?”
The officer stopped his work and slowly looked up, regarding me with an indescribably complex expression. Finally, he spoke:
“You really want to know? Then go ahead—think about the Dusk.”
I froze. The word resonated through the air like a spell, immediately triggering waves of vivid imagery. Glass walls, an amber-colored sun, the vague silhouette of a woman…
My consciousness blurred again, reality shimmering like rippling water. The next moment, I felt the gentle touch of soft, warm lips brushing against my own.
I opened my eyes, meeting Lucy’s tender gaze.
