As I stepped through the gate, my foot kissed the cobblestone beyond, and I was met with a vibrant, bustling market that enveloped me like a warm embrace. Activities and lively exchanges spilled generously along the thoroughfare, carving a lively path straight toward a distant, mighty castle. This was no Arabian Nights-esque pace; rather, it was a Sleeping Beauty super-castle, its spires audaciously piercing the heavens.

  I all but forgot about my hunger as I took everything in with a sense of wonder and awe.

  It’s like a ren fair.

  Oh, I loved going to those!

  No, I didn’t; I was an antisocial bitch.

  “Stop calling yourself a bitch—bitch!” I snapped at myself, catching a few odd stares from passersby. “What? You never talk to yourself?” I scoffed at them, brushing off their puzzled looks.

  I was about to go back to taking in all the sights when I noticed a child staring at me. Pretty sure that’s the second kid I’ve seen since coming to this reality. So, of course, I stared back. Although, I’m still not sure if I’m inside the Realm of Dreams right now or not.

  Worst.

  Respawn.

  Ever!

  “Mommy, why does her head twitch like that?” the child asked while trying to hide behind her mother, who moved almost robotically without acknowledging her own child.

  My head doesn’t twitch… does it?

  Ha—we’re more messed up than we thought!

  It’s ‘I,’ damn it!

  There’s a reflection over there.

  I pulled my gaze from the kid and gnced at a nearby window, scrutinizing my reflection. Everything seemed normal—until my head gave an abrupt, involuntary twitch. It was like something straight out of a creepy horror movie featuring a possessed demonic chick. I liked it, though I’d never admit it. Actually, forget I said that. As far as you’re concerned, my head doesn’t twitch.

  ‘I’ think we’ve got some form of Tourette’s now.

  It’s just ‘I’, not... You know what? Fuck it. I don’t care!

  Ha! ‘I’ say that, but we’ll be back to bitching about it next chapter.

  …

  “Shit,” I breathed out as I—um, not—twitched once more before shrugging it off and returning to take in all the sights again.

  Broken.

  Always broken.

  Wagons and citizens navigated the road with practiced ease. At the same time, ughter and the staggered steps of inebriated patrons spilled from an array of inns. These establishments, huddling near the entrance, boasted upper levels that leaned genially over the streets below, forming a makeshift canopy for the vendors nestled beneath.

  In stark contrast to the formidable walls and the castle in the distance, the buildings throughout the city showcased a humble reliance on sandstone, their facades candidly betraying the inhabitants’ endeavors to mimic affluence. Slices of marble were strategically adorned at the fronts of the structures, presenting an illusion—albeit thinly veiled—of complete marble construction. A select few, undoubtedly the dwellings of the more prosperous, boasted genuine marble from base to pinnacle. Despite the meld of sandstone and marble, there lingered a distinct German medieval aesthetic to the architectural designs, intertwining rugged functionality with quaint charm.

  Vendors, unfettered by permanent stalls, hawked their wares straight from worn wagons and well-used wheelbarrows, their goods dispyed with casual, easy accessibility.

  “Out of the way!” a voice bellowed from behind, accompanied by the rhythmic ctter of wooden wheels against cobblestone.

  Didn’t they have floating wagons in that camp outside of…

  “What was the name of that vilge I blew up?” I whispered to the wind, lost in a cascade of thoughts. “Yeastmond, Eastmond, mond—Something mond… no, it was a berge. Wait, witch, stern, molester, easter—Elsternwick! Ha, that’s it!” My arms shot triumphantly into the air, my excmation slicing through the market’s steady hum around me.

  Yeah, they did have floating wagons.

  Why not here?

  I bet those enchantments that let wagons float cost a pretty penny.

  “Out of the way!” the voice bellowed once more.

  Pivoting, my eyes swept over a vibrant, chaotic swirl of wagons, each one an incongruent bubble of untold tales, rattling assertively through the gate. Every vehicle, a disjointed isle of narratives, held its own against the impatient cobblestones. A serpentine line of fatigued, hopeful faces waited, extending their copper tokens to the steadfast, unimpressed gaze of the gate guard.

  Surprisingly enough, a few of the wagons were indeed floating. Each wagon, both floating and grounded, was pulled by an ugly beast that appeared to be a bizarre mix between an ox, a hog, and a camel, complete with a hump and distinctive sand-brown coloration. It was an ugly beast...

  “I wonder what it would taste like?” I mused aloud, a wicked grin spreading across my face, complete with a bit of acidic yellow drool slipping from the corner of my mouth. “Probably chewy, but hey, I’m not picky.”

  As they trudged past, a tether of perplexing curiosity bound my mind. Where did these fresh arrivals come from—the ostensibly vacant sands behind me? A mirage, perhaps? After all, I had been the st in line, hadn’t I? Their stories, ephemeral and tantalizing, danced at the fringes of my understanding, teasingly just out of reach.

  This is definitely the dream realm messing with my head.

  The discordant symphony of bartering voices and the rhythmic pulsations of spilled ale, along with the uneven footfalls of those stumbling out of inns and—oh my, brothels—whimsically pulled my attention back into the immediate, tangible chaos around me. As all thoughts of whether this pce was real or a dream evaporated with a single distracted gnce at the brothel—

  Titties!

  I meandered down the road, my gaze sifting through the array of vendor goods while considering my scant options. Don’t tell my sexy vampire that I may have occasionally gnced back at that brothel a few dozen times.

  It’s not cheating if it’s in a dream, right?

  Pretty sure it still counts.

  Pulling my naughty eyes back to the vendors’ wares, I sighed at being seriously devoid of cash. Yes, I could likely locate someone in a dimly lit back alley, bring about their premature demise, eat them, and snatch their coin, but again… I’m absolutely convinced this isn’t real. Moreover, I needed to find my way back to my Aislinn (Aurelia). However… I wasn’t sure how to get out of this pce.

  Vendors continued their animated sales pitches, pedestrians persisted in their bustling pilgrimage along the thoroughfare, and wagons rumbled by—all blissfully unaware of my existence, which seemed to flutter in and out as though picking and choosing when I was a part of this realm or not.

  With a nonchant shrug, I sidled up to a random vendor. The elf before me was a portrait of indulgence, his belly a prominent dome beneath his stained tunic. His hairline had evidently surrendered to time, retreating from a forehead generously dotted with moles. His teeth, a colorful mosaic of yellows, oranges, and browns, seemed to harbor memories of countless meals past.

  The sleaziness of his appearance was something I found splendid. It was clear he was a sleaze bag—I instantly loved him. Well, not love-love him, but more like the way a rancher looks for the best cow to butcher kind of affection.

  Amidst his wares—a mencholy collection of aged hand mirrors, each visibly bearing the unkindness of time on their tarnished reflective surfaces—I half-expected to find bloodstains. Sure enough, upon closer scrutiny, speckles of blood adorned a few. Ah, it seemed I’d stumbled upon this reality’s version of a pawn shop, seemingly teeming with stolen goods.

  Even if this is a dream, we might be able to get some intel on Elsternwick and what happened after we woke up here.

  It’s ‘I,’ damnit.

  Couldn’t wait until the next chapter, could ‘we’?

  Trying to feign interest in his wares, I sparked a conversation with the elf. “I heard the mirrors from Elsternwick are quite desirable. Wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?” I cautiously inquired, steering clear of mentioning its destruction.

  The slimy vendor blinked a few times, seemingly only just registering my presence. “Ah, I’ve got the finest goods this side of the desert,” he responded, his tone carrying the wear of countless repetitions.

  My eyebrows knit together. Was he sidestepping the topic of Elsternwick? Pressing, I repeated, “These are… fine wares, but what about goods from Elsternwick? Do you have any?”

  Ugh, I suck at this.

  Yeah, you do.

  Fuck off!

  “Ah, I’ve got the finest goods this side of the desert,” he parroted again, unflinching.

  A frown carved its way across my face as I lifted one of the hand mirrors, my reflection staring back at me. My eyes, almond-shaped, emanated a brilliant orange glow as though they were forged of molten iron. My appearance bore no sembnce to my past life. Even as a shape-shifting monster, I found it amusing—or perhaps subconscious—that I had adopted features from my favorite crushes, an eclectic blend of beloved K-pop singers and Jolie’s lips. Though the result seemed more Latina than I had intended, I was undeniably striking. My complexion was not merely pale but starkly, unnaturally white—akin to fresh snow or, more accurately… delicate spider silk.

  What happened to looking like Anya Taylor-Joy?

  “I can’t seem to pick an appearance,” I sighed.

  My hair, equally spectral, cascaded down to the nape of my lower back in a pallid waterfall of darkness. Despite embodying the appearance of an ethereal horror, a scan of my surroundings confirmed that no one spared me a second gnce, even with my conspicuously glowing eyes. Maybe in a reality interwoven with magic, my odd yet gorgeous appearance was less bizarre than it felt internally.

  Shit!

  What?

  Just twitched again.

  With a flicker of annoyance, I pulled my gaze from the mirror, only to realize that the cart was now abandoned. The sleazy vendor had vanished, along with his wares. Stranger still, the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the now desote market street. The remaining vendors, with practiced haste, stowed away their goods and guided their wagons homeward. And there I stood, ensnared in confusion, clutching a silver mirror. Its surface, though tarnished around the edges, was enveloped by meticulously hand-carved grooves.

  “How long had I been staring at myself?” The question escaped my lips, a whispered breath dissolving into the burgeoning twilight. “Whatever,” I tossed the mirror over my shoulder, not even bothering to check why I hadn’t heard it shatter.

  Definitely a dream.

  I sauntered toward a handful of vendors, those who nguidly stowed their goods with no particur hurry. Yet, my attempts to engage were met with nothing but disregarding silence. Not a single gaze met mine, as if I, with my ghostly white and bck visage, was invisible or perhaps intentionally ignored. My feelings teetered between perplexity and a budding irritation.

  As twilight stretched its dimming fingers across the town, a new, lively cascade of individuals swirled into the streets, repcing the daytime bustle with a different, more scivious energy. Stalls funting an array of nocturnal delicacies popped up, catering to the emerging nightlife while I, amidst the growing crowd, remained unseen, unacknowledged.

  I wandered, observing scantily cd women whose garments were more absent than present. The numbers had grown compared to the day, stationed seductively outside brothels. Their eyes hungrily scanned the passersby for potential clientele. However, my presence slipped through their scrutiny like water through fingers, not warranting even a fleeting gnce. Strangely, it was their disregard that stung the sharpest, a sobering affirmation of my apparent invisibility.

  No titties for you!

  I could take a dick or three.

  Oh, fuck off.

  Isn’t that what we’re considering?

  “Okay, that’s it,” I swore aloud, “Shut the fuck up!” I screamed at the voices in my head, not caring who heard me. In fact, any reaction from those on the street would be great at this point.

  Just before my thoughts could spiral into pondering the myriad possibilities of the situation—chaos, randomness, and bickering included—a male voice beside me punctured the silence. “Hey, I’ve never seen you here before.”

  Turning my gaze toward the voice, I found nothing but empty space beside me.

  “Down here,” he prompted.

  Casting my eyes downward, a gnome came into view. Goggles were perched atop his head while a pair of rge, framed gsses sat upon his nose. He wore a harness that sported an array of trinkets hanging off a belt, including what appeared to be a wrench and a hammer. His entire aesthetic screamed steampunk to me.

  “Hello?” I asked more than greeted.

  “I haven’t seen you here before,” he repeated.

  “Just got into town,” I replied. Before politeness—or even ruthlessness—could dictate asking for his name or inquiring about Elsternwick, a more pressing curiosity bubbled forth. “Umm...why’s everyone ignoring me?”

  It’s a dream, that’s why.

  Yeah. Seriously Bke.

  “Oh, they get that way around here with new people,” he waved his hand dismissively, “it’s nothing to worry about. They do the same thing to me most of the time. Oh, I’m Niko, by the way,” he smiled, a genuine warmth lighting his eyes. “It’s so nice to meet someone who’ll talk to me,” he beamed, his small stature seeming to infte slightly with the joy of interaction.

  “Yeah… okay,” I replied, a frown still tugging at the corners of my mouth amidst my confusion. “Anyways, do you know what happened in Elsternwick?”

  Niko’s smile flickered, repced by a cautious apprehension. “Elsternwick? Never heard of it,” he paused, an eerie seriousness filtering through his voice. “What I mean is, I’ve never crossed the desert to know what’s out there. It’s dangerous to cross the desert. A lot of caravans leave, only to never come back,” he offered, carefully avoiding eye contact, his fingers nervously toying with a trinket on his belt.

  However, my attention shifted as my gaze flitted upwards, eyes locking onto the surreal sight of a wooden hull that unmistakably belonged to what seemed like an old pirate ship. It sailed with a steady, unhurried pace just above the street, its shadow skimming past us and narrowly evading some peculiarly shaped chimneys—a structural feature that felt a tad out of pce in a desert city.

  Curiosity got the better of me, and my words tumbled out, “How do the airships not crash into the chimneys sailing that low?”

  Niko’s eyes followed my gaze upwards, and then, nonchantly, he replied, “Hmm—oh, those aren’t chimneys, they’re called badgirs. They use them for air circution to keep the buildings cool. They did the same thing in ancient Persia—”

  His words cut off as he registered the sharp, focused intensity of my stare. The air between us grew taut, charged with a tangible realization. His awkward chuckle, a feeble attempt to gloss over the seemingly innocent slip, hovered uneasily in the atmosphere.

  “Persia?” My voice held an edge, part accusation, and part inquiry.

  He’s from Earth!

  Kill him!

  What—why? No. No. Bad thoughts. Don’t kill… Yet.

  Niko fumbled for words, his eyes flitting around before settling back on mine with the reluctance of a cornered cat.

  “Oh, um... It’s just somepce I heard of once,” his voice quivered slightly, ughter forced out like a hiccup, the previous joy now twisted into a nervous twitch. “Not sure it even exists, you know?” His awkward chuckle was more telling than any confession.

  “I see... So, definitely not a spot on any real Earth map, then?” I drawled, ying each word out like a trap, watching the tremors flit across his face.

  The gnome’s eyes bulged behind his spectacles, mouth dropping open in a perfect ‘o’ of shock. His tools jangled discordantly as he froze, a shiver—part fear, part recognition—quivering through him.

  “Y-You, were Isekai’d too?” His whisper barely reached my ears, swept away by the night’s whispers.

  As the magical city’s nocturnal life swirled around us, a silent accord wove our stories together, stitching reality with the threads of the unreal.

  Which one of you shattered pieces is getting all fancy with the narrative?

  Shut it, I’m into it!

  Amid the din of revelry and drunken shuffles, a spectral flicker at the edge of my vision snagged my attention—a hint of pink that cut through the chaos like a neon sign in the fog. While I kept one eye on Niko, the other tracked the delicate, out-of-pce figure of a little girl draped in vibrant pink, her stare heavy with an inky darkness that tickled the fringes of my sanity.

  Pulling my full focus away from Niko to where the girl had been, I found only the drunken dance of the crowd.

  “Did you see a little girl in pink?” I blurted out, more to the night than to him.

  Silence.

  I snapped my gaze back, but Niko had vanished into the night, swallowed up like a secret. Whirling around, I scanned the thronging streets, hunting for any sign of the gnome or the girl—a quest through a tapestry of magic, shadows, and fleeting glimpses.

  “Well… Shit,” I sighed, frustration knitting my brows.

  All this drama for some help I supposedly need? Please.

  I don’t need help.

  Oh, ‘we’ need help—professional help.

  Zip it! I just need to find my way back to Aislinn.

  1

  Like what you read? Wait—you actually did? Well, hot damn! I thought I was the only one with mental issues!

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