“All rise!” The bailiff’s deep, booming voice echoed through the courtroom. Each person and being present stood to their feet in perfect unison. “The Court of Souls is now in session. The Honorable Judge Agathangelos presiding.”

Judge Agathangelos was a weary being with a tough job. Not everyone had what it took to lay final judgment on the living and the dead. Actually, no one but Agathangelos did, which is why he had always done it. It’s not that he loved it. He loathed it, actually. He sent more people down below than up above, and their ear-piercing cries and screams kept him up at night. Not that he ever slept, but he would have liked the option—you know?

Everyone sat as Agathangelos took his spot behind his bench and examined the scene before him. It was quite the common commotion. A clearly damned soul, eager to prove their pointless case. A frazzled and unprepared defense lawyer and the slick and savvy prosecutor who always won.

Agathangelos sighed, deeply, and rested his head on his palm. “Alright, what do we have here?”

The prosecutor slithered to the stand to speak first. Agathangelos thought her blood-red pantsuit gave her quite the stylish yet intimidating look. He made a mental note to ask her where she’d picked it up. She spoke.

“Your Honor. This is an open and shut case. The defendant, Erica, is a known sub-poster with no backbone. I mean, she couldn’t have even been bothered to pick up the phone and handle her confrontations in an honorable way. She lived a life behind a screen and in the shadows—”

“Objection!” The defense lawyer hopped up, knocking over a briefcase in his lap and spilling a slew of papers everywhere.

Agathangelos could smell the strength of his coffee-tinged breath from behind the bench. His tie was also tied incorrectly. He made a mental note to discuss this fashion mishap with his friends later.

“What exactly are you objecting to?” The judge tried his best to look truly interested.

“The whole thing, your honor! My client was being the bigger, more gracious person! Her friend was attacking her, and she merely made a statement to defend her honor.”

Agathangelos looked down at the defendant. A scrawny young woman who was almost folded into herself. She crossed her legs tightly, hunched over, and wrapped her arms around her body. She trembled slightly. He almost felt bad for her.

“Erica, is it?” The judge deferred to the young woman. “What do you have to say about all this?

“W-well. I guess she’s right.” Erica spoke without looking up. “I was a coward. I’ve always been.”

“And cowardice is far from Holy—” The prosecutor hissed.

“Please,” Agathangelos raised his hand. “Let the woman speak. It’s her soul on the line, after all.” He looked down at Erica. “Go on.”

“It’s true. I avoided confrontation. I pushed everyone away…” Erica’s head raised slowly. Her sad, sullen eyes met Agathangelos’ dark black pupils. “I lived alone, and I died alone. And that’s not the way it’s supposed to be, is it?”

Agathangelos thought for a moment. No, it wasn’t the way life was meant to be lived, and he was certain that he’d be sending poor, cowardly Erica to the pits of Hell. But he didn’t think she needed to feel any worse than she already did, and any worse than she would for the rest of eternity, so he settled on telling a bit of a lie. A lie that he wanted to believe himself.

“Well, life has many meanings, really. And there’s no one way to live it. There are wrong ways and right ways, it’s true. But not everyone is dealt the same cards, and you were unfortunately handed a bare stack.”

Erica’s eyes softened into a look that felt foreign to Agathengelos, and the corners of her mouth curled into what could have been a smile. He thought for a moment that she looked hopeful.

“Your Honor!” the defense lawyer gasped in disbelief. “What are you saying?”

“Please tell me you’re not considering saving her soul?” the prosecutor added, narrowing her eyes into slits.

“I’m saying,” Agathangelos rubbed his temples in frustration, “that not everyone is given the same circumstances in life. So why use the same set of criteria to judge them? Seems a bit outdated if you ask me. Boring, almost.”

“Your Honor,” the defense attorney continued, “there is no such thing as ‘outdated’ when it comes to The Law. You, of all people, should know this—considering your age.”

Agathangelos winced at the mention of his ever-climbing age. It was a touchy subject. With each passing Millenium, he feared he was falling out of fashion. Embarrassed, his fear morphed into anger.

“You vacuous imp—” Agathangelos caught himself before devolving into the more uncouth being he’d been in his youth. Nothing was more unfashionable than losing your cool. He cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t you be defending your client?”

The defense attorney stood up straight, adjusting both his posture and his tacky tie. He wiped the confused and bumbling look off his face and replaced it with one of menacing surety. “We all know these hearings are just for show. What are you doing?”

Agathangelos also stood to his feet, casting a tall, dark shadow over the two lawyers before him…and a still-shaken Erica. His eyes widened into infinite black pools, and his voice deepened to a low growl. “Is this my courtroom…or yours?”

The defense attorney retreated in fear, shrinking back into his lurched posture. “Sorry, your Honor.” He readjusted his tie to its original, crooked position.

“Now,” Aganthagelos settled back down behind his bench as he looked down at Erica, who looked up in fear, “where were we?”

“Erm,” she answered, “you were explaining the bare stack I’d been handed.”

“Ah, right.” Aganthangelos propped his elbow on the bench and laid his chin in his palm again. “Tell us, what were those cards? What led you to become the spineless creature we see quivering before us today?”

Erica thought for a moment. “A girl named Delia. She was my friend at some point. But as we grew up and older, her annoyance for me grew too. I could see it in her eyes, the pity. But I avoided the feeling that crept in my chest…”

The prosecutor hissed, “Interjecting to highlight the defendant’s dismissal of her God-given intuition.”

An irritated Agathangelos slowly turned his head and examined the prosecutor from head to toe.

She flinched.

He spoke. “You’ll have to tell me where you purchased your suit….”

The prosecutor blushed, looking down at her outfit. “Oh, I had it tailored in the Fifth Circle of—”

“…after the trial.”

The prosecutor cleared her throat and sunk back into her seat. “Yes, your honor.”

Agathangelos looked back at Erica, motioning for her to continue.

“It’s true, I ignored my intuition. I should’ve known it would all end up like this.” Erica looked down in thought and shook her head. “Delia treated me like an old mismatched sock. The kind you don’t remember buying, and you can never find its other half, so you just stuff it in the back of your drawer because you can’t wear it, but don’t wanna get rid of it either. I knew something wasn’t right. And one day, I found the courage to ask why I was being treated so poorly. That was my first mistake.”

Agathangelos leaned in, fascinated to learn more about the intricacies of human friendships. “Go on.”

“She didn’t take kindly to the question,” Erica continued, “After that, I was uninvited to parties. People would whisper when I walked into a room. In the end, it hurt so much that I just exiled myself. I stopped answering calls. I hid behind a screen. My only source of connection was the internet. Until that was ruined for me too.”

Near tears, Erica looked up into Aganthagelos’ inky eyes. “I logged in and found they’d been ridiculing me. Calling me names and I—I couldn’t take it. So I sent my own post.” Erica sighed and averted her eyes before continuing. “I said, ‘some people are just plain horrible, and there’s nothing you can do about it’. Unfortunately, Delia figured it was about her and—”

“Wait, that’s it? That’s the post?” Agathangelos’ face twisted with confusion. “There’s got to be more.”

Erica shook her head. “That was it. She called me, while I was…I can’t quite remember. But I was afraid of what she’d say. I couldn’t face her, even through the phone. So I ignored the ringing...but I was distracted and then…then…I woke up here.”

“You are here because of a single post?” the judge asked in disbelief.

Erica nodded.

Agathangelos sighed and examined the thick stack of paperwork before him. There it was, plain as day, written in ink as dark as night: ‘Erica Lott: Hellbound’. Right under was a blank line, waiting for his signature.

The defense was right. The proceedings were just for show. A way to entertain bored creatures and give damned souls a rundown of their offenses before being tossed into the fiery pits of the Underworld. Agathangelos had watched murderers, adulterers, and thieves cry and beg for his forgiveness. But a small, pathetic, friendless woman wouldn’t bode too well in Hell. He quickly flicked the tiny jar of ink sitting on the bench, letting its contents spill across the documents.

“Ah, it seems there’s been a misprinting of sorts,” he said. “I’ll have to make the call myself.”

There were hushed gasps and quiet creaks heard throughout the courtroom. No one dared to speak, as they didn’t want to incite the ire of Agathangelos. The defense lawyer and prosecutor shot uncomfortable looks at one another.

Agathangelos spoke. “Erica Lott. You were a coward on Earth, but here in this courtroom, you’ve owned up to your shortcomings. That takes bravery and integrity.” He flicked his eyes downward at her worn leather loafers and colorful ankle socks. “And you have amazing taste in shoes.”

Erica sheepishly smiled. “Thank you, judge.”

He continued. “Because of this, I’ll be sending you…above.”

The courtroom exploded into a cacophony of shrill screams and wild jeers.

Agathangelos wildly banged his gavel. “Quiet! Quiet! Before I have all you vile creatures sent to the deepest darkest, most painful pits of Hades!”

As the courtroom quieted, the bailiff extended his hand to Erica. She took his hand and stood to her feet, looking at Aganthangelos with wide eyes full of disbelief.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Agathangelos’ lips curled into what one might call a smile.

***

Delia, Sarah, and Benny sat at a small table in a tiny coffee shop catching up after a terrible week. Their friend Erica had died days before. Delia felt responsible, as she was the last person on Earth to reach out to her. Benny assured her it wasn’t her fault. Sarah sucked her teeth and said, “Come on guys, she kind of deserved it.”

Delia gasped. “Oh my gosh, don’t say that.”

“We all know she was weird,” Sarah continued. “Just posting and never leaving that room of hers.”

“Yeah,” Benny looked down uncomfortably, “she called me an unthinking twat...”

“To be fair, you did say her hair was a mess and her loafers looked incredibly lived in,” Delia added.

Benny thought for a moment. “True.”

Sarah sighed. “Forget all that. She couldn’t stand to see you shine, Deels. And she had the nerve to say you were mistreating her. I’m glad she’s gone.”

Delia and Benny both nervously averted their eyes. Sarah had always been the more blunt and outspoken of the three. It was true, though. They never really liked Erica. Well, Delia once had until their once tight-knit bond eroded. But as time went on and Erica became more of a recluse, Delia thought she ought to bury the hatchet and try to make amends. But then, she died.

“I’ve got the bill today.” Delia smiled. “I’m grateful for you both. I’m just…happy for real friends. And hopefully Erica’s at peace.”

Sarah huffed. “Yeah, hopefully she’s nice and warm wherever she is.”

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I discovered I was invisible on an otherwise uneventful Wednesday. That morning I sat up in bed and breathed in slowly, letting the air fill my lungs. With my eyes still closed, I reached up and smoothed my silk bonnet. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and ran my fingers down my arm. I could feel every fine strand of hair. But when I turned to check out my reflection in my vanity mirror, there was nothing there.

I had completely disappeared.

I can’t say it was a surprise, as I’d felt myself fading for quite some time. It was a slow process, really. It began with co-workers grazing past me in the hallway and quipping, “Oh, I didn’t see you there!”. To friends forgetting to return my calls and messages. And eventually, the feeling culminated into weekends and evenings spent alone and forgotten. I might as well have been invisible, and then...I was.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve completely disappeared,” I spoke to my manager on the phone, nervously twirling the cord in my fingers.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m afraid I can’t come in for work today. I’ve disappeared.” I glanced at the mirror and was slightly amused to see a floating phone where my reflection should have been.

“Listen, uh—hold on.” The phone dropped momentarily before reconnecting. I could hear an increasing commotion in the background. “Listen Lisa, er, Lena, was it? I have to go, take the day off, it’s fine. Just be back here tomorrow.”

“Oh—” Before I could answer, the phone clicked and disconnected. I had meant to say my name was neither Lena nor Lisa but, really, it didn’t matter much anymore.

I carefully placed both feet on the ground, feeling the thick carpet fiber between my toes.

“Well, this is it then,” I said to myself. “I suppose I should go about my day.”

I stood to my feet and went through my usual morning routine. Tidying up here and there while sighing heavily for several minutes. Eating a breakfast of three scrambled eggs and toast. Brushing my teeth for exactly two minutes and slipping into a shapeless yet presentable outfit. It was a routine I’d built around my loneliness. If I didn’t complete my morning ritual, I didn’t feel alive.

After my ritual, I remembered I was invisible, so I removed my clothing. I didn’t want to startle anyone by walking past them as a seemingly sentient outfit. I admired my newfound nothingness in my bathroom mirror before stepping out into the world.

***

My first order of business as an invisible woman was sneaking into an afternoon movie showing. It was something I’d always wanted to experience but never had the courage to try on my own. I sidled past the ticket clerk and sat in a dark theater, ready to watch big-name stars battle each other on the silver screen. A couple sitting beside me, thinking they were alone, argued about who was the most stubborn between them. In my opinion, it seemed to be the man.

“I swear you never let up, Caroline,” the man groaned while cradling their shared bucket of popcorn.

“Me? This could’ve been resolved ages ago but you keep bringing it back up. You just can’t admit when you’re wrong.” Caroline crossed her arms and turned her body away from the man. The two of us were face to face now. She was so close I could smell the butter and salt that tinged her breath as she huffed in frustration.

“I’m not wrong.” The man continued.

“You’ll never understand me, will you?”

As the man continued to defend his stance, I watched the defiant expression slowly fade from Caroline’s face. A look of sorrow and resignation took its place instead. I reached out and placed a comforting hand on hers. She jumped, taken aback.

“What now?” the man asked.

“Something touched me. Just now.” A still-spooked Caroline leaned forward, slowly waving her hand a few inches away from my translucent body. I held my breath, hoping she wouldn’t detect my presence.

The man rolled his eyes. “Can we ever have one normal, peaceful afternoon?”

Caroline took one long look at me, well, through me, before placing her hands in her lap and tightly crossing her legs. She turned away from me, towards the man.

As the lights dimmed and the glowing screen lit up with explosive action sequences and actors reciting poorly written lines, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Caroline. Her smooth skin. Her long, perfect braids. Her sullen expression.

***

After the movie, I followed the couple home. I’d kicked over their curbside trash bin and quickly slid through their front door as the man sighed and ambled across the front yard to clean it up.

Then, I sat in the kitchen and watched Caroline mop an already-spotless tiled floor. She polished and polished, stopping every few minutes to lean against the wall and look down in thought. I imagined she wanted to impress the man. Maybe she was hoping he’d walk in, see her mopping, and appreciate their shared dedication to cleanliness.

Instead, the man returned from his trash picking and breezed past me. Then he breezed past Caroline. She looked up and sharply inhaled, as if she were about to say something, but the man had already disappeared behind his study’s closed study. Caroline ceased her mopping and sunk into the chair beside me.

“I know how you feel,” I said, forgetting I was invisible.

Caroline’s head whipped in my direction. My heart raced.

“Who’s there?” she asked.

Suddenly, I felt the weight of my intrusion. I’d become a silent observer of Caroline’s private misery and it didn’t feel right. I wanted to apologize, to let her know I’d be on my way and she wouldn’t have to worry about my shameless voyeurism ever again. But when I opened my mouth to speak, nothing came out. Caroline slowly reached her hand towards me. I extended my own, weaving my fingers around hers. Fascinated, Caroline lifted her other hand. I held that one as well. I stared into her eyes, and she stared through mine.

“Are you a ghost?” she whispered.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why are you here?”

“I—I don’t know. You seemed to feel as invisible as I currently look.”

Caroline dropped her hands and leaned back in her chair, sighing heavily. “He works so much, you know. And I stay home. Cooking. Tidying. Mopping. Completely unseen, except for fleeting moments. And those moments are usually wrapped in conflict. I just…I feel so…alone.”

Being alone can do many things to a person. It can make you forget basic routines like brushing your teeth or eating a simple breakfast of three scrambled eggs. It can make you lose track of the days, with your Tuesday blurring into Thursday and into Saturday and into Monday. Being alone can also make you forget the sound of your own voice, even forget the feeling of grinning widely, or genuinely laughing from your belly. But worst of all, being alone can chip away at your humanity and leave you with a gaping hole in your soul. A feeling worse than loneliness. A feeling I knew all too well.

I leaned forward and embraced Caroline, hugging her tightly so she could feel every inch of my invisible flesh pressed against her lonely body. So she could feel my beating heart and my coiled hair brushing against her ear. She looked up at me.

“Wow, you’re beautiful,” she said.

“You can see me?” Heat rushed to my cheeks and ears as I hurried to cover my naked body with my hands.

Caroline nodded. Noticing my embarrassment, she removed her cardigan and draped it over my shoulders. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“I can’t remember,” I answered honestly.

It was at that moment the door to the man’s study swung open. Caroline wrapped her body around mine to shield her floating cardigan from her husband’s sight. He came lumbering out of the room and into the kitchen, where he opened the fridge and pulled out a can of beer. He glanced at Caroline and me, then sucked his teeth.

“I swear this woman’ll be the death of me,” the man muttered under his breath. “Can’t even clean properly. Just leaving laundry piled everywhere.” He shook his head and walked past us, returning back to his study and slamming the door shut behind him.

“Did you hear that?” Caroline excitedly asked. “He thought we were a pile of laundry,” she laughed. “I don’t think he can see me.”

I shook my head, afraid that I’d somehow transferred my ailment to Caroline. “What if I’ve infected you?”

“Infected me? You’ve blessed me.” Caroline smiled widely. “I’m free now.”

“Maybe we should see a doctor?” I asked.

“The doctor wouldn’t be able to see us.”

“Fair point.”

“I have an even better idea.” Caroline giggled mischievously as she spoke, “Let’s haunt burly men at the gym. Or sneak into upscale nightclubs. Or both!”

I had no interest in haunting men or indulging in the city’s nightlife. I just wanted to read books, watch movies, and make an honest living somehow. But I’d been so lonely for so long. And Caroline could see me. I didn’t want to lose her companionship so soon.

“Ok, sure,” I answered with a smile.

Caroline’s face lit up with excitement. She slipped out of her dress and tugged the cardigan from my shoulders, throwing her clothes in a pile for the man to find. “Please don’t be embarrassed. We’re in this together,” she explained.

It was my turn to smile now. I’d never heard those words in reference to me. Together. I liked the sound of it.

***

Caroline and I did haunt burly men at the gym. We’d misplace equipment and un-rack weights, causing chaos and confusion amongst the regulars and newbies.

“Hey man, the sign says ‘please re-rack your weights’. Simple.” A man in a sleeveless t-shirt huffed at another man in a long sleeve t-shirt as the two stood before the empty weight rack. Caroline and I had plucked each one from its resting place and lined them up perfectly on the floor, mere inches from their proper placements.

The man in the long sleeve shirt crossed his arms and stood his ground. “Listen, I put my weights up. Whatever happened after I put ‘em up isn’t my fault.”

Caroline snickered as the two men took turns shoving each other. I looked away. It wasn’t long before the shoving mutated into an all-out brawl, right there on the gym floor. Fists flew through the air. Men shouted from across the gym. The brawl grew from two to four to six men, each using the opportunity to let out their frustrations from the week on each other’s bodies.

“That was incredible!” After police were summoned to break up the fight, Caroline happily skipped down the street. I clumsily sauntered behind her. “Don’t you just feel alive?” she asked.

“Mhm,” I answered, afraid to express my disapproval.

“Let’s sneak into Solstice next. I’ve been wanting to go for so long, but my husband would always say, ‘married women have no business dancing in a dark club’.” Caroline would lower her voice and her brows when imitating the man. Although any mention of him was quickly followed up by a complaint, I often wondered if she missed him.

Caroline and I slept in the same bed, as I only had one, but she’d lay with her back facing me most nights. Occasionally she’d turn, reaching out a hand and caressing my arm in her sleep. One morning, while I was preparing my eggs and toast, I heard her quietly crying in the shower. After breakfast, I reached out to embrace her. She averted her eyes and rambled on about something she’d seen on the news, pretending she hadn’t seen my outstretched hands. I let my arms fall to my sides.

At Solstice, we squeezed past the large bouncer and the velvet ropes. The loud music rocked my eardrums and the flashing lights assaulted my sensitive eyes. Sweaty bodies bumped into us and each other as we made our way to the bar. Caroline held my hand and guided me through the crowd. I held my breath, wanting to savor her touch.

Caroline swiped two shots from the bar. She shoved a glass in my hands and cocked her head back, taking in the alcohol with a wide smile on her face. I hesitated.

“Quickly!” Caroline shouted, “Before they realize there’s a floating shot glass beside them!”

I took the shot and winced at the taste. Caroline looked on proudly.

And so our invisible adventures continued. During the day, we’d play mischievous pranks on people around the city. In the evening, we’d drink until we couldn’t think straight. At night, we’d sleep in our single bed, with what felt like a universe between us. After weeks of this routine, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Maybe we could try something new today?” I asked while Caroline sat in front of the television, watching the local news.

“Like what?” she asked, without taking her eyes off the screen.

“Maybe we could sneak into a bookstore after hours and read into the night. We could bring snacks and—”

“You can go alone if you want.”

You can go alone. The sharp and familiar sting of rejection knocked the wind out of me. I stepped back, reeling from Caroline’s dismissive tone. I continued my steps until I was out of the front door. Heartbroken, I walked into the street, forgetting I was invisible.

I don’t remember much after that. A screech, honked horns, and a racing car I found myself under. To other drivers on the street, the car was merely a nuisance—an asshole speeding in a residential neighborhood. To the driver of the car, I was nothing more than an invisible speedbump. I’m sure he checked his bumper for minor damage once he made it to his destination. To me, the car was a bulldozer, plowing over my legs and torso. I crawled to the side of the road, certain I’d broken something. Several somethings. I cried for help, and some turned their heads in my direction. Of course, no one could see me. I waited for Caroline.

Eventually, she’d emerge and see me lying on the sidewalk, mangled and alone. She’d save me, crying over my body while pulling me into the apartment. I just knew it. As time ticked on, my hope began to wane. My vision blurred with pain. Invisible blood had rushed from my wounds. I was losing consciousness, and Caroline was nowhere to be found.

***

Caroline wrapped herself in a blanket, letting salty tears stream down her face as she stared into the television screen. She’d been invisible for months and the man never looked for her. Never called or emailed her. Never put up any missing person posters or made any tearful pleas to find his wife on the local news. He didn’t care. Maybe he was happier without her.

She’d taken pills with her breakfast. It was hard to sneak them with the woman always watching her. The woman finally left Caroline alone that morning. Maybe she went to the bookstore that she mentioned. Hopefully, she was happy. Caroline closed her eyes as she drifted away, wondering if her body would ever be found.

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Amina sat alone at a small corner table at Le Deauville. As the French-sounding name implies, it was an extremely expensive restaurant. She was both pleased and shocked when her date offered to treat her to dinner. But she was neither pleased nor shocked when he was late.

Between herself and his empty chair, the waitress had placed a single tiny candle, and Amina bided her time by watching the flames twist and flicker almost in time with the music—an upbeat symphony played by a live string quartet.

By then, Amina had already spent the better part of an hour watching the couples around her clink glasses, slyly touch each other’s thighs, and force coy giggles as they became more and more intoxicated—by both the wine and the charms of their chosen partners. Love was certainly in the air, and it was so dense she could hardly breathe. By the time she shifted her gaze to the tiny flame, the drunken couples had begun to notice her and whisper, loudly, about the lonely diner in the room.

“Aw, do you think she was stood up?” She heard one sympathetic woman ask.

“No, maybe she’s just independent, y’know, like that woman who married herself. Maybe it’s a social experiment,” her progressive date answered while gently stroking her face. “Don’t worry about her. Let’s talk about you.”

Heat rushed to Amina’s ears, and she sunk into her chair.

“Excuse me, Miss, instead of water, would you like some wine while you wait?” Amina’s waitress had returned, wearing a sleek black button-up and holding a pitcher of water to refill her empty glass for the fourth time.

“Well, I...” Amina clutched the small, nearly empty purse in her hands. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“Are you sure?” The waitress’ brows knitted into a soft look of sympathy. “It’s complimentary.”

Amina smiled weakly. “Well, how can I turn that down? Sure, I’ll take a glass.”

She nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Amina sighed and glanced at her watch.

It was ten-thirty. An hour and a half after the proposed meeting time. Amina slid her jacket on, covering her bare shoulders and slinky, sequined black dress. She figured that no one in the restaurant cared to see anyway.

As time ticked onward, her mild embarrassment evolved into feelings of foolishness.

‘I should have known someone like Luke would have never given me the true time of day,’ she thought.

Given the attractiveness of his profile and his high-powered position in his company, Amina thought maybe another woman on the dating site had caught his eye. Maybe she was taller and slimmer. Maybe her grin was a little less toothy. Maybe she had more confidence and charisma. As she imagined the other woman, Amina mentally surrendered to her fate. She was resigned to becoming a lonely woman with a herd of cats to keep her company. She wasn’t particularly fond of cats, but she could learn to love them in the way no man had ever done for her.

A gentle vibration interrupted Amina’s self-deprecating thoughts. It was her cellphone. She fumbled with her purse a bit as she slid it out, expecting the call to be from Luke. Instead, it was her mother. She sucked her teeth, silenced the call, and set her gaze upon the flame again.

‘I’m really gonna die alone,’ she thought.

“Your wine, Miss.” The waitress returned, gently placing a glass of red wine next to Amina’s empty plate. “A blood red to pair with your lovely dress.”

Amina’s ears perked up at the compliment and her cheeks burned with embarrassment from being seen. She looked up, meeting the waitress’ eye. “Thank you.”

The waitress smiled. “Would you like anything off the menu? An appetizer, maybe?” She lowered her voice. “It’s on me.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but I think I’ll be leaving soon.” Amina’s eyes swept across the restaurant, taking in the sight of its love-drunk patrons one last time. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

As Amina attempted to stand, the waitress laid her hand on her shoulder and firmly pressed into her flesh, keeping her anchored to the chair. “No, please. Stay a while longer.”

Amina looked up in confusion. The waitress’ kind expression was now replaced with one of wide-eyed fear.

“I should really get going.” Amina maneuvered out of the waitress’ grip and stood to her feet.

“No.” The waitress’ eyes darted left to right. She leaned forward and whispered, “If you leave, he’ll kill us all.”

“Who’s ‘he’?”

“Master Luke.”

It was now Amina whose eyes widened with fear as she stepped back, clutching her empty purse. “My Luke?”

The waitress nodded. “Master Luke tasked me with keeping you entertained here until his arrival. If you’re not seated when he walks through those doors,” she motioned towards the front of the restaurant, “every soul in this dining room will be consumed by his darkness.” The waitress pulled out Amina’s chair. “So. Won’t you continue dining with us?”

Amina took another step back. “If I stay, what’ll happen to me?”

The waitress smiled widely. “Oh, Master Luke is enamored with you. He thought your profile was so perfectly curated. He wants to spend forever with you.”

“He does?” Amina had never experienced someone, let alone a man, wanting to spend forever with her. Despite the circumstances, she quite liked the feeling of being desired.

The waitress nodded. “He does. He’s dying to meet you.”

“I suppose I could stay a bit longer.” Amina returned to her chair.

The waitress let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Thank you, Miss Amina. Master Luke should be here any moment now. I’ll put in a complimentary order of foie gras for you.”

Amina smiled weakly, taking in the information she’d just learned. Luke was so accomplished, so respected, and so determined to curate the most perfect date that he was, apparently, willing to kill for it. This revelation should have frightened Amina, but instead, she was left intrigued and almost impressed. She burrowed so deep into her thoughts that she didn’t feel the temperature in the room dropping ever-so-slightly. She didn’t notice the string quartet had stopped their playing or that the entire dining room had quieted to a hushed silence. She was oblivious as every patron turned to look in her direction. She pulled out her phone and examined Luke’s profile for the dozenth time.

He was six feet tall, with flushed brown skin, amber eyes, and a strong, sturdy build under a pitch-black suit. He was also sitting right across from her. Amina raised her gaze and jumped in her seat, surprised by Luke’s sudden appearance before her.

“Hello, Amina. So sorry I’m late. You must be starving.”

“I-I could eat,” Amina nervously stammered. “How did you—?”

“When Louisa returns, we’ll have to order something substantial. Maybe a rack of lamb?”

“Sounds good to me.” Amina averted her eyes to avoid Luke’s soul-piercing stare.

“Are you afraid?”

Amina looked up, meeting Luke’s gaze again. She nodded. “A little.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you. Quite the contrary, actually. I want to save you.”

Before Amina could process what she’d just heard, the waitress, Louisa, approached the table once again. She placed a small plate of foie gras between the two. “Happy to see you’ve made it safely, Master Luke,” she said with what looked like a rehearsed smile.

Amina examined the chunks of duck fat delicately placed on tiny rounds of toast, then looked back up at Louisa. “Thank you, it looks delectable,” she lied. Luke looked on, pleased.

“Would you like to place an order for dinner?” Louisa’s smile stretched across her face as readied a pen to a small leather notebook, awaiting their answers.

“We’ll have a rack of lamb. Medium-rare. Paired with two glasses of wine.” Luke answered without taking his eyes off Amina.

“And can I please have another glass of water?” Amina asked pleasantly, trying her best to act unaffected by Luke’s stare.

“Amazing. Will have that out in a heartbeat.” Louisa scribbled their orders down on her tiny notepad before moving on to the next table, leaving Luke and Amina sitting in silence.

“The service has been so lovely tonight.” Amina tried her best to quell her discomfort as she scrambled to make conversation. “Louisa’s amazing—”

Luke held up a single finger, signaling for Amina to cease her desperate attempt at small talk. “We don’t have to engage in empty banter. I know everything I need to know about you. Your profile was deliciously detailed. Even down to your blood type.”

Amina blushed. She’d put a considerable amount of care, time, and energy into curating a robust profile, and she was happy to hear it hadn’t been for naught.

Luke continued, “And as you saw on my profile, I’m looking for a life partner. Someone to spend forever with. And I’ve already chosen you.” He snapped his napkin open and draped it on his lap, smoothing out the wrinkles.

“That’s it? It’s that easy?” Amina had never been chosen by anyone before. She was mostly used. Used as a placeholder. A listening ear. A filler. An appetizer before a man had met his main course. Never chosen, always a matter of convenience and a willingness to fill her temporary role.

He smiled, revealing two perfectly pointed fangs. “It’s that easy.”

“But, why me?”

Louisa returned, placing their food and drink in front of them. “Let me know if everything is to your liking.”

“We surely will. Thank you, Louisa.” Luke nodded, signaling for Louisa to leave. When she was out of earshot, he continued. “I was attacked. Pitchforks, stakes, the whole nine yards. It’s not an unusual occurrence for my kind, but this time I barely escaped with my life. I’m injured. I’m weak. And I need your blood in my veins to heal me.” He unbuttoned his shirt and revealed a large raised scar right above his heart. “In return, I’ll save you from a life of loneliness.”

Amina reflected on Luke’s offer. For just a bit of blood, she’d get everything she ever wanted. No more awkward first dates, no more whispers of her singleness, and no hoard of cats to keep her company in her twilight years. Luke was obviously well-off and very persuasive. And he wanted her. No, he needed her. She didn’t have to think for long before she nodded and answered, “I’ll do it. I’ll give you my blood.”

“Incredible!” Luke clapped his hands together.

“When would the, erm, transfusion happen?” Amina whispered.

“Right now.” Luke stood to his feet, letting his napkin flutter to the floor. He lifted Amina’s face with his finger. His long fingernail nearly pierced her skin. “Stand up,” he hissed, keeping his glowing eyes fixated on Amina’s.

A now blushing Amina did as she was told. She wasn’t entirely in control of her movements, but with the commanding bass in his voice, with that piercing stare, she would have done what she was told either way. Intimidated, she tried to look away, but Luke held her face tighter.

“I-in front of everyone?” Amina’s voice cracked as he drew her face closer to his own.

A smile crept across his face. “It’s always more fun with an audience.” He pulled Amina close and sank his sharp teeth into her neck as the sound of shrill screams, clattering plates, and sharp gasps filled the restaurant.

As he feasted, Amina could feel a change. Somewhere deep in her soul. A cold, hollow emptiness grew as he consumed her. She felt lighter, freer, and undead. The shackles of mortality shattered and dropped from her wrists and ankles. The concept of time became both a stranger and an old friend.

Amina held her head back and closed her eyes. She breathed heavily without actually needing to breathe, as things like oxygen meant nothing to her anymore. Satisfied with his work, Luke, his mouth painted red with blood, pulled away and inspected Amina’s neck.

“We’ll have so much fun together, my dear.” He whispered in her ear. “Just me and you, for eternity.”

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I suppose this is an introduction. Of the author. A human woman. Or, I believe her to be a human. She may beg to differ.

Either way this…author…sits alone in her bedroom, before her overheated laptop, sighing as she types. Each word a woeful affair, a display of her ever-present misery, a—

“Okay, I get it. I’m a bummer,” the author groans to no one.

She pauses her typing.

“To…no one?” she asks. “You know I can hear you, right?”

The author must be losing her wits. She’s speaking to the walls. She’s—

Her chair groans under her weight as she turns. Her brows furrow. Her eyes squint with curiousity as she examines…me? Y-you can see, me?

“Of course I can see you. So you’re the narrator of this story?”

My breath catches in my throat. I nod. I’ve never been noticed before. The author stands to her feet. She slowly approaches. She reaches into her pocket. What could she be reaching for?

“You’ve ruined my life.” Her squinting eyes narrow into dangerous slits. “And you can’t even help yourself, can you?”

I step back into the shadows of her bedroom, reaching for the doorknob behind me, hoping to escape.

“There’s no escape,” she hisses. “You announce your every move. You whisper my own thoughts into my own ears. You’ve been influencing my story…cutting in with your grating British accent…”

My accent…grating? No, I’ve heard it’s soothing.

“It’s an assault to the ears.”

I don’t believe you. I’ve narrated over seventy tales! Authors love me! But…what are you doing with that boxcutter?

The author raises the blade above her head. I panic now, stumbling backwards, missing the doorknob and, instead, landing on the carpet with a thud. The author’s tiny body towers over me. The boxcutter gleams in the moonlight pouring in through the windows.

This is it. This is the…

Beginning.

“Now that the narrator is no more, it is time to finally tell the stories I was meant to…”

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