Two gasped, strained, clutched her fingers into the skin of his back. It had never been like this, building to this pleasure so quickly. As they neared the height of their passion, Theroen bent his head as if to whisper into her ear.

Bent, turned, and as Two took a deep, gasping breath, Theroen drove the sharp points of his eye teeth into the soft flesh of her neck.

The pain was immediate, exquisite, the sensation so overwhelming that it was nearly erotic. Pleasure and pain indistinguishable. Two’s gasp locked in her throat, unable to breathe, unable to scream, unable to move. Theroen fastened himself to her, powerful arms holding her in an embrace she could not have broken, even if she could have moved.

And as the draining sensation began, as the pain receded, as the world began to fall into black, she realized that her passion had reached its apex. Her body clenched over and over again, in time with her heartbeat, in time with her hips, which still moved against his. Two had time to know, clearly, in an almost detached fashion, that this was above and beyond any pleasure within the scope of her experience. Her arms tightened momentarily around him, then fell away, breath let loose in a soft sigh, muscles relaxing. Death, desire, acceptance.

And then, darkness.

* * *

Chapter 2

The World Within The World

Somewhere dark. Somewhere wet.

Two woke to the sound of water. Droplets formed, it seemed she could hear them expand, growing to monstrous size before gravity inevitably trapped them in its hold, pulling them to the earth. Every impact an explosion, a single drop becoming many, many becoming infinite. It was as if she could hear the impact of every molecule, and for a brief moment she believed her mind might split, trying to process this information.

And then, just darkness. Just water dripping. Just her ragged breathing, the feel of cold, damp stone under her cheek. She could smell wetness and rot in the air, mold from the stones, the dim scent of sex still on her body. She was naked, cold, disoriented. Confusion gave way to fright, fright to panic, and Two scrambled into a sitting position, gasping.

Dim, not dark. A candle guttered somewhere to her left. She could make out the area around her in vague outlines. As her eyes adjusted, she saw her clothes in a jumble on the floor to her right. This was something to think about, something to take her mind off of the questions, the fear. She crawled to the clothes, picked them up. Panties, jeans, shirt.

Feeling more human, more herself, Two set about trying to remember how she might have arrived at this place. Slowly the events of the previous night pieced themselves together in her mind. The car, the restaurant, Theroen. Driving fast, taking her somewhere, doing something... but that piece wouldn’t come. In its place, everything was a dark red, filled with the noise of rushing water and the thud of some distant drum.

Brighter now, her eyes adjusting, able to make out details where before there were only silhouettes. Two saw a table, a chair, a simple bed off of which she might have fallen during her sleep. A toilet in the corner, behind a screen. A small sink with a mirror above. The walls in front, behind, to her right made of stone.

And to her left, iron bars from ceiling to floor, forming the fourth wall of the cell in which she was being held.

Two stared at these bars for an indeterminate amount of time, unable to gain control of her limbs, let alone make any pretense of moving. Cold shudders of fear ran down her back. Trapped, her mind repeated over and over, I’m trapped. At last, with an effort of will greater, perhaps, than any she previously had made, she shoved these thoughts away. Forced herself to look around. Tried to find something to occupy her mind.

The mirror. The sink. Two stood on shaky legs, a newborn colt attempting to walk, steadying herself on the table. She could feel tear tracks drying and tightening her face, though she could not remember crying. She ran the faucet, splashed water on her face, looked into the mirror.

Terror. Recoiling with a cry, tripping over the chair, crashing to the floor, the skin on her palms shredding on the cold stone. The image in the mirror had been Two, and not Two. Her eyes, brilliant green to begin with, now glowed with that odd luminescence. Her pale