Bright chandeliers, ironwood walls, and the subtle scent of jasmine wafting through the breeze. This was my grandmother's house. My hometown. My palms pressed against the polished floor as I pushed my body up.
The longer I took in my surroundings, the more convinced I became that I had crossed over into another realm rather than merely dreaming. The cluster of picture frames walling the hallway displayed vivid portraits of generations past, alongside photos of myself growing up over the years.
Beyond the carved partition, the guest parlor was bustling with unfamiliar faces. My aunt and uncle were busy entertaining guests.
My grandmother—now in her seventies—emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with teacups and a brass teapot. Her expression was so radiant with delight that she completely overlooked me pressing myself against the wall in utter confusion.
"Grandma?!" I whispered in panic, my eyes glaring at the ceramic cup. "That's the cup I used to hold fishing worms yesterday! Why are you still using it to serve guests?!"
Of course, she couldn't hear my hysterical voice.
As Grandma carried the tray into the parlor, the heavy murmurs of the guests spilled out through the carved partition. I paused near the hallway wall, staying low to listen.
"...such a rare match for our family," an elderly man’s gravelly voice echoed from the parlor. "A young man of his standing, willing to take Ishihara under his care? It’s a blessing after all the scandal her parents left behind."
"Indeed," my uncle chimed in, his tone sickeningly polite. "She has always been a quiet, difficult girl. But if the betrothal is sealed today, we can rest easy knowing she is bound to someone powerful enough to keep her in check."
My blood ran cold. Betrothal?! Sealed today?!
"She belongs to him now," my aunt added, her voice smooth like fake silk. "Look at him sitting quietly in the family room... so patient. He is simply waiting for his bride to awaken."
Bride?! What sick joke is this?!
Unwilling to get caught in a gathering discussing my own forced marriage, I backed away in utter horror and slipped down the corridor.
Everything felt normal—almost painfully real. Grandma's old piano still stood quietly in the corner of the family room, though my late grandfather's antique wall clock was nowhere to be found.
The spacious kitchen was buzzing with my relatives, who had retreated back there to avoid the guests. My cousins—who usually bickered over the slightest trifles—were sitting together peacefully, eyes glued to their phone screens.
"Good morning, world! Hello, my brothers and sisters, all gibbons!" I exclaimed loudly, extending my arms like a king greeting his subjects.
None of them paid my presence any mind, so I casually swiped a jar of candied nutmeg off the table and slipped back out.
The family room was no longer deserted. A figure sat in an armchair beside the window, his gaze fixed on a black leather-bound book held in his hands.
I had no idea who he was, yet a strange sense of familiarity washed over me—as if we had met somewhere before. That silent intuition drew my feet toward him.
Up close, he proved to be a young man roughly my age. His face was entirely unfamiliar, sharp and unreadable. I stood frozen until the stranger finally lifted his eyes to meet mine.
"Show me the soles of your feet."
It was easily the strangest request anyone had ever directed at me, yet my body obeyed. I lifted my left foot so he could inspect the sole clearly.
Without a word, the young man set his book down and stood up. The quiet intensity of his gaze felt like an unspoken command for me to take his seat.
I sat down while he strode over to open Grandma's antique cabinet, rummaging through its contents.
He returned with a first-aid kit, dropped to his knee before me, and gently cupped my left foot. He was dressed in casual, all-black attire. A flicker of genuine concern shadowed his sharp gray eyes—so palpable that I found myself staring at him in silence, right until a sudden, sharp sting of pain snapped me back to reality.
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SHIVER!
My eyes dropped to my foot—which he was already bandaging—and then to a blood-stained tissue lying on the floor. Beside it lay a jagged glass shard as large as my ring fingernail.
How long had that glass been embedded in my skin? I hadn't felt a single prick since I arrived.
"Uhm... thank you," I offered as he stood up to dispose of the glass.
He gave no reply, sitting back down across from me and plunging right back into his book. The awkward silence settled heavily, so I decided to retreat to my bedroom, placing the jar of candied nutmeg on the side table beside him.
"You're pretty close with him, aren't you?!"
The demand rang out loud enough to make me wince. I drew the doorway curtain shut behind me. Standing there was one of my younger cousins—Bella, my uncle's daughter. Her sparkling eyes radiated insatiable curiosity.
"Come on, Ishi! You text him all the time, don't you? You even have a pet name for him!"
A phone screen was thrust right in front of my face. Displayed across it was a series of warm, casual text exchanges. My eyes drifted to the contact name at the top corner...
Sirloin?
Ever since I was born into this world, I had never heard of anyone named after a cut of steak.
Wait—could that even count as a term of endearment?
Yet, displayed across the glass was a vertical blue line—an unmistakable glitch unique to my phone's display. It was undeniably my device.
I stayed silent as Bella turned and scurried back to the kitchen, her triumphant laughter echoing as though she had just won a major battle against me.
My bedroom in this house remained untouched. Even my abstract painting still hung silently on the wall.
Catching my reflection in the looking glass, I realized with a wave of embarrassment that I was wearing bright yellow pajamas—a pair I was fairly certain had never existed in my wardrobe.
I collapsed onto the bed. The mattress felt impossibly comfortable.
Yet, no matter how long I kept my eyes closed, sleep refused to claim me, nor did I wake from this bizarre dream. Suddenly, I felt a gentle dip at the edge of the mattress—a subtle weight traveling upward until it settled right beside me.
I stole a glance out of the corner of my eye. The stranger had made himself comfortable, leaning casually against the headboard.
He remained rooted in place, his quiet presence irritating me to no end. Suddenly, I felt his hand rest gently on my forehead. His fingers stroked my hair briefly before resting atop my head.
I strove to maintain a peaceful, sleeping face—until that large hand settled back onto my forehead, lingering there for a long moment. Then, the mattress shifted again as he moved to the other side of my body, trapping me in place between his frame and the wall.
My eyes snapped open.
The face hovering right above me didn't look startled in the slightest. In fact, his utter lack of remorse set my teeth on edge. This entity—the strange young man whom my phone had labeled 'Sirloin'.
I brought my knee up with every ounce of strength I had.
THUD!
I scrambled off the mattress to make a run for it, but his hand clamped tightly around my wrist like a steel vice. In a single fluid motion, he yanked me back onto the bed.
I ended up sitting at the edge of the mattress, pinned firmly between his legs.
He wrapped his arms tightly around me from behind in an unyielding embrace, pinning my arms to my sides.
"Damn it!" the curse slipped from my lips.
His grip tightened, forcing me back against his chest. Outmatched in raw strength, I finally gave up and went limp.
"My name is Syllain," he murmured near my ear, his voice smooth and cold. "Not damn it."
It was the very first time an astral entity had actually bothered to state his name.
Syllain made no further move. He felt strange—like a quiet, dangerous predator resting his head against my shoulder. I felt the solid firmness of his chest and a faint, sweet aroma of vanilla wafting off him—soft, intoxicating, and suffocatingly warm.
Against my will, that quiet warmth lulled my exhausted mind, until I slowly drifted into sleep within his hold...
"...Ishihara."
"Ishihara! Wake up!"
The scream echoed once more. Bella's hands violently shook her cousin's limp body.
The neighbors had mentioned that Ishihara hadn't been seen outside since morning, prompting Bella to climb over the padlocked gate.
Finding the front door unlocked with only the porch light left burning, her anxiety had deepened—especially after finding the girl lying motionless in the corner of the shed.
Her surprise visit was never meant to turn out like this.
"Eido, call the neighborhood chief! Hurry!"
"I'm sure she's just asleep," the young boy grumbled, opening his water bottle. "Hey! Wake up! It's already night!"
Neither splashing water nor drizzling it over her face had any effect. Ishihara's body remained completely still, her breathing calm and steady, her pulse rhythmic and slow. She was so eerily serene that it left them utterly terrified.
"Eido! Go NOW!" Bella shrieked again, tears willing in her eyes.
Eido scrambled up and bolted out the door in a frenzy, leaving his sandals behind. Drawn by Bella's screams, neighbors began to gather at the threshold. Minutes later, the sirens of an ambulance cut through the night air.
Thus, in the final seconds leading up to her eighteenth birthday, Ishihara was rushed to the emergency room, completely unconscious.
Meanwhile, in the deserted living room of her house, a soft yellow flame danced quietly in the dark. Slowly, the heat melted a pair of candles shaped like the number 18, planted atop a Black Forest cake.
Suddenly, the flame snuffed out completely, as if blown away by an unseen breath—even though not a single gust of wind stirred the air tonight.
There was no one there.
So, how could it be?