Interlude
Prologue
A light shiver runs up and down her spine as she pushes the unlocked door open with trembling fingers. It swings wide, creaking all the way, and revealing a simple home. Nothing looks out of place. There's no broken glass or overturned chairs or even a speckle of dust on any of the furniture.
It looks the same as ever.
Picture perfect in a way that looks completely unlived in.
Like no one has ever so much as set a foot inside.
The grand chandelier hangs from the ceiling, undisturbed by the stillness of the house or its lack of occupants. The crystal twinkles as the outside lights hit it. They send rays of lights in every direction, coloring the room in an array of colors.
Like rainbow trapped between these walls, beautiful and enchanting, but even that does nothing to dispel the shivers that run down her spine at the stillness of it all.
Picture perfect.
And abandoned.
Behind her cars zoom by, bird chirps, and life goes on. Even the neighbors are unaware of the deeply unsettling feeling, of the emptiness emanating from the once lively home.
She pauses at the door, wondering.
Should she really enter?
The door is open, unlocked and unlatched, free to swing open with just a touch. The house is empty, the curtains drawn closed and all the lights switched off.
No one is home.
That's when she hears it.
It's a sweet, soft melody that calls to her. It whispers to her, pulls her deeper into the house and up the stairs as it coos sweet nothings into her ears. It enchants her, coaxes her forward until she stands in front of the attic door.
The door swings open on its own.
The hinges silent.
It reveals a set of wooden stairs that go up to where a purple light shines faintly.
The melody continues, urging her up the stairs. She takes them slowly, unwillingly to go and yet unable to stop. So enamored as she is with the melody, she can't help but put one foot in front of the other.
When she reaches the top, the scene she finds is not what she was expecting. Instead of boxes and old furniture that usually resides in attics, she finds computers and posters, and all manners of machines whose functions she can only guess at. And, yet, those are the least important findings in the room.
Because, in the middle of all the room, circled by the machines and computers, stand two swirls.
One red.
One blue.
And they beckoned her forward.
They call her name and make sweet promises and, before she knows it, she's standing in front of them. Thin, pale fingers inches away from the bright, blue swirl that sounds as if it's calling her home.
"Anissa! No!"