In a world of darkness, small white bubbles float past my face. My body feels suspended, as if there were nothing either above it or below it but open sky.

My young love said to me, my mother won't mind. And my father won't slight you, for your lack of kind.

Everything seems hurried. Green and red shapes dart in and out of the darkness. Voices murmur, filled with static as though being heard over a television.

Then she stepped away from me, and this she did say: "It will not be long love,
till our wedding day".

Another bubble floats past my head. I reach out, trying desperately to grasp it. As my long fingers touch the reflective surface, the bubble pops and slides beyond my reach forever.

She stepped away from me, and she moved through the fair. And fondly I watched her.

Above all, a woman's voice is clear and beautiful. It sings a song I've never heard before, yet heard a million times, in lives I have long since forgotten in favor of this existence.

Moved here and move there. Then she made her way homeward with one star awake. As the swan in the evening, moves over the lake.

When the fog finally begins to clear, I become aware of how brown and smooth the walls are. I'm lying on my back, covered by thick black blankets. This is not my incubator, but it's not a medical ward either. In fact, I don't really know where I am.

I dreamt it last night; that my dead love came in. So softly she moved that her feet made no din. Then she came close beside me.

I reach out but feel nothing, as though my hands can no longer work. From the doorway, a blurry form sweeps into the room, more the ghost of an Irken than a real creature. But as it approaches my bedside it becomes obvious to me that this phantom is singing, and she is the voice I have been hearing echoing in my head. The form glides straight up to me, settling down beside me on the bed. The bed shifts beneath the stranger, and I realize as her hands touch my hot face that this ghost has a physical solidness to her.

And this she did say, "It will not be long love, till our wedding day".

When my eyes finally focus, I recognize the rounded contours and sharp edges of Willow's contrasting body. Her long antennae are down, making spirals on the blanket on top of my middle. Her bare hands touch my forehead; her black gloves are folded up in her lap and her sleeves are pushed up, exposing her pale green flesh. I'm surprised by exactly how pale Willow's arms are. Even my own are darker than hers, and I hardly see the light of false daylight.

"How are you feeling," she asks, stirring up a smelly poultice.

"Like I've been run over by a Megadoomer," I reply, my voice cracked and croaking.

"You should. You've been out cold with the virus that's been going around for the past two days now."

"Two… days? Where's Gregg?"

Willow's eyes reflect something I can't read. "I was hoping you could tell me. No one at his office will tell me anything."

"His mission must be very, very secret…"

Again, that look I can't read. Willow won't let her eyes meet mine. She's thinking something less optimistic than I am, but I won't let her dark moods get me down. Since she says something, I continue. "I'm so happy… we're going to be married, Willow. We're going to be married."

Willow stands up suddenly, nearly knocking the smelly mixture to the ground. "I have some cooking to check on. If you want to rub this on your chest, it will make you feel better." With that she leaves a drink cup and the medicine on the bed stand and retreats into the other room, pulling the sliding screen door shut behind her.

Awake, I roll slightly over. Lying beside me is some sort of lumpy, stuffed animal. It has a larger head with two triangles sticking out of the top. A malformed body with four stubby legs is barely attached to the head. The stitching has the quality of an amateur or perhaps a child first picking up a needle. I lift the stuffed animal up in my arms. The head sags and falls onto the creature's chest, oversized as compared to the rest of the body.

"You poor, sad little thing!" I say softly, setting the stuffed animal back down and trying to right the gargantuan melon. "Did one of Willow's daughters make you? Maybe even one of her sons?"

The stuffed animal doesn't reply, blank yellow eyes staring back at me and seemingly through me. I wonder what animal it was supposed to look like. Maybe it's one too exotic for someone as common as me to know about.

After about half an hour of lying there I realize my bladder is urgently calling me, threatening to make the bed very wet and unpleasant. "Willow, Willow?" I miserably mew, trying to get her attention. Nothing.

I have, have to go, so I stagger to my feet and crawl towards where I think the main room should be, looking for a bathroom. I've never had a nest myself, so I'm not sure how they're laid out. I'm sure Willow won't mind, after all, who would want me peeing in their bed?

After using her bathroom I stagger out into the main room, searching for her. She's not around, but on the plus side, nor is Raine. She must have had something important to do or an errand to run and figured I would probably simply return to sleep for awhile.

Feeling silly in Willow's overly revealing nightgown, I settle myself down on the luxurious leather couch cushions. Such niceties are things someone of my position, even with a scholarship degree, could never hope to obtain. The only way I could get them would be if Gregg managed to rise to major general someday, but I knew in my heart he would.

The television channels are filled with boring soap operas. I hope I'm getting better. I'm itching to return to work, to see the mountains piled up and waiting for me to return to scan them. In the mean time, perhaps Willow has something interesting I can read.

The small bookshelf located to the right and below their television screen has mostly technical books on it, with imposing titles such as "Modern Genetics and Transposable Elements: Practical Uses."

One book catches my eye, however. It's thick and bound with leather that looks more expensive than even the thick covering on the couch. It has no title on it whatsoever, which makes me more curious than I should be if I don't want to get myself in trouble.

I grab the book in two hands and gentle wiggle it back and forth, dislodging it from under the other books without toppling over the pile. I've become good at that in my days as a librarian. Clutching the worn out, dusty-smelling book I return to the couch, sinking down in the sea of cushions.

I crack open the book. A moth flies out. Happily I snatch the moth out of the air, watching it flutter fearfully between my fingers. I wonder if I'm well enough yet to be snacking. Well, one can't hurt I figure as I pop the moth in my mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

The first few pages are boring, average amateur photographs of birds and trees. Most of them are taken either through a window, as I can see the black marks where the panes are held together. The rest are still taken from a very high angle, as if shot when that window were opened instead of shut.

Then comes a high up shot of a young Irken girl, ruby eyes wide and brilliant. She's wearing a light yellow sundress. A worn out, browned suitcase is beside her. One of her hands lingers on the suitcase; the other is shading her eyes as she looks up. The wind is blowing her long, curled antennae back somewhat and making her dress billow around her legs. She's pretty, and I can't help but wonder who she is.

The next page answers my question. There are two large photographs of the same girl. In the top picture she's wearing a light blue work uniform. Her antennae are clipped back. She's sitting on the end of a bed covered in quilts, smiling shyly.

The picture directly below that is taken from a low angle, like the camera were lying on the ground. Back in the yellow sundress, the strange girl is standing up on top of a swing. Blurry lines in the photo indicate that the swing is moving, and the look on her face shows that she's having a good time. The picture, however, is taken from such an angle that a little glimpse of her panties are showing, a sign of a far more mature female hidden underneath the innocent façade.

I recognize the smile on the girl's face instantly. The lightly dressed child is a younger version of Willow, I realize with a slight start. The fact that her antennae are straight and strong, rather than split, and that she's a twig rather than curvy threw me off, but there's no mistaking the look on her face or the way she carries herself in that photograph.

The photographs in the book seem to follow Willow through the years as I flip the pages, but something darker is also happening in them. In the first series of photographs, seemingly taken on a lush farm, her eyes are bright and healthy. She always seems to be smiling, even when caked in layers of muck and dirt and holding a manure encrusted pitchfork in her hands.

Then, I turn the page and the picture changes entirely. There's Willow, lying on her belly with her dress pulled up around her hips, obviously asleep and probably unaware of the vulnerable position she's being photographed in.

The most striking pictures are of the mating ceremony, when her and Raine were declared official mates. Her smile looks forced, whereas only two pages earlier than are several pictures of her and Raine looking genuinely happy, their arms and antennae entwined as they flash funny hand signs at the camera. Why, then, did her happiness seem to fall through in the two pages it took to get to her wedding?

I turn back to a photo of Willow and Raine spinning one another around in the grass, and one of him tying a flower to her antennae. The grass is luscious and green beneath their boots. That's my answer. In the photographs of the wedding a whole season has passed, as the plants are browning to give way to the frozen winter months.

"What happened?" I mutter to myself out loud as I flip past the sad-faced mating ritual photos. "Between summer and fall? Why'd you fall out of love?"

The next few photos are taken in a decrepit, run-down nest. Willow is holding up a cockroach like a human fisherman would hold up a prize fish. The smile on her face is, however, one again earnest. She's truly happy, and I doubt catching such a delicious cockroach is the reason for it.

The next few photos show her in a lab. She's only a novice employee, gesturing to a microscope. In another photo, she's make lewd gestures with the same microscope. But again, she looks happy. Not like the angry, impulsive Willow I know at all.

The next page of photos shows a very swollen, pregnant Willow sticking out her midsection and pouting at the camera. She looks miserable, yet glows with that light expecting mothers radiate at the same time. A congratulatory banner hangs in the background.

Pasted on the next page is a photograph of Willow standing in front of a large ship, still looking hideously pregnant. Raine is standing beside her, smiling in a rather frightening way at whoever is taking the picture. There are two more small pictures of Willow on board a ship, looking off-color but happy.

And there is where the photographs end. No pictures of their destination. No pictures of Willow with the smeets she was carrying. No pictures of Willow with her antennae split.

I let the book lie in my lap. What happened between that trip and now? Why aren't there any photos of it? The book is less than half full. True, they could have started a new book, but it doesn't make sense to waste all that space.

I shut the book and return it to its place on the shelving unit, being careful so that Willow and Raine won't notice that I've been peeping. I only wanted something to read, but I feel horribly shameful for peering into their private lives and not stopping when I realized exactly what it was I had laid before me.

About an hour later Willow returns, carrying a large sack filled with food items. I smile at her as best I can, but her eyes refuse to meet mine. "Willow?" I ask, wobbling out into the kitchen.

Willow sits on her knees, her antennae hanging limply down her back in an ungraceful manner, shoving cans half-heartedly into the shelving units. After a long pause, she sighs and lifts her face to mine. "Original… something very bad has happened."

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Sorry chapter was short; I am uninspired for some reason of late.