How does one explain what it’s like to be trapped inside the pages of a book for several centuries? Well, not much can be said, really. It’s blindingly dark, horribly cramped, and downright bloody boring. Or at least that’s what Dexteros always thought would be his answer if he were ever to be released (or escaped, but that was highly unlikely since he was sure he would have found a way to have done so by now) and asked that question. His only entertainment were his ceaseless thoughts and glorious imagination consisting mainly of the great revenge he’d take to get back at the wretched fool who put him in here in the first place, and quickly follow that up by making up all of the time he’d lost in the years that had passed.
Time. Dexteros laughed internally at the cursed word. He couldn’t really laugh out loud, since he was pretty sure he was more of a wisp of a soul than some actual physical being at the moment. Time had lost its meaning long, long ago when he couldn’t keep track of whether it was day or night, Monday or Saturday, spring or fall. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, years—they all blurred together in an unending drone of . . . absolutely nothing. It was enough to drive him past the brink of madness, yet somehow he was fairly certain he was still sane. Perhaps he was gifted. After all, wouldn’t anyone else in his situation be long gone mentally speaking? Then again he did consider himself quite the exemplary devil when it came to sticky predicaments. He always found a way to keep himself three steps ahead of everyone and everything else.
Or he did, until he got just a tad too cocky and did the biggest fuck up he could have possibly managed. And now he was paying for it by spending eternity snared in the bastard’s book, with only the hope of some dim-witted human to be his ticket to freedom. Funny how something that sounded so ridiculously easy to make happen didn’t turn out to be so easy after all.
Which is why the event that was about to happen next would take him a good minute or so to fully process.
It felt like every ounce of his being was getting sucked through a pin-sized hole. The darkness that had cradled him for so long gradually began to recede, replaced by a growing light that was so bright Dexteros was blinded yet again, this time with an aching pain gnawing on his eyeballs and the center of his forehead. But then the pain and feeling of immobility lessened, the agonizing intensity of white light faded, and he realized with a sudden shock by utter demonic instinct that he was being released. A dark kind of joy flooded his veins and sent his blood boiling, and he pushed forward the rest of the way with a silent howl of victory escaping his mouth.
His heart thundering in his chest, Dexteros slowly opened his eyes and blinked a few times, letting them adjust to the dim lighting of the room. He could feel worn wood beneath his fingertips and he looked down in surprise, seeing his hands splayed before him on the ground. It was then he registered that he was crouched there on his hands and knees, probably looking pathetic no doubt. He got to his feet immediately, amazed to find that he didn’t waver an inch. After all that time of existing only in essence he could still stand like he’d been doing it every day while trapped in that wretched book. Speaking of the book . . .
Just as he was about to grab the thing and burn it to ashes he heard a voice, tentative and soft. Feminine. With the slightest sliver of fear, maybe? He stood stock still with the exception of cocking his head to the side, trying to locate the source of the voice. Although it was rather dark it wasn’t even close to the darkness he’d been familiar with, and besides, he didn’t have the miserable eyesight humans had been granted with. It appeared that he was in what he guessed to be a large room, with several stands surrounding him in an orderly fashion. A fleeting glance told him the stands were shelves that were filled with books, and he wanted to snicker at the irony. But he kept silent and instead inhaled deeply, the human girl’s scent greeting him at once. Fresh, light, and mingled with the coppery tinge of blood—also fresh.
A malicious smirk formed on his lips and Dexteros glided forward, using the poor lighting to his advantage. It didn’t take him long to locate the girl, her scent guiding him most of the way until he spotted her bright hair through an opening between two bookshelves. Her back was to him, which was even more perfect. He continued forward and as he did so he organized his collage of shifting forms to a single one, so that when she did finally see him he’d look like a mostly ordinary human male—with the exception of his slightly elongated razor-sharp canines and black eyes.
Finally he reached her, standing just behind her, close enough to have their bodies touching if he shifted forward a couple more inches. His lips still curved faintly, Dexteros leaned down—way down, the silly little thing was so pathetically short—and put his lips a breadth away from her ear. “Boo.”
