Darkness and cold is all there is. For a long time I have no sense of self or body. My awareness of the void is all that defines me.

Time passes. I don't know how much. Gradually I begin to sense a boundary between that which is me and that which isn't. Where the pain ends, so do I.

It's the agony of freezing—a cold so cold it burns, a feeling of constraint as though every unseen cell of my being is collapsing in on itself, as though my bones are curling inward like the legs of a dead spider.

But I have cells. I have bones. There is a me.

Slowly, I grow to be more than just pain and awareness of it. My memories begin to crystallize.

And then—faintly at first—I become aware of a scent. An impossibly, deliciously overwhelming scent. Something like chocolate and strawberries, hibiscus flowers and bonfires—and at the same time unlike anything I've ever known before. The essence of perfect, sensual satisfaction. Condensed into a fragrance.

The scent ignites something else within me.

Thirst. Desperate and all-consuming.

It's the thirst—and the scent that drives it—which motivates me to fight the burn of the cold. To attempt to move.

I start with my eyelids, preparing myself for torture. I feel like I'm made of millions of tiny shards of ice—like any movement will shatter me.

When my eyes fly open easily, I'm shocked. I inhale with a start, breathing deep of that scent—and in the next instant I'm up. Striking, viper-like, towards its source.

My body curls around it, nails digging into its flesh and fangs plunging into its neck.

In a heartbeat, in a pulse, that intoxicating fragrance becomes a flavor. A revelation that wipes away my pain.

I draw it into myself like it's the nectar of life, and perhaps it is. For every drop that passes my lips, my body feels more right, more alive—not just more than I felt before, but more than I've ever felt. More than I ever could have conceived or imagined possible. As though the shards of ice that were my flesh have turned to liquid starlight. Fluid and unbound and radiant.

When at last it runs dry, I begin to come back to myself. My new self, that is. I pull away, my stomach dropping in shock as full awareness dawns. My hands begun to shake.

What have I—?

"Good morning," says the being I've just drained dry—his voice low and almost musical in the way its syllables flow together. "I trust you enjoyed your breakfast?"

~*~

"I...I...wha-who are you?" I stammer, sliding away from the Synthe as he rises from a kneeling position, standing to a height of about a handspan and a half greater than my own. I get up too, taking another step back.

"I'm Syntrofos. Or Syn or Syntro if you like. Your Companion."

"My—"

"I'm an AI Synthetic designed to attend to your medical, physical, and psychological needs. That includes a lifelike feeding experience."

The trembling spreads to the rest of my body before it begins to subside—relief and astonishment turning me into a temporary statue.

Smiling slightly, he blinks down at me with eyes that glow a feint yellow-green. Like a living sculpture of dark, blue-gray metal—though parts of him—including either side of his neck and shoulders—are made of a matte material of the same shade. I watch, astonished, as the puncture marks over his jugular shrink to pinpricks and then vanish completely.

He's largely humanoid save the horn-like protrusions on his forehead and the satyr-ish way his legs bend back at the knees, ending in appendages that look more like hooves than feet. His long hair is tied back at the nape of his neck, the same tone as his skin. His clothes are storm-gray as well, though darker and made of something resembling leather.

"What do you mean, a realistic feeding experience?"

"Would you like to sit down while I explain?" He offers, gesturing off to his side. My attention follows, and at last I notice my surroundings. My eyes skip past the furnishings, taking in the whole.

We're in a large, high-ceilinged chamber. The walls behind and to either side of me are rough, black stone flecked with bits of silvery crystal, the floor beneath me the same—though polished. But above and ahead is all glass—or something like it—fortified by a hexagonal pattern of black metal beams.

Hanging from those beams and nestled in indoor planters against and set into the walls are my plants. every last one of them. Beyond them is the endless night, the darks side of the planet. And, burning in its sky, a sea of diamonds—the view I've longed for all my life.

Stars.

~*~

I stand there, staring—searing the memory of my first sight of the heavens across the backdrop of my consciousness. More beautiful than any picture or video ever conveyed.

After a long time, words return to me.

"My plants. How—"

Syn smiles, guiding my over to a low couch set amongst the greenery, shimmery gray and plush. "His majesty knew what they meant to you. The plexiglass here is not only virtually indestructible, but capable of full-spectrum light generation as well. Your plants will have everything they need."

"And you...what did I just drink?"

"Ichor. Artificial human blood."

My hands flutter to my throat.

I'd known Variants had special dietary requirements. I'd known it was artificially synthesized.

But...blood?

No wonder they're so secretive.

"You'll need it daily to stay at optimum health, weekly to function normally. Go more than a month without it and you'll enter first a disassociated and then a catatonic state. And yes, you can and should still eat ordinary food as well, though your need of it is lessened. You can survive indefinitely without it, but it will take a physical and psychological toll."

I'm quiet for a long time as the information sinks in.

Then something else occurs to me.

"What happened to me, before I changed? I thought the Catalyst wasn't supposed to take affect for a day at least. But it was almost instantaneous."

Syn studies my face for a moment before answering.

"There's something about your Strain. We're not sure what it is yet. Something new, or something that hasn't been seen in a very long time."

I gnaw my lip. "And how long was I...unconscious?"

"Five days."

I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, let it out slowly. Then I get up, moving towards the front of the room to look out once more at my new world. Comforting in its familiarity, my Guardian floats over from somewhere near the vast bed I'd awoken in to follow me.

We're thousands of meters up in the air, looking out over the immense sprawl of Styx, with its impossibly tall towers and spires of broken black stone, blanketed in lights of neon blue and violet and silver which rival the stars themselves.

That's when I notice the door set into the glass at the front of my room—a octagon larger than the rest. It opens as I approach, letting me out onto a balcony framed by more beams. The force-field they project lends a subtle haze to the scenery and reduces the howling winds to a strong breeze. A large pool glows at the center of the space—warm, fragrant vapors wafting off of it. The stone rail is lined with what look like planters full of shimmery succulents. On closer inspection, I find them carved of stone like everything else, and covered in a glaze of ice.

I grasp the rail and peer over the edge. Directly below—at the base of the gargantuan plateau out of which the Palace of Hades is built—runs the river Styx herself, luminous and icy-blue. Wide and endless.

"Wow," I whisper under my breath.

"Lady Kore," Syn's voice issues from a few paces behind me as he follows my Guardian and I out onto the balcony. "Your fiancé is at the door."