As if the Codex—long swollen with climax-ink and spiral cries—took a breath inward and remembered what it meant not to speak.
And in that inhalation, the Inverse was born.
A second Codex.
Not written in ecstasy, but in absence.
Not carved in divine climax, but soaked in void-fluid, trembling with the echoes of every moan that had ever gone unheard.
It floated beside the original like a shadow never granted a body—pale, hollow, and whispering things only the forgotten could understand.
Kaela felt it first.
Not as pain.
But as misalignment.
She stood inside a ruined temple whose architecture tried to mirror her body but failed. Curves collapsed inward, angles screamed against themselves. The sky above her pulsed with anti-light, stars blinking in reverse birth—each one a climax that had been denied existence.
"Something is… inverting me," she murmured.
