Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.
The analog clock's relentless rhythm pierced the silence of my room.
My eyes snapped open, unprompted, meeting the oppressive darkness of the ceiling. I blinked, disoriented, my heart thudding for no reason I could name.
Turning my head toward the window, I saw nothing but pitch black beyond the glass—no stars, no streetlights, just an endless void.
My gaze drifted to the clock on the wall, its faint outline barely visible as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. But something was wrong.
My head whipped back to the foot of my bed, and my blood ran cold.
There, unmistakable in the shadows, stood a figure. Not a coat rack, not a chair—it was human, or something like it.
A woman, draped in a black veil that flowed like liquid night, her form swallowed by a wedding gown, every inch of it jet black.
Her face, pale as bone, glowed faintly in the dark, framed by the veil. Her hands, bare except for long black gloves, clutched a bouquet of flowers—black petals wrapped in black paper, like a funeral made manifest.
She was motionless, but her presence was a weight, pressing the air from the room.
Fear clawed at my chest.
I tried to move, to scream, to do anything, but my body betrayed me. I lay frozen, blanketed in sweat-soaked sheets, my breath shallow and ragged.
My eyes, wide with terror, refused to blink. If this is a dream, wake up. Please, wake up.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the nightmare to end.
Nothing.
Silence, except for the tick, tick, tick of the clock.
I cracked one eye open, just a sliver, and my heart stopped.
She was closer now, inches from the foot of my bed, her veiled face looming over my legs.
I slammed my eyes shut again, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Don't look. Don't move. Wait for morning.
I repeated it like a mantra, clinging to the hope that daylight would banish her.
Then, a rustle.
A shift in the air.
The bed creaked, dipping under a weight that wasn't mine.
My stomach churned as I felt movement—slow, heavy, like someone crawling toward me.
The mattress sank further, and then—oh God—something settled on my stomach, straddling me.
My eyes flew open against my will, and there she was, the veiled figure perched atop me, her black bouquet resting on my chest like an offering.
Her pale face hovered above mine, expressionless, her eyes hidden behind the veil.
I couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't breathe properly. My body was a prisoner, my mind screaming in a cage of flesh.
Her gloved hands trembled as they rose, inching toward my throat.
I wanted to thrash, to fight, but I was paralyzed, every nerve alight with dread.
Her fingers closed around my neck, cold even through the gloves, and squeezed.
Panic surged as my airway collapsed, my lungs burning for oxygen that wouldn't come.
"Ack! Ack...ack." She choked me.
My vision blurred, spots dancing in the dark, and the last thing I saw was her pale face, unchanging, as the world faded to nothing.
The terror was absolute, a primal horror that consumed every thought, every hope, until there was only the crushing weight of her hands and the void.
Darkness gave way to light, blinding and disorienting. I was standing, somehow, on what looked like clouds—soft, glowing, stretching endlessly in every direction.
My hands flew to my throat, gasping for air that came too easily now.
"What the fuck?" I muttered, my voice echoing in the strange, weightless space.
"Welcome, Jason Rex," a voice purred, smooth and amused.
I spun around, and there she was—a woman, radiant and otherworldly, lounging on a throne of shimmering mist.
Her clothes were a riot of bright colors, a skintight ensemble of reds and golds that left little to the imagination, hugging her curves like a second skin.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief, her lips curled in a knowing smile.
"Who the hell are you?" I demanded, my voice steadier than I felt. "And where am I?"
"I'm a goddess, darling," she said, her tone dripping with condescension. "And you? You're dead, by accident."
"Accident?" My stomach dropped. "No way. I was killed. By a ghost—a woman in a black wedding gown. She choked me!"
The goddess threw her head back and laughed, a sound like chiming bells. "A ghost? Oh, please. There's no such thing, Jason. You humans and your imaginations."
I bristled, stepping closer. "If you're a goddess, then tell me how I died. Explain that."
She tilted her head, looking almost puzzled for a moment.
Then she sighed, snapping her fingers.
A newspaper materialized in her hand, crisp and smelling faintly of ink.
She held it out, and I snatched it, my eyes scanning the headline: "Local Man, Jason Rex, Dies in Tragic Balcony Fall; Alcohol Found in System."
I stared at the words, my mind reeling.
"This is bullshit," I said, crumpling the paper. "I wasn't drunk. I didn't fall. I was in bed, and she killed me. Black veil, black gown, black flowers—don't tell me I imagined that!"
The goddess waved a dismissive hand. "Enough. It doesn't matter how you died, only that you did. Dead is dead, Jason."
I clenched my fists, anger warring with confusion, but her tone left no room for argument.
"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "What happens now?"
She leaned forward, her smile turning predatory.
"You haven't exactly been a saint, have you? For starters, sleeping around, breaking hearts, living for yourself. Normally, someone like you would go straight to hell—tortured for years, maybe centuries, before reincarnation wipes you clean. But…" She paused, her eyes glinting. "I like games, Jason. So I'm offering you a choice."
I crossed my arms, wary. "What kind of choice?"
"Option one: Hell. Pain, suffering, the whole fire-and-brimstone package. Then reincarnation, eventually, as whatever the universe decides. Option two: Enter a world I've created. A game, simple but challenging. Win, and you reincarnate on your terms—whatever life you want. Lose…" She shrugged, her smile wicked. "Well, let's just say you won't like the consequences."
I stared at her, my mind racing. Hell sounded like a nightmare, but a game? A game made by a goddess who looked like she thrived on chaos? That didn't exactly scream "easy." Still, the idea of control—of choosing my next life—was tempting. Too tempting.
"What's the game?" I asked, my voice low.
Her smile widened. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough. So, Jason Rex, what's it going to be? Eternal torture, or a chance to play my little game?"