Page 143 of Dance of Madness

It’s like watching the laws of physics break in front of you. Like you’re witnessing something not real, because itcan’tbe real. Because if itis, it destroys the foundations of everything you think you know.

Reality itself.

The video is brief, but I play it again.

And again.

Andagain.

My world cracks in half. My heart wrenches and twists. Violence and a cold, dark, churning madness begin to thunder inside me as my vision goes red.

Tonight, I was planning on breaking down the last wall between us.

I was planning to let the truth come out.

…Except it just did, on the screen in front of me.

Like a knife to the fucking back.

.

Okay. I’m going to say something I probably shouldn’t. But I keep thinking about it, so fuck it, here it is:

Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we met? Like, for real, in the real world.

And to that end, I have a confession of my own to make: I don’t mean “let’s meet and have coffee and talk about Goethe.”

I mean let’s meet and do all the things we’ve talked about.

Like…the dark stuff.

Fucking hell, I can’t believe I’m even writing this.

Here’s the thing: like it or not, you’ve managed to become one of my closest friends. Maybe the closest one I’ve ever had.

I trust you. I’ve never MET you, but I trust you, and if there was ever one person I could work up the courage to try my fantasies out with…well, surprise: you’re it.

But I’m also scared it’ll ruin this. That seeing your face might make it all too real. Or that it will change things.

Is it the anonymity that allows me to be so open with you?

So tell me I’m crazy. Tell me I just took things too far. Better yet, burn this note and pretend I never said a thing.

Ugh.

-Me

29

MILENA

Rurik insistson driving me himself. As if a dinner date with a man is grounds for an armed escort. Mind you, Rurik is basicallyalwayson war-time alert.

I suppose that makes him a pretty good head of security for Papa. It also makes for one fuckingmoroseUber driver, though.

He hates when I tease him about that.

“Five stars coming your way,” I grin as we pull up the curb outside the ultra-chic Oolong, a Fujian Chinese-inspired two Michelin star restaurant, waving my phone.

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