House of the Celestials: Crown of Stars Rewrite

Yes University

Chicago, United States

Terra, Gaea Solar system

Neutral Free zone

January 14th 2019

3:25 PM

 For the rest of her courses in the early afternoon, Sam took her time to think about the advice Dr. Dingle had given her. Mending the relationship with her Aunt was something that Sam had always wanted. But for some reason, she just hadn't gotten to it. After she was done with her class for the day, Sam decided to go to her dorm. She didn't feel like returning to Henry's apartment to get more of her things as she didn't feel like facing him. Unfortunately for Sam, she had left her room key back in her dorm. She just hoped her roommate was there to let her in. Sam wasn't surprised to see Aria Fields in her black nightgown robe, her jock of a boyfriend propped on the sofa by the tv. It seemed they were watching some movie, and Sam had interrupted them.

"Shouldn't you be at your boyfriend's place?" Aria asked, breaking the silence. She was right. Sam usually spent most of her time at Henry's apartment. The few times she was here, it was for essentials like her pills, which Stella usually picked up and sent over. But those days felt far behind her now.

"Sorry for the interruption," Sam mumbled as she moved past Aria, heading into her room. As she stepped inside, she froze. The last time she had been here was the night of the incident. Her bed was covered with clothes and scattered comic books. The previous issue of Tower of Fate she had been reading was still open, showcasing the vibrant images she adored. Sam remembered how she hadn't finished it—and new issues had come out since then. She was a huge comic book fan, mainly because of the immersive experience and the colors. But today, it wasn't the comic she focused on. It was the red-stained green rug, the sight of which made her heart skip a beat. The memories of that night came flooding back. It had been the anniversary of her dad's death, and the weight of the day had suffocated her so much that she had forgotten to take her pills. The aftermath of that decision was something she'd rather not revisit. Sam scanned her desk, pushing aside the crumpled, ripped sketch papers to see if her aunt had sent the new pills. She was running low on the ones she had left at Henry's place. As she rifled through the papers, Sam's phone buzzed. It was Henry and Stella—missed calls from both of them. Sam deleted Henry's voicemail without listening to it, but she played Stella's. It was the usual: worry, concern. You suffered a horrible trama, Samantha. I don't deny that. But have you dealt with it? Was that it? Was the reason she seemed weak to Stella because she hadn't dealt with her father's death? Or even her mother's—someone she had never known? Had Dr. Dingle been right, suggesting that all of her problems stemmed from not facing her past? But there were other things too. The things Sam had never spoken about. The dreams that once frightened her as a child, the voices and the strange colors that only she could see. Had all of that been in her head, too? It was too much to think about, and Sam knew she needed a distraction. Her sketchbook sat right there on her desk. Sam grabbed her pencils and colors, closed her eyes for a moment, and then began to draw. She let herself lose track of time as her hand moved across the page, creating something to quiet the chaos inside. She kept drawing until her eyes grew heavy, and before long, she drifted off to sleep.

When Sam woke up, she found her sketchbook filled with dozens of new sketches. It had been so long since she let her imagination flow freely onto the page, capturing whatever image popped into her head. As she flipped through the pages, she realized they were all of the same figure—the golden prince. He was as striking as ever, his chiseled face framed by sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline. There was a unique quality about him, a blend of youthfulness and maturity that made him captivating. Perhaps it was the eyes—vivid, luscious blue, so vibrant they almost seemed to glow on the page. Sam hesitated as she studied his hair, unsure whether to settle on a rich, dark gold or a radiant, bright gold. She'd gone back and forth on this detail countless times before. Turning to older sketches, Sam felt a pang of nostalgia. Her father had given her this sketchbook, encouraging her to draw the story she had once told him about the golden prince. In that story, the prince battled monsters to reach a castle, only to discover that the princess he sought didn't need saving after all. It had been her father's idea for Sam to bring the tale to life through her drawings, and ever since then, sketching the prince had become her sanctuary—a way to find calm amidst the chaos. Yawning, Sam flipped through the pages, her eyelids growing heavier. A glance at her phone told her she hadn't slept for long. The exhaustion still lingered, tugging at her.

"Maybe I should take another nap," she murmured, stretching lazily.

Just then, a sudden flash of light illuminated the room. Sam froze, her body stiffening as she turned around. Her breath caught in her throat. A black dot hovered in the middle of her room as if someone had painted a perfect circle in the air. She rubbed her eyes, thinking she might still be dreaming. But the dot didn't vanish. Instead, it began to expand. The air grew heavy, and the room trembled. The wind picked up, rattling the windows and shaking the wardrobe. Sparks of golden-green energy crackled and burst forth from the growing anomaly. Then, the black dot transformed. It stretched and shifted, reshaping itself into a crystalline surface—a shimmering mirror that stood tall and rectangular, dominating the space.

And within the surface was a...

Sam couldn't believe her eyes. She didn't want to believe it. The only thought running through her mind was that she had finally lost it. Desperate to wake up from what felt like a vivid dream, she slapped herself hard across the cheek.

"Wake up!" she muttered under her breath. Nothing changed. The figure in the mirror remained. The person's face was indistinct, obscured somehow, but their clothing stood out: a black trench coat paired with matching pants and boots.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, the words escaping her before she could think. She didn't know why she asked—it just felt like the right thing to do.

No response.

The figure turned away for a moment, then faced her again. Sam's voice cracked as she asked, "Hello? Are you real?"

The crystalline surface of the mirror rippled and then began to solidify. Slowly, the figure's face became clear. Sam's heart stopped. It was him. The same person she had just finished sketching. Her golden prince. Sam's mouth opened, but no sound came out. She could only stare as the vision before her came into sharp focus. He was exactly as she had imagined him—dressed in a black trench coat and pants, with hair that gleamed like pure gold. His bronze skin glowed faintly, as though kissed by the sun itself. Her golden prince was real.

Sam's hand moved on its own, rising toward the surface of the mirror. She felt an inexplicable pull, a deep urge to touch him. And then he mirrored her movement, raising his hand as if to meet hers. Their fingertips met. The touch wasn't just visual—Sam felt it. She felt the warmth of his skin radiating through the mirror. A jolt of energy shot through her, and then something strange happened. A pulse. A strange, otherworldly pulse burst from their connection, rippling through the air like a shockwave. Sam stumbled backward, tripping over her own feet as the mirror shattered before her eyes, breaking into fine white dust. For a moment, she simply sat there on the floor, staring at the space where the mirror had been. Her mind reeled, unable to process what had just happened. One moment he was there, and the next, he was gone. Sam pressed her trembling hands against her head. I've lost it. And then it hit her. A ringing noise tore through her skull like a siren, loud and unrelenting.

****

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling through the streets, dazed and disoriented. People walked past, giving her curious or disapproving looks, probably assuming she was drunk. Her stomach churned, hollow, and aching after she had emptied it in a nearby alley. And then it struck again. A splitting headache pierced her mind, sharper than before. Sam gasped as vivid images flooded her vision. It was overwhelming—a torrent of scenes she couldn't control. She screamed, clutching her head as her knees buckled.

Passersby stopped, some retreating in concern, others whispering as they pointed their phones at her. But Sam barely noticed. She was trapped in the onslaught of images. She saw a fight—a chaotic battle in what looked like an office space. It felt familiar, though she couldn't place why. And then her vision shifted to a massive pillar of pale light that pierced the night sky. The light was blinding, otherworldly, and impossibly powerful. A shockwave erupted from it, clearing the sky of clouds. Yet, as Sam glanced around, she realized no one else seemed to notice it. The world around her moved on, oblivious. But Sam knew. Deep down, in the pit of her soul, she knew the light was the source of her pain—the cause of the pounding in her head. Without a second thought, Sam started running. She didn't know where she was going or why, but she knew one thing: she had to reach the light.

The path Sam took to get to the light felt familiar. She boarded one of the Red Line trains heading downtown and, just as she suspected, ended up in front of her therapist's building. The sixteen-story skyscraper in the South Loop area of Chicago loomed above her, casting long shadows in the fading light. Sam hesitated, her nerves fraying. The pale light she had followed was gone, but the lingering pain in her head refused to fade. She wondered if Dr. Dingle was still in her office. The doctor sometimes worked late, well past the building's closing hours. It was only a quarter past seven, so there was a chance she might still be there.

Jakob, the night-shift security guard, wasn't at his usual spot behind the desk near the building's entrance. He was always there, a constant presence, often letting Sam in when she arrived for late-night appointments. But this time, the desk was empty. Strange. Pushing open the door, Sam entered the building. The doors, usually locked after hours, were surprisingly open. Normally, Jakob would buzz her in, but tonight the door gave no resistance. She shrugged it off. Maybe he had left it open for her, anticipating she might come by. He was always considerate like that. Sam turned left toward the elevators but stopped abruptly. The gate bar—designed to block entry without scanning a key card—was wide open. Another oddity. Again, she tried to rationalize it: maybe Jakob left it open for the cleaning crew. But deep down, she knew something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones. Her head throbbed like a drill burrowing into her skull. Taking a deep breath, she pressed on, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for the fourth floor. As the doors closed, a chill crawled over her skin, prickling her like a swarm of tiny insects.

When the elevator doors opened, Sam froze. A wisp of black smoke was seeping from the direction of Dr. Dingle's office. Her first thought was fire, and she broke into a sprint. The door to the office was wide open, and as she reached it, a pungent stench hit her like a brick wall—death and sulfur, sharp and nauseating. Sam gagged, her empty stomach twisting painfully. She had nothing left to throw up, but her body still tried, convulsing as she fought to keep herself upright. Steeling herself, she stepped into the office. The smell was stronger inside. The cozy, calming atmosphere that once defined the space was gone, replaced by a suffocating malevolence that sent shivers down her spine. The room was in chaos: shelves splintered, books scattered across the floor, shards of the white chandelier glittering like fallen stars. Large holes gaped in the walls, and long claw marks scarred the surfaces.

It looked like a storm had torn through the office. Sam, dazed and overwhelmed, stepped forward—and her foot landed on something hard and squishy. She recoiled, looking down to see a blackened tentacle oozing yellow pus that hissed as it burned a hole into the floor. She stumbled back, her mind spinning. Was this real? Was she hallucinating? No. This was real. It felt real. Her gaze snapped to the center of the room, drawn by a pale light. There, by the desk, sat Dr. Dingle—or what was left of her. Her body was slumped across the desk, blood pooling beneath her and spreading to the floor. Sam's instincts screamed at her to run. To get help. But she didn't. Above the chaos hovered the source of the light—a shard of crystal, glowing with an otherworldly brilliance. Its light pulsed, sending fresh waves of pain stabbing through Sam's skull. She gritted her teeth and pushed forward.

"Dr. Dingle?" she whispered. Her voice trembled. Her body screamed for her to turn and leave, but she forced herself to move closer. The doctor looked like she was simply resting her head on the desk, but Sam knew better. She reached out, gently touching her shoulder and pulling her back to see her face.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Dr. Dingle's eyes were burned out, charred sockets staring blankly at nothing. A silver dagger was embedded in her gut, the blood surrounding it already darkening and drying. Sam stumbled back, her hand covering her mouth to stifle a scream. Just then, the crystal shard in the air shot forward, streaking straight at Sam's chest. She leaped back instinctively, losing her footing and crashing onto a pile of scattered files. The shard pierced her chest, disappearing inside her. Pain exploded through her body, worse than anything she had ever felt. She screamed, the sound tearing through the room as her body convulsed. The smell of urine and shit hit her nose, making her gag again. She must have passed out because, when she opened her eyes, she was lying on the floor, her head resting against a stack of fallen papers. One file caught her attention—her own. Her picture and name stared back at her from the cover. Among the scattered files, hers was the only one unsealed. She looked back at Dr. Dingle's lifeless body. Her stomach churned at the sight of the burned-out eyes and the dagger protruding from her abdomen.

"What the fuck have I stumbled onto?" Sam muttered, pressing a trembling hand to her chest. She couldn't feel anything unusual, but the shard—whatever it was—was now inside her. Her instincts finally kicked in. She ran. The image of Dr. Dingle's mutilated body burned itself into her mind, a nightmare she knew would haunt her forever.