The Parallel Universe.

Chapter 2.

Chapter Two.

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It's impossible for me to determine how long I have been out of it.

The world is slowly fading in and out before my eyes, leaving me only barely conscious. I can hear voices, but they are distant and muffled, no more than a distracting buzz in my ears.

A hand rests under my head, supporting it, and another is placed on my face. For the longest time, I am only vaguely aware of their touch, and then—out of nowhere—a coldness suddenly seeps into my cheek, making me jolt upward in shock.

"Shanee!" I blink rapidly in an attempt to bring myself out of my shocked state, but my mind won't comply. Still, that voice…that voice definitely belongs to Michael. So I guess that means whatever happened to us, he survived as well.

"Wake up," a deep voice orders, and although I can't possibly explain why, my senses immediately react to it. My hearing becomes clear again, and the blur before my eyes gives way to reveal a strange scene.

Four strangers stand before me, two of them holding down Michael, one keeping a lookout by the front door, and the last one…

The last one is sitting on his knees a short distance from me, staring at me intently.

It's a young man, presumably in his mid-twenties, with skin so pale that I can detect some of the veins beneath. He has an undercut hairstyle: head shaved to a degree on each side, but the hair on top of his head left untouched. Its color is almost as white as his skin.

He is dressed elegantly, wearing a white shirt tucked into dark blue pants, but the dirt and wrinkles in the fabric and the tucked-up sleeves suggest that whatever lifestyle he is leading lacks the prominent grace with which he presents himself.

The eyes, however, are what really capture me. They are ice blue, just like the shadow that attacked me a little while ago.

This can't be simple coincidence.

One of the other strangers approaches us, coming to a halt beside the pale man. He sighs, putting his hands on his hips, throwing the kneeling comrade an accusing look. "Don't go about ordering around our guest, Azuridian. See, she's shivering!"

The person turns his head from the pale man to me, smiling widely. He has a round head with a small nose that points upwards a little at the tip and deeply tanned skin. His hair is golden blond, unevenly cut into what resembles a pixie haircut and, from the looks of it, very much unkempt. There is an accent to his voice, almost French sounding but not quite.

The strangest thing about him, though—other than the pink shade of his slanted eyes—are his ears. Instead of being rounded at the top, their edges are pointy, almost sharp-looking.

If that wasn't enough, they are covered in piercings from helix to lobe.

In stark contrast to the person beside him, this man is dressed in colorful clothing consisting of checkered pants and a bright yellow sweater that is at least one size too big for him.

The strange, pink eyed man opens his arms as if he wants to embrace me but instead gestures wildly to our surroundings.

"Welcome to our humble abode," he says. "We are thrilled to have a human amongst our numbers, at long last!"

"Stop being all weird, Gwyndal," one of Michael's captors groan. "This isn't a goddamn talk show."

I look over at him only to discover that he is hiding his face underneath a black hood. But the air of mystery that surrounds him is immediately ruined by his loud, animated voice. Glancing in his direction, I notice someone next to him holding down Michael's other arm. My eyes widen upon seeing this other person's face.