Guess what day it is! It’s Snippet Saturday! Now who’s ready for another teaser from Metanoia?
The door opens all at once and a tall spindly-looking shadow steps out to greet us. I have to crank my neck back to look all the way up to his face. He appears to be in his mid-thirties. His long ebony hair spans down his back, thick and straight, reaching his waistline. I almost laugh at my idiocy because for some unknown reason I was expecting Gandalf to open the door with his wizardly staff in hand and his long gray beard swaying in the night air. Instead, this man looks just like any other, except for his eyes. When they flash up to meet mine, I am startled to see what looks like pools of black oil staring back at me. No pupil. No iris. Just liquid nothingness. They don’t even reflect the moonlight. No, they seem to absorb whatever light comes into contact with them. I jerk my eyes from his and look him up and down, taking in his full appearance as he steps out fully into the moonlight. He’s wearing black everything. Black jeans that are slung low on his bony hips, a black thermal shirt that clings to his protruding collarbone, and heavy-duty biker boots with spikes for buckles. He is the epitome of emo, if I’ve ever seen it. “Murtag. I’d like to introduce you to…” Kayla begins, but he cuts her off. “The Star Child.” He reaches a bony finger out and runs it along my cheekbone. I recoil and my nose curls up as my eyes flicker from him to Kayla, searching for an answer as to what I should do. Do I allow this? Do I smart off to him? Kayla did say to keep my mouth shut, and the last thing I want to do is piss him off and leave here without any answers. He notices my discomfiture and withdraws his spindly hand. “Pardon me. It’s just that I have waited so long to meet you in the flesh. And yet, here you are.” He waves his hands showcasing me like he’s a model on a game show. Yes, I’m quite aware of where I am, dumbass. I keep that thought to myself, but his liquid orbs swirl faster and the corner of his mouth twitches in wry amusement. His face is pale and free of any lines or signs of ever being exposed to the sun. “I shall take that as a compliment,” he says, as if he just read my mind. He smiles, and I notice his pointed teeth. They look like fangs, but instead of just his canines being pointed, all of them are. My eyes widen in shock as the noticeable differences make it clear to me that this man is not human.