101

An elven-human mix of uncertain age and limitless beauty greets you to lead you to your new den. She takes you up the spiral staircase, and up, and up, so far up that you wonder how much of the inside of the building is actually inside the outside. There is after all a massive tower whose shape should make it unsound for all sorts of reasons but has yet to be toppled by anything short of the sorcery that originally erected it. It can’t be too much of a stretch to assume there is some architectural magic at play to expand buildings without adding external volume.

“All of the mature rooms are taken,” says the elf, “so I’ll put you in one of the ones ripening. The ground will be a little soft, and you should try to avoid bleeding on it as it may try to consume you if it tastes you. It likes elves more but you can never be too careful.”

She finally takes you out of the ever climbing corkscrew, of which there remains much to go up into the distance, and takes you down a corridor, only her oil lamp showing the way.

The door has teeth, thousands of them, each sharp as razors and shining in the light of the flame. She has to wrench it open. You would help, but the risk of losing a hand gives you pause.

“There should be a chest for laundry inside by now, it won’t grow to its full size if you move it but I’m sure no one will mind, so if you could go and fetch it to block the mouth...”

“Of course.” You can barely see her face, but it’s clear she’s struggling. You rush through the opening and fumble around until you find the mass she spoke of. You kick it to the door, the girl releases it, and the opening is wedged.

“Since-” the elf starts, catching her breath, “Since you’re in, the window should open up by tomorrow. Meanwhile you better take my lamp. I’ll go downstairs and fetch candles, then I can explain everything you need to know to survive.”

She hands you the lamp and sets out toward the stairs without another word, leaving you, to all intents and purposes, stranded. As your eyes adjust to the weak light, apart from the toothy door, you can’t see anything threatening. There is evidence of a bed, although it looks small; the same goes for a window, and a small chute for relieving bodily functions. Yet she kind of **** you to stay on the spot in promising to come back with lights and explanation.

You think of the girl herself, what you saw of her. She had pointy ears, the pale almost green skin characteristic of elves, but brown hair, as opposed to the reds and blondes exclusive to ‘purebloods’ of the species. You remember being attracted to her instantly, and followed her without question, yet you can’t very well picture her anymore, nor even pick out the features that struck you as attractive. You can’t picture her face without immediately recognizing somebody else; you can’t picture her general silhouette without recognizing bits of other people you’ve seen before. You saw she was an elf, yet you can’t even picture her pointy ears.

What do you do?

• Wait for her just the same? Turn to 82.

• Get back downstairs and potentially make a fool of yourself, but put your mind at rest? Turn to 72.