Someone's home

I was in somebody’s home, not my own. It was a small quaint little place and I was standing in the living room. A fireplace was in front of me, lit with a comfortable warmth issuing from it. Atop the mantle of the hearth were a number of photographs with slightly familiar faces on them, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on who they were.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” I wheeled around to find the room empty, no mirror, no strange naked man, just me alone in somebody else’s living room.

Don’t panic, Master. I heard the man’s voice, but I couldn’t see him anywhere.

“Where did you go?” I asked aloud.

I’m still in the studio, Master. But I can communicate with you as long as you are here. Welcome to the home of the mirror’s previous owner.

It was in that moment that I began to recognize the features of the people in the photos. They looked like my grandfather and grandmother, but much younger and much happier.

“This is a different reality?” I looked around my surroundings more closely. Nothing about it seemed fake. “It seems so real.”

For all intents and purposes, it is real, Master. This world has its own ecosystem, its own geology, it even has its own inhabitants.

“There are people here?”

Of course. It was designed to be exactly like your world in nearly every way, with the exception that a few of the owners previous friends and family being alive where they were previously deceased.

This revelation struck a deep chord in me. Though I knew little of him, I knew that my grandfather mourned very deeply for his late wife, it would have made sense that given this kind of power he would have created a world where he could be with her again. I was surprised this reality didn’t offer much else different than the regular world, it seemed the man was easy to please. Or he had already had his fun in other ways, it would be impossible to tell.

Suddenly the vertigo returned, and I was once again inside “the Studio” as the man called it.

Yet again, he was there, standing nearly nude in front of me.

“Since you are here, and you are certainly not my previous Master, I can only assume he has passed away and left you this mirror in his will. This is the only way the mirror could have taken you here.”

“That is correct.”

“Well, that means you now own this place, and the reality your predecessor left behind is yours as well. You may use the Studio to alter his world or erase it to make way for a new world.” That seemed simple enough. Or at least, I was able to grasp the concept without my brain melting.

“Where do you fit into all of this, though?” I asked.

“I’m the Studio. Or, at least I’m a part of the Studio that you can interact with. I can answer any questions you have, or even make changes at your request if you’d rather not take a hands-on approach. However, if you prefer the latter…” he made his way to the door in the room with the artist’s brush painted on it and opened it, gesturing for me to enter.

I walked inside to find a much larger room full of various creative tools. I immediately spotted an easel, a writing desk, a block of marble and a stool, even a variety of musical instruments. There was much more, enough that it was a bit overwhelming.

“If you are the creative sort, you can use anything in this room to give inspiration for or directly change the world you create, designing every last detail.” The possibilities were whirling inside my head.

“How would anyone have enough time to design every aspect of an entire world, though?” I asked.

“This studio is timeless, you won’t age here, and time won’t pass here. For that matter, each reality is temporally exclusive. This means that you could spend hundreds of years in your created world and not age a second in your home world, and the same is true for the other way around. If you’re in the Studio, time won’t pass in either reality.”

Well that was certainly helpful.

“But,” the man continued, “if you prefer, you can just tell me what you want to change, and I will do it for you more quickly, though it may not be exactly how you imagine it.”

I walked back into the lounge, for lack of better name, and looked at the door on the other side, with the hanger on it. “And what’s in that room.”

“It’s a dressing room. You can alter any aspect of your appearance or attire in that room, to make sure you fit in with whatever locals inhabit your world. I can help you with that when you’re ready.”

I nodded, but I wasn’t quite done addressing my concerns. “So, what should I call you then?”

“You’re welcome to call me whatever you like, Master, I will answer to any name you give.” He replied, with a patient smile. “After all, I am simply an interface for the studio. I only appear human-like for your convenience.” I supposed it did make it easier to communicate with an actual person rather than… whatever the alternative would have been.

“Okay, fair enough.” I thought to myself, trying to think of a good name. “I think I will call you Alex.” I didn’t want to give him an overtly masculine name, because he was very feminine, so I decided to go with something gender-neutral.

“Very well, Master, I shall respond to that name.” He smiled.

“I do have another question, though, why exactly do you look like that?”

“I can alter my appearance to suit the needs or desires of my Master. The former owner of the studio liked this appearance and state of dress.” He replied simply.

The revelation struck me. The appearance of this “interface” was definitely sexualized. He was only wearing a pair of panties, and every other aspect was attractive, even to me. Was my grandfather bisexual? The interface also looked fairly young, boyish almost. Like he was just barely an adult.

“I get the feeling my appearance is causing some degree of discomfort.” Alex said, blinking and frowning slightly.

I was about to say no, but I figured there was no point in obfuscating. “Kinda, but I wouldn’t say it’s bad per se. I just… I think I’m just realizing I might be bisexual for the first time. It’s a bit shocking really, that’s all.”

“Is there anything I can do to ease the shock? As I’ve said, I can alter my appearance to suit your desire.”

I took another hard look at Alex, drinking in his appearance. Part of my instincts wanted to change him, but I realized there really wasn’t any good reason for me to want to. What exactly did I have to be afraid of? I was about to create a world of my own desire, where the typical kinds of stigmas associated with being bisexual could be entirely absent at my discretion. This revelation was shocking, but it needn’t be. In spite of this, I knew that my encounters with Alex would continue to be awkward until I dealt with it.