(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
The lights of Nar Shaddaa spread like a thousand broken promises below her.
Sommer Dai stood at the edge of her glass-walled bedroom, bare feet sinking into the velvet rug, her skin still humming from the club's last kiss of music. Outside, the city pulsed — all chrome veins and violet steam, glittering spires dressed in neon winks, the language of seduction written across every billboard.
Inside, her loft was too quiet.
No guards. No music. No voice. Just the distant moan of air scrubbers, like machines crying in their sleep.
She peeled off her gloves with slow precision, each fingertip sliding free like it was shedding skin. Her jacket slid from her shoulders, puddling at her heels. One stiletto heel caught on the hem of her slitted dress. She kicked it off. The other she simply stepped out of, letting it topple sideways like a dying thought.
Her reflection in the window was a ghost — smeared with citylight, draped in luxury, eyes too wide, too knowing.
She touched her neck where the Duke's lips had brushed hours earlier. The skin was cold now.
Sommer Dai stood at the edge of her glass-walled bedroom, bare feet sinking into the velvet rug, her skin still humming from the club's last kiss of music. Outside, the city pulsed — all chrome veins and violet steam, glittering spires dressed in neon winks, the language of seduction written across every billboard.
Inside, her loft was too quiet.
No guards. No music. No voice. Just the distant moan of air scrubbers, like machines crying in their sleep.
She peeled off her gloves with slow precision, each fingertip sliding free like it was shedding skin. Her jacket slid from her shoulders, puddling at her heels. One stiletto heel caught on the hem of her slitted dress. She kicked it off. The other she simply stepped out of, letting it topple sideways like a dying thought.
Her reflection in the window was a ghost — smeared with citylight, draped in luxury, eyes too wide, too knowing.
She touched her neck where the Duke's lips had brushed hours earlier. The skin was cold now.
The whisper wasn't external. It wasn't her thought, either. It came from that strange in-between place — the fault line between instinct and intuition.
Sommer exhaled and turned from the window. Her bed, impossibly inviting, spilled itself in silken layers — obsidian-black sheets, pale ivory pillows, a blanket that shimmered like wet oil. It felt like it was breathing.
She let herself fall onto it. A practiced movement — graceful, fluid.
But this time, her body didn't bounce. It sank.
Too deep.
Her limbs didn't move.
Her chest didn't rise.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came.
The world flattened into stillness.
Sommer exhaled and turned from the window. Her bed, impossibly inviting, spilled itself in silken layers — obsidian-black sheets, pale ivory pillows, a blanket that shimmered like wet oil. It felt like it was breathing.
She let herself fall onto it. A practiced movement — graceful, fluid.
But this time, her body didn't bounce. It sank.
Too deep.
Her limbs didn't move.
Her chest didn't rise.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came.
The world flattened into stillness.
The panic was real. Hot. Immediate. But it had no outlet. Her body had become a mausoleum — beautiful, expensive, locked from within.
Her eyes were the only part of her that obeyed.
The ceiling hovered above her like a lid. Something in the lighting shifted — the recessed glow turned dim, dimmer, then… reversed, as if the shadows were now the source of light.
A tremble ran through the glass wall behind her.
And then… the hum began.
Low. Subsonic. Like a purr inside her spinal cord. A note that did not exist in the real world. It didn't vibrate the air — it vibrated her.
The ceiling shimmered, liquefied. No, it was more than shimmer. It pulsed. Like it had veins. Like it had begun to bleed light from behind itself.
Something was arriving.
Her fingers twitched.
Her tongue pressed hard against the roof of her mouth, involuntarily.
She could feel it. Something old, ancient, watching from behind the veil of perception.
Not a presence. A will.
She blinked. Once.
And suddenly the room cracked at the seams.
The skyline outside became a black smear. The bed was gone. Her body was falling. Falling without speed. Like gravity was drunk. Like reality was being painted by a hand that had forgotten its lines.
She fell through herself.
Through velvet.
Through warmth.
Through the scent of blood and roses.
Her eyes were the only part of her that obeyed.
The ceiling hovered above her like a lid. Something in the lighting shifted — the recessed glow turned dim, dimmer, then… reversed, as if the shadows were now the source of light.
A tremble ran through the glass wall behind her.
And then… the hum began.
Low. Subsonic. Like a purr inside her spinal cord. A note that did not exist in the real world. It didn't vibrate the air — it vibrated her.
The ceiling shimmered, liquefied. No, it was more than shimmer. It pulsed. Like it had veins. Like it had begun to bleed light from behind itself.
Something was arriving.
Her fingers twitched.
Her tongue pressed hard against the roof of her mouth, involuntarily.
She could feel it. Something old, ancient, watching from behind the veil of perception.
Not a presence. A will.
She blinked. Once.
And suddenly the room cracked at the seams.
The skyline outside became a black smear. The bed was gone. Her body was falling. Falling without speed. Like gravity was drunk. Like reality was being painted by a hand that had forgotten its lines.
She fell through herself.
Through velvet.
Through warmth.
Through the scent of blood and roses.
