NOVEL NEXT Intermission: Intercession Interrupted
Intermission: Intercession Interrupted
Alyssa woke up with a scowl like the ceiling had insulted her mother. Which, in a way, it had, by existing before ginger tea was brewed. She flung her legs out of bed, immediately entangled in a vengeful nest of blankets. She glared at the floor like it had tripped her on purpose.
"Rude," she muttered, trudging toward the kitchen like a particularly sullen cryptid.
Teeth unbrushed, because priorities, she lit the kettle and grated ginger with the intensity of someone in a custody battle with her immune system. The steam rose. Sanity returned. Her shoulders dropped.
"Better than therapy," she whispered, sipping deeply, eyes shut like a monk achieving enlightenment via herbs and stubbornness.
Warmth seeped through her, dissolving the morning's grudge. It left behind something suspiciously close to optimism, not that she'd ever say that. Mug empty, she nodded firmly.
"Now I can human."
Toothbrush: finally. Humming: initiated. By the time she reached the fish tank, she was full Disney protagonist. Her little swimmers swirled expectantly. She danced while feeding them.
One goldfish paused, visibly judging.
"Don't start with me, Theodore," she sniffed. "You can't even salsa."
Breakfast became a concert. Spatula: mic. Eggs: percussion. Hips: unwarranted. Mid-spin, she collided with a precarious tower of unread books and flailed backward, landing sideways on the couch like a collapsed marionette. Still holding the spatula aloft, she declared, "Nailed it!"
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Then: the shower. Steam transformed the bathroom into a stage. Alyssa's voice, powered by soap and hubris, howled lyrics from her favorite band, Punkrocker, with the commitment of someone auditioning for a tragic biopic.
"I am the stooorm," she shrieked, shampoo tears running down her face. "And I will conquer the daaaay!"
Swaddled in a fluffy robe, she fist-pumped across the room, still mid-chorus, nearly slipping again, but recovering like a drama queen on a marble staircase.
She froze.
On the countertop: an ant, tiny and determined, crossing the expanse like an explorer on a cosmic pilgrimage. She leaned close, eyes narrowing in respect.
"Hey, little guy. You made it to the end of the world too? Solid."
She padded to the window and opened it. Outside: nothing. Not darkness like night, absence. No stars, no sky. Just her floating house bobbing peacefully in the void. A sip of now-lukewarm ginger tea steadied her.
Out there, beyond the nothing, glowed a single white star. It shimmered in the shape of a teenage girl, curled like a comma in space.
Alyssa wagged a finger. "Ah-ah. No spoilers."
She closed the window. Stretched. Yawned with theatrical flair.
"Geez, I'm exhausted. Narrating is brutal. And in case you didn't catch on—Sasha? Not real. That's me, Alyssa. Twist, huh?"
She collapsed onto the sofa, the weight of unspoken chapters tugging at her eyelids. "Thanks for sticking around. Volume Two drops in December. I swear it. 90K more words, 26 more chapters, zero regrets. Unfortunately we're not Sanderson. Or Eli Singh-Turner. Lower your bar, babes."
She chuckled, curling into the cushions like a cat who'd just wrapped a Broadway show.
"Masterpieces take naps too. See you in Volume Two."
Sleep pulled her under, the smile still ghosting her lips. The ginger tea sat forgotten on the table—cold, but patient.