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Darkness slowly veiled my eyes, almost as gradually as the fading sounds in that darkness — the voices of those two: the receptionist and the man who looked exactly like I had just a few hours ago. And then it came. Darkness and silence. But my consciousness didn’t switch off. No, on the contrary — it was like I stepped out of my own body. Like my mind turned inside out and found itself not in darkness, but in... white.
Everything around me turned white — not bright, not blinding — but soft, like milk spilled under the morning sun. No shadows, no sounds, no horizon, no sky — just me. Me — wearing nothing but yellow bikini bottoms, my hair falling freely over my shoulders and back, and my breasts… heavy, full, still pressing down on my ribs even in this position.
I stood there, trying to understand what was happening, glancing around the void, hoping to find at least something to remind me that I existed — not just a body, but a person, a mind, an engineer, goddammit, Zak Taylor. But everything was silent. Only silence. A silence in which my own breath became the loudest sound. One breath — my tits rose. One exhale — they sank. And that was all I could hear. Breathing. The movement of my body. Its response.
And then — laughter.
A woman’s.
I flinched. Not because it was evil or scary. No. It was... beautiful. Musical. And at the same time — way too confident. The laugh of a woman who knows she’s in control. The laugh of someone who had been watching me all this time and had now finally decided to step into the spotlight.
— Ah, minha menina... (Ah, my girl…) — The voice was low, deep, coming from the very essence of this strange place. — Que cena você fez lá embaixo... tão dramática... (What a scene you made down there… so dramatic…)
I turned sharply, for some reason squeezing my eyes shut. Probably from fear. And when I opened them, slowly, like in some slow-mo movie, I saw her.
She stood barefoot, surrounded by the same endless white space, but it felt like the space gathered around her, framing her figure. Tall. With skin dark as night, a cascade of hair curled like ocean waves flowing over bare shoulders. She wasn’t wearing clothes — she was dressed in Brazil itself — golden fabric that highlighted her curves instead of hiding them. Earrings sparkled like the sun, her smile — like sin. Her eyes gleamed as if Ipanema itself was reflecting in them.
— Como você ficou linda... tão... suculenta. (You’ve become so beautiful… so… juicy.) — She walked toward me slowly, her hips swaying, and I felt my body... react. That warmth in my chest again, as if from a touch, though she hadn’t even laid a finger on me yet. — Mas por que estou surpreso? Meu trabalho é sempre lindo. (Though why am I surprised? My work is always beautiful.)