Page 70 of Monsters in Love: Lost in the Stars

Dr. Kanzex Scil - Head of research on project Saturn

I was supposed to be focused. I was supposed to keep my distance.

But, as I stood in the sterile white corridor of the research ship, watching her through the reinforced glass of her cell, my mind was anything but calm. The humming of the ship’s engines, the sharp, mechanical clanks of the air vents—all of it became background noise as I focused on her. The prisoner. The comet girl. She was like nothing I had ever seen before, and that made her... dangerous .

The intergalactic coalition followed reports of a moving star, a possible asteroid. They even resorted to contract hires to help with the hunt. Little did they know they would stumble upon an actual being that was affecting its environment strangely.

The first time I laid eyes on her, I was inexplicably drawn. She was beyond the comprehension of the leading races in the cosmos. How could a star be a living being? A living, walking, being manifested in what was in front of me.

Theories swirled in my mind, many of them battling to gain dominion. But I didn’t let myself acknowledge that. I couldn’t. I was the head researcher on this project, renowned for my years of experience across different planets, accumulating knowledge from races both primitive and advanced, through trade and treaties as well as dealings through shady trade stations.

So it was to no surprise that I would be entrusted with studying this powerful being, this celestial force that mercenaries had finally managed to capture after years of failed attempts.

Astraea —a name given to her by the previous crew, though I was starting to suspect that whatever she was, she had existed long before they discovered her. They didn’t understand her the way I was starting to. They saw her as just an anomaly to be studied, a being to be controlled, her power measured and manipulated. But I... I could sense something in her that was deeper than just the surface-level observations.

I glanced at the sterile chart that sat next to the thick glass. It detailed her species—unknown, of course, as much of the galaxy was still an uncharted mystery. But the entries were cold, clinical, as if this were just another experiment, another test. She was a rare celestial being, her body made from the very materials of a comet—a creature of light, dust, and gravity. The ship’s scientists had struggled to understand how she even existed, let alone how to harness her powers.

But they were confident enough to try, with or without her permission.

What none of them could measure, what they failed to realize, was what she was and her purpose in the universe. Something I intend to discover. The energy that pulsed from her was palpable, and it felt almost... alive , more than just a collection of matter and stardust. She was a presence far beyond what any of us were capable of understanding, as a strange gravitational aura continued to ebb and flow from her skin.

Her presence haunted me. When I stood near her, even from across the glass, it felt like the air was charged. There was a subtle pull, a faint tug on my consciousness… a caress. I had thought it was a trick of the mind at first—a result of being so close to the being for prolonged periods of time—but no. The magnetism I felt was real. Did the other researchers feel the same? I narrowed my eyes and continued to examine her stance from afar. None of them expressed it, none of them showed signs of it.

I stood frozen, unable to look away as I watched her. Her movements were so delicate, so serene. She sat on the floor of her cell, her legs tucked beneath her, her arms wrapped around her knees in an almost fetal position. Her eyes were closed, and she looked... fragile. Not the type of being I had expected to cause such a reaction from something as grand as the intergalactic coalition.

The mercenaries spoke in hushed tones about her “power”—how her voice had a strange, hypnotic attraction, how she could influence the very energy fields of the ship if she chose to. I had heard rumors of how, in her moments of despair, her song—her music —had triggered a series of strange, unexplainable phenomena aboard the ship. But those were just whispers. The truth was, no one had figured her out yet, not even those above me.

Every day, I observed her, cataloged her reactions, her body language, her patterns. Mesmerized by the way her eyes would shimmer like infinite stars while her darkness wrapped around her like space and time itself. She hadn’t said a word of actual conversation to anyone since her capture. She didn’t need to. The silence she carried was enough.

Yet, as I stood there, as I watched the slow and steady rise and fall of her breathing, an inexplicable feeling gripped me. I shouldn’t have felt it. I knew that. I was a professional, a scientist. Surely, I had studied beings far more dangerous than her. And yet... every time I saw her, my heart raced.

Every time I saw her, it felt like I was standing on the edge of something vast—a horizon ready to swallow me whole.

A part of me—wanted her in ways I shouldn’t.

The others didn’t notice the change within me, my practiced stoicism, the perfect facade of professionalism. Every time they left her alone, I lingered just outside the glass, wondering what would happen if I tried to speak to her, if I tried to get her to trust me. I had access to the ship’s most sensitive equipment, the best tools to understand the depths of her biology, her capabilities. But I had no interest in just studying her. I wanted to connect with her. I wanted to understand the music in her voice, the otherworldly glittering light in her eyes.

I was... consumed by her, in ways that shouldn’t have been possible for a male like me. Crossing my arms, the lab coat hid most of the alternating colors expressed on my scales whenever I was in her presence. We Ghekets were among the more advanced species from Nagua XP2, but our mating signals remained a contradiction. From the time of our ancestors, they were the one aspect of our biology that never evolved, remaining rooted in primitive origins. The dichotomy was not lost on me, as my scales shifted in color with my emotions the closer I drew to her.

She had been quiet for hours now, the only movement coming from her slight, rhythmic breathing. A sharp pang hit my chest, my emotions torn between concern over the potential pain and irritation at how she could provoke such a thought in me—a male who should be focused solely on our purpose here.

My tail slowly swished in agitation. Bound to this small, sterile room while the rest of the universe continued on outside, I could see why she would draw into herself. But it didn’t change the fact that the coalition would never let her go.

My gums ached as my fangs extended themselves involuntarily. I licked my lips, trying to get a hold of myself in her presence.

"She's just a specimen," I muttered to myself, shaking my head. I had to cling to that cold truth to keep my rationality intact.

She’s just a specimen.

But I couldn’t get rid of the ache inside me. The desire to touch her skin to see if the refraction of light on the surface truly was part of the universe itself.

And I couldn’t help but wonder if she felt the same way—if she was waiting for someone to reach her, to see her, beyond the glass and the sterile walls.

Before I could think further, there was a sudden shift. Her head turned slightly, eyes still closed, and I swore I could feel her awareness prickling against the barrier between us.

A breath caught in my throat, and I blinked, staring at her, unsure of what I had just experienced.

Her eyes didn’t open. But an unknown deep inside me stirred. A feeling. A connection. And it was then, with a terrifying certainty, that I realized:

I had already fallen.

And it was too late to turn back.