Page 71 of Monsters in Love: Lost in the Stars

Kanzex

It had been several days since I had last stood outside her cell, staring through the thick glass, watching her like a study in stillness. Tapping on the digital screen of her chart, I saw the other shifts had reported no activity. A part of me felt irrational satisfaction knowing she hadn’t performed for anyone else either.

Once more, the air felt charged as I approached. Something had shifted between us, a delicate thread of understanding pulling taut, one I was more than willing to follow.

I paused just outside her cell, my eyes fixed on her. Her expression was unreadable, but I felt the pull again—the quiet gravity that surrounded her, that almost beckoned me. Unable to move, I offered it no resistance, watching as she slowly raised her head.

Her eyes were calm, distant, and yet… there was something in them. Something soft, something fragile. Something that made me feel like I had stepped too close to the untouchable, too close to the very center of her existence.

Before I could speak, she did.

"You watch me," her voice was like the hum of an instrument, delicate and melodic but laced with what I could not yet comprehend.

I froze, my mouth dry. No one had ever heard her speak before, not like this. The others had assumed she was mute, some of the younger researchers noted as much in their findings. Whispers in the employee areas spoke of rumors about her captors having broken her spirit to the point where she no longer wished to communicate.

With such an ethereal appearance, who wouldn’t want a touch… a taste.

My lips curled into a snarl for a second before I got a hold of myself and schooled my features.

I had my doubts about the rumors. I had seen the small flickers in her eyes—the way they sparked when she heard words that interested her, when the music she carried within her began to stir.

I would like to believe my voice invoked such a reaction.

"Yes," I said, my voice coming out hoarse, unsure… wanting. "Studying. Trying to unravel the truth."

She tilted her head slightly, the movement slow, graceful, as if she were floating in zero gravity. "But do you understand what you are watching?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. My gums ached while a strange feeling coursed through me. It was as if her question had struck a chord deep within me, one that resonated in places I had never known existed. I had been cataloging her every action, every breath, her mannerisms. I analyzed her physical responses to the ship’s environment, to the pressure of her confinement, her biochemical reactions.

But... I truly hadn’t come to any conclusions that would prove any theories.

"I have some thoughts," I admitted quietly, my hand unconsciously pressing against the glass. "I’m trying to."

She remained silent for a long moment, studying me with a gaze so intense it almost felt like she was reaching inside my mind, peeling back layers I hadn’t even known existed.

Without breaking eye contact, she ran her delicate fingers through her light hair, "Understanding is a slow thing. But the heart... the heart knows long before the mind."

Her words were like a whisper that made the air around me heavier. She spoke with certainty, as though she had knowledge far beyond what I could comprehend. It was unsettling, but also— captivating . I couldn’t look away.

"I..." I trailed off, unsure of how to respond, unsure of how to hold onto any semblance of control in the face of her presence when she interacted like this. "I didn’t expect you to speak."

Her lips curved slightly, a trace of something like amusement flickering in her eyes. "I am full of surprises."

I knew I was walking a fine line—between the scientist studying her, cataloging every detail, and the man who felt a growing pull toward her, an undeniable connection that continued to twist deep within me.

"You’re not like the others I’ve studied," I said, my voice low, almost as if in confession.

Her eyes softened as though considering my words. "I’m not like anyone."

There was an edge to her tone now, something that felt ancient and infinite, as though she was no longer just the being trapped in the cold, sterile cell, but something far more. Something older than stars.

I swallowed hard. Her silence felt like it was pressing against me, filling the air. It was as if she was weighing me—studying me with more precision than I could ever hope to apply to her.

"Why do you speak now?" I asked, almost afraid to break the moment.

She tilted her head again, her hair—like liquid silver—falling over her shoulders. The light from the overhead lamps cast strange shadows across her features, making her look even more ethereal, otherworldly. "Because you listen."

The words felt like a blow to my chest. I did listen. I had been listening for days, for weeks, even though she had never spoken a word. I listened to the way her body responded to the sounds around her. The way she seemed to hear things that no one else did. I had thought it was just a strange side effect of her unique biology, but now I wasn’t so sure.

"You’ve heard the song," she said, her voice softer, almost a murmur now. "You hear it in the quiet moments, don't you?"

I nodded slowly, a chill creeping down my spine. I had heard something, yes. A hum, faint at first, barely noticeable, but always present. The melody seemed to dance on the edge of my consciousness whenever I was near her. It had started as a faint whisper, and now... now it was a presence .

"I don’t understand," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "What is it? What are you?"

Her gaze didn’t leave mine. "I am a comet. A fragment of the stars. A song that calls to the universe."

Her words sent a tremor through me as though the very air around me was vibrating with her energy. She was not just a prisoner. She was not just a specimen. She was incomprehensible—and, Great Zax help me, I was beginning to want to understand her in ways that went beyond just curiosity and study.

I reached out a hand to the glass, wanting to touch her, to somehow make this connection more real, more tangible. But she remained distant, separated by the thick, cold barrier that held her captive.

"I hear your heart," she whispered, her eyes lowering, a strange sadness clouding her gaze. "But it is not enough. You must learn to listen to the music of the universe, to the things that speak without sound."

I didn’t understand her, not fully. But I knew —with a deep, primal certainty—that I was already lost to her. Lost in her mystery.

And I was going to find out everything.

I was going to touch her.