STARLIGHT UNBOUND by Deus Ex Machina - HTML preview

Chapter 7

The alarm beeped at his bedside, a rhythmic tone designed to ease him into wakefulness. On any other day, Lucien would’ve been out of bed as it began— or even before it sounded—his movements automatic, stepping seamlessly into the pattern of his day.

But this morning he wasn’t thinking about his routine.

Lying on his back, he stared at the blank expanse of the ceiling as dawn crept through the blinds in thin, hesitant slivers. His body felt heavy, like something unseen was pushing down on him, seeping into his skin.

The remnants of a dream clung to his mind —a vague, fleeting sense of motion and light, slipping further away with every passing second. He couldn’t grasp the details, but the significance of it remained, settling deep into his bones like an ache.

Finally, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and dragged his hands down his face, the alarm still droning in the background. He ended it with a quick tap, the sudden absence of sound leaving an emptiness behind.

In the bathroom, the routine unfolded as always —wash, dress, eat—but each action felt slightly off, as though his body were moving a fraction of a second behind his thoughts. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, the fabric rougher than he remembered, catching against his skin. The breakfast cubes tasted blander than usual, the protein’s bitterness lingering too long on his tongue, clinging like something unwelcome.

Even the silence of his apartment, once a source of comfort, felt thick now—oppressive, binding, too aware of itself.

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