This is Not Robert Longshore - The Memoirs of the Fulcrum of Fate

Episode Seven: Venice Part Six: Near Death Experiences I open my eyes. It's dark. Except... there's a light. Ahead of me. Distant. As distant as a star. At the end of a long tunnel. I struggle to my feet, stepping forward into the tunnel. I look down at myself, my hands. I appear to my own eye translucent. Only semicorporeal. I am nude. A silver cord dangles limply from my navel. My eyes follow it to the blackness of the curved tunnel floor, where it snakes along behind me. Across the floor in long, S loops. It terminates at my feet. I lie, slumped at the side of the bed, my head tilted back rather than forward. I watch myself. I'm still. Peitho stirs on the bed. A line of something runs out of my mouth and down my throat. It's frothy. I pull on the cord, and it comes, as lifeless as my body. For a moment, I consider yanking it out of me entirely, but do not. It is strange. I know what has happened. A tunnel to start it all, and a tunnel to finish it. In...

Episode Six: Venice Part Five: Following a Lead T he building Domitian has brought me to, I learn immediately after entering, is an opulent inn. I'm trying not to roll my eyes at the finery – the Romanesque columns, paintings, sculptures, vases, et cetera, which decorate the open, high-ceilinged entrance hall – because I'm being watched. There's a girl behind a desk. Waiting, no doubt, for me to tell her what a vagabond-looking asshole like me is doing in her inn. I turn my attention to her, crossing the ten paces between us. She is pretty – exceptionally pretty, actually. And young – maybe sixteen. Her hair and face are clean, and her dress, while simple, is clean and blue. Expensive. What sort of inn have I found myself in? I smile at her greeting, leaning into her desk with my hip. “ What brings you today, Mister...?” Her voice is clear, bright, pleasant, and, above all, professional. This place isn't hers – or her family's. She's an employe...