Lilah looked at the address she’d written down. She could make it there in fifteen minutes, ten if she didn’t miss any lights. That left her plenty of time to get ready.
Lilah couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment her priorities changed and she suddenly found herself willing to throw away a perfectly good career with a firm she loved and the best benefits package in this or any other dimension. She could, however, pinpoint at least a part of the reason; it was sleeping the sleep of the semi-just while she remained awake and considering her options.
He doesn’t remember painting the walls of his flat red, but red they are. It must be blood, then. Not all his, or he wouldn’t be alive to wonder at it. There’s simply too much of it to belong to any one, living person.