As she goes to dispose of her drink, she trips on her own two feet, and without thinking, I reach out and grab her, steadying her on her feet. My heart goes into my throat as I feel a smidge of my power release.
I click into a saved recording labeled Message for Melpomene, and it pulls up a grainy, static-filled video of my bedroom. A shiver goes down my spine as the dark shape of a woman moves across the room, idly swinging a club.
“My, my, that’s quite the piece you have there,” the man at the front desk remarks, his eyes going round like saucers at the sight of it. I feel a slow smirk creep across my face as something, or someone, shifts in my head.
So, this is strange. There’s a tragedy mask sitting on my kitchen table. I don’t own a tragedy mask. I have no idea where it came from or how in Tartarus it got in my house. It’s giving me a weird vibe, too, like déjà vu. It’s so bizarre. I think I’ll keep it.