Haircut

Aether lurches upright, head throbbing. His vision sharpens—lips. Plump, violently red, suspended in the gloom like a forbidden fruit.. He recoils, but the image lingers, alluring and unnerving. A wet splat echoes. He glances down—thick blood oozes down his tunic from a sword embedded into a stomach, staining the fabric black.

"Wha—what the—?" he chokes out.

The room reeks of damp stone and iron. Four narrow beds hug the walls, their frames rusted and crooked. Rough-hewn walls claw upward, gouged with tool marks as if carved in frenzied haste. No windows. The only exit: three warped doors huddled in the far corner

"Just what you'd expect from star's dominion" Aether mutters, knuckles hardened as he grips the bedpost. But that celestial realm had shimmered—this place sweats malice. He scrambles onto the mattress, boots denting moldy sheets. "I saw lips. Hallucinations. Gotta… fix this."

"You saw my lips."