The Golden Cage

On the fifteenth night, the rhythm broke.

Vera woke up.

She wasn't in the Velvet Void. She was in the bed, tangled in the black sheets. The room was freezing.

She looked at the clock. 3:00 AM.

Silas wasn't in the chair.

Vera sat up. Her head swam. She felt a strange pulling sensation in her chest, like a thread being tugged.

She got out of bed. The floor was ice. She walked into the living room.

The balcony doors were open. The wind whipped the curtains.

Silas stood on the edge of the balcony. He was facing the city.

But he wasn't just looking.

He was inhaling.

Streams of golden light were flowing up from the city below—thousands of tiny, glowing threads rising from the apartment buildings and houses, converging into a river of light that flowed into Silas’s mouth.

He was feeding.

Vera clapped a hand over her mouth, but a small gasp escaped.

Silas turned. His eyes were glowing with the golden light he had consumed. For a second, he looked monstrous—a silhouette of jagged edges and infinite hunger. Then, the illusion snapped back. He was the handsome billionaire again.

"You are awake," he said. His voice wasn't gentle. It was sharp.

"What are you doing?" Vera whispered.

"Collecting interest," Silas said. "The city sleeps, Vera. And dreams are a renewable resource."

Vera backed away. She bumped into a door she had never noticed before. It was slightly ajar.

"Don't," Silas warned.

But curiosity was a reflex. Vera pushed the door open.

It wasn't a closet. It was a gallery.

Inside, bathed in soft spotlights, were statues. Dozens of them. Women.

They were made of pristine white marble. They were beautiful. They were terrified.

One was curled in a ball. One was reaching out, as if begging. One was sleeping peacefully.

Vera walked up to the nearest one. A woman with long hair, frozen in a scream.

She looked closely at the marble. It wasn't stone. It was... porous.

She looked at the plaque at the base.

* Elena. Acquired 1924.*

"They aren't statues," Vera breathed.

"No," Silas said from the doorway behind her. "They are debtors."

Vera spun around. "You killed them."

"I saved them," Silas corrected. He walked into the room, trailing shadows. "They were broken. Like you. They had nothing left to give the waking world. So I took them. I preserved them. They dream forever now."

"You're eating them," Vera accused, backing away until she hit a pedestal.

"I am a connoisseur," Silas said. "And you, Vera... you are becoming my masterpiece."