Interior Design at the Event Horizon

Travel by Void was not pleasant. It felt like being folded into an origami swan and then unfolded by someone who didn't know the steps.

Vesper landed on her hands and knees, gasping for air that smelled of ozone and old books. She opened her eyes.

She was floating.

Or rather, the floor was floating. She was standing on a slab of obsidian suspended in an infinite expanse of grey nothingness. Around her, hallways looped like Mobius strips. Staircases led to ceilings. Windows looked out onto a darkness so profound it hurt to look at.

"Welcome," Syzygy said. He was standing on the ceiling, looking down at her. "To the Spire."

"You have a gravity problem," Vesper noted, standing up and testing her footing. "And your feng shui is a disaster."

Syzygy dropped from the ceiling, landing without a sound. He paced around her, the static of his form crackling.

"I require... a reference," he said. "The Void is formless. I am formless. I require a constant. A point of focus to keep the walls from dissolving."

Vesper crossed her arms. "So I'm a paperweight? You bought a human paperweight?"

"I bought a presence," Syzygy corrected. "You are loud. Your soul is... heavy. It anchors the room."

He waved a hand. A chair materialized. It was made of glass and looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"Sit," he commanded. "Be present."

Vesper looked at the chair. "No."

Syzygy paused. The nebula of his face swirled faster. "No? I am the Singularity. I consume stars. You will sit."

"It looks cold," Vesper argued. "And it has no lumbar support. If I'm going to be your anchor, I need ergonomics. Do you have a sofa? Maybe something in velvet? A nice rug would really tie the abyss together."

Syzygy stared at her. For an entity that had existed since the dawn of time, he looked remarkably confused.

"A... rug?"

"Yes. A rug. And maybe a plant. Do you have plants? Or do they just die of existential dread here?"

Syzygy gestured vaguely to a corner where a shadow was writhing in agony. "I have... that."

"That's a shadow demon having a panic attack," Vesper said flatly. "That is not a ficus."

She sighed, a long, dramatic exhale that seemed to echo in the vast emptiness. She walked over to a pile of ancient, floating debris—books, armor, bones—and started sifting through it.

"Okay, look, if I'm staying, we are making changes," she announced. "First rule: Gravity needs to pick a direction. It’s making me nauseous. Second rule: No whispering walls. It’s creepy. Third rule: I need tea. Do you have tea, or do you just drink the tears of the damned?"

Syzygy watched her. He had expected screaming. He had expected begging. He had expected her to dissolve into madness upon witnessing the non-Euclidean geometry of his home.

Instead, she was judging his housekeeping.

"I can acquire... tea," Syzygy said slowly.

"Earl Grey," Vesper ordered, not looking up. "Hot. And a mug. Not a skull. A mug."

Syzygy tilted his head. A strange sensation bloomed in his chest—or the void where a chest mimicked human anatomy. It wasn't hunger. It was... amusement.

"As you wish," the Void King said.