The Screaming Flower

Two weeks into her captivity, Vesper had managed to civilize the abyss.

The main hall now had a consistent floor. She had bullied the sentient shadows into acting as draft excluders. She had organized Syzygy’s library, which was previously sorted by "Level of Cursedness," into a coherent alphabetical system, despite Syzygy’s protests that the *Necronomicon* didn't belong next to *Little Women*.

"It’s by author!" Vesper had yelled. "Alcott and Alhazred. Deal with it."

Syzygy found himself spending less time in the deep Void and more time hovering in the doorway, watching her. She was fascinating. She hummed while she dusted. She insulted the eldritch horrors that lived in the walls until they retreated. She was entirely unafraid of him.

He decided to court her.

He had read about courting in the books she organized. Humans liked gifts.

He appeared at breakfast—which was toast Vesper had made over a conjure-fire—holding a box.

"For you," Syzygy rumbled, placing the box on the table. The box was made of darkness and felt cold to the touch.

Vesper looked up from her toast. "Is it alive?"

"Open it," Syzygy urged. The static around his head was pinkish today. Vesper had decided pink static meant he was pleased.

She opened the box.

Inside sat a flower. It was beautiful, with petals the color of a bruised sunset.

It opened its mouth and screamed.

* EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!*

Vesper slammed the box shut. The screaming was muffled but still audible.

She looked at Syzygy. "It screams."

"It is a Banshee Orchid," Syzygy said proudly. "It sings the song of the dying sun. It is very rare."

"It sounds like a tea kettle being murdered," Vesper said. "Syzygy, honey, look at me. Flowers are supposed to smell nice and be quiet. They are not supposed to induce tinnitus."

Syzygy deflated. The pink static turned to a sad blue. "I thought... it matched your spirit. Loud. Resilient."

Vesper paused. She looked at the box, then at the monster in the suit. He was trying. In his own, horrific, eldritch way, he was trying to be nice.

She sighed and patted the hand that was currently resting on the table. His skin felt like television static—tingly and numb.

"It’s... thoughtful," she lied. "I'll put it in the guest room. The one with the soundproofing."

"I have another gift," Syzygy said, perking up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a jar. Inside was a swirling vortex of blackness.

"What is this?" Vesper asked warily.

"A pocket dimension of eternal night," Syzygy said. "In case you need to nap."

Vesper stared at the jar. "Okay, that’s actually cool. I’ll take the nap jar."

Syzygy preened. He sat down opposite her, mimicking her posture.

"You are... pleasing, Vesper," he said. "Most mortals fray at the edges when they stay here. You solidify."

"I've worked retail," Vesper said, buttering another piece of toast. "I have no soul left to fray. I am composed entirely of spite and caffeine."

"Spite," Syzygy tasted the word. "A powerful energy source. Is that why you stay? To spite the universe?"

"I stay because the door is locked, Syzygy," she pointed out.

" The door is not locked," he said softly.

Vesper froze. "What?"

"The door is open. It has always been open." He pointed to the main archway. "You stay because you are hiding. You are a void, just like me. You are empty, so you fill the space with noise."

Vesper put down her knife. The deadpan mask slipped, just for a second, revealing the tired, lonely woman underneath.

"Better to be the noise than the silence," she whispered. "Silence means you're alone."

Syzygy reached out. He touched her cheek. His touch didn't erase her. It grounded her.

"You are not alone," the monster said. "You are simply... located elsewhere."