Chapter 4- Interlude

As Maze pushed open the front door, a strange feeling washed over her—like an electrical charge in the air or a shift in atmospheric pressure. Her instincts, honed over millennia of existence, screamed that something monumental had occurred.

Silently, she surveyed the living room, her keen eyes falling first on the ancient book that lay open on the coffee table. Her gaze lingered there for a moment, its parchment pages sprawled open like a revered tome in some long-lost library. Beside it, a chaotic assembly of empty takeout boxes, greasy pizza cartons, and spent wine bottles lay scattered.

A ripple of concern briefly disturbed her excitement. Could Chloe be in danger? Did the book possess some sort of malign power she hadn't accounted for? But then her eyes fell upon a tiny object that dispelled her worries and sent a jolt of adrenaline through her system: a petite pendant shaped like a pig, intricately designed and seemingly out of place amid the debris.

Maze bit her lip, a bolt of exhilaration sparking through her. "Good for you, Decker," she whispered, barely containing her excitement. She envisioned Chloe sitting before the open book, gorging herself on an assortment of earthly delights, as if praying at some hedonistic altar to the deity of gluttony. The mental image was as absurd as it was fascinating. "I'll join you soon," she added, her voice tinged with a heady mix of awe and curiosity.

Gently, almost reverently, she placed the pendant back on the table. This was no ordinary trinket; it was a harbinger, a sign that the mythic tale she had only recently divulged to Chloe was unfurling into reality.

Drawn back to the book, her eyes widened. The etching of the prior queen—once a definitive image—was gone. In its place were the faintest traces of a new portrait beginning to form. The prophecy was not just unfolding; it was being rewritten. And Chloe—her Chloe—was at the very heart of it.

With a feeling that was almost giddy, Maze turned on her heels and exited into the enveloping darkness of the night. Her mind was a labyrinth of swirling thoughts, pulsing with ideas, strategies, and a barely contained excitement that threatened to burst forth. Where she was going didn't matter. The journey had begun, and the path—though unclear—promised the kind of adventure, the caliber of significance, that Maze had yearned for.

As she disappeared into the inky blackness, one thing was crystal clear: something monumental was happening, something celestial and diabolical and utterly human all at once. And she would be damned if she wasn't going to be a part of it.