Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women

Jude opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn't come immediately. Did it matter? If this was a dream, if none of this was real, what difference did it make?

And yet, the thought of waking up, of losing this moment, filled him with an inexplicable sense of unease.

"I don't know," he admitted.

The figure nodded as if they had expected his answer. "Then keep moving."

It was not a command, not an insistence, but an invitation.

Jude took another step, then another. The world around him continued to shift, forming shapes that dissolved as quickly as they appeared. Buildings rose from the ground, their structures fluid and ever-changing, as if they couldn't quite decide what they wanted to be. The sky above him was neither day nor night, holding an endless expanse of color that twisted in ways he couldn't comprehend.

He tried to focus on something—anything—that felt solid, but the more he searched, the more elusive it all became.

If this was a dream, he wasn't in control of it.

And that realization unsettled him.

The figure continued forward, leading him toward something unseen. Jude followed, though part of him wanted to stop, to test the limits of whatever this was. What would happen if he refused to move? Would the world unravel? Would he wake up?

Before he could act on the thought, the ground beneath him shifted again, and suddenly, they were somewhere new.

It wasn't a garden anymore.

The golden hues had faded, replaced by a vast landscape that stretched endlessly in all directions. The air here felt heavier, charged with something he couldn't name. Shadows moved at the edges of his vision, but when he turned to look, there was nothing there.

The figure beside him remained unbothered.

"This is where you decide," they said.

Jude frowned. "Decide what?"

The figure gestured outward. "Whether to accept or deny."

"Accept what?"

The figure finally turned to face him fully. "Everything."

Jude stared at them, waiting for an explanation, but none came. Instead, the world around them began to shift again, the landscape folding in on itself as though it were made of paper being crumpled by unseen hands.

And then, suddenly, he was somewhere else.

He blinked.

A room.

It was simple, familiar. A wooden floor. A desk against the wall. A window overlooking nothing in particular.

Jude's heart pounded. This—this was real. He recognized this place. This was his room. His old room.

He turned sharply, expecting to see the figure still standing there, but they were gone.

The air was still, and for the first time since this all began, he felt truly alone.

His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the edge of the desk. Solid. Real. He ran his fingers along the surface, feeling the small imperfections in the wood, the tiny scratches he had long since stopped noticing.

This was real.

Wasn't it?

Jude exhaled slowly. He needed to think. Needed to—

A knock at the door.

His breath caught in his throat.

He turned, hesitating before taking a step toward it. His fingers hovered over the handle.

He wasn't sure he wanted to open it.

Because if he did—

He wasn't sure what he would find.

Jude hesitated. His fingers brushed against the door handle, feeling its familiar coolness under his skin. The knock had been soft, almost hesitant, as if whoever stood on the other side wasn't entirely sure they should be there. A part of him wanted to call out, to ask who it was, but the weight in his chest told him that the answer wouldn't change anything. He knew, deep down, that whatever was beyond this door would not follow the rules of the world he had once understood.

He took a breath and turned the handle.

The door swung open silently.

At first, he saw nothing. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, stretching forward in an impossibly long corridor that he didn't remember existing in his home. The walls seemed to waver slightly, their edges undefined, as if they weren't entirely certain of their own shape. There was no one standing there. No shadow, no figure waiting to be acknowledged.

And yet, he knew he wasn't alone.

He stepped forward. His footsteps made no sound, as if the floor wasn't really there, or as if he himself wasn't. The air around him felt thicker, pressing in on him like unseen hands. The hallway stretched endlessly, but something told him that if he walked far enough, he would reach a point where the world made sense again.

He moved forward.

With every step, something shifted. The walls began to take shape, solidifying into something more familiar. Paintings appeared, ones he vaguely recognized from his childhood, though he couldn't recall ever seeing them in this hallway. The air grew warmer, the strange pressure fading slightly, though an undercurrent of something unseen still lingered.

Then he heard it. A voice.

Soft. Gentle. Calling his name.

He stopped. His heart pounded in his chest.

The voice was achingly familiar, but not in a way that made sense. It was a voice he had long forgotten, yet one that had once meant everything.

He turned.

A door had appeared along the hallway, one that hadn't been there before. It was slightly ajar, light spilling out from the crack between the frame. The voice came from within.

Jude stepped toward it, hesitance warring with an inexplicable pull.

He pushed the door open.

Inside, the room was unlike anything he had expected. It was warm, inviting, filled with the soft glow of a setting sun filtering through a large window. There was a bed against the far wall, a chair beside it, a desk cluttered with papers. It felt lived in, real in a way that nothing else had since this all began.

And sitting on the bed, waiting for him, was someone he hadn't seen in years.

She looked up, her eyes soft, her expression unreadable.

"Jude," she said, her voice carrying the same warmth it always had.