The stale beer was a familiar comfort, a bitter punctuation mark at the end of another day spent staring at spreadsheets that blurred into meaninglessness. Liam preferred “The Rusty Mug” not for its ambiance – a cacophony of after-work chatter, sticky tables, and the clatter of a temperamental darts machine – but for its strategic anonymity. It was a human buffer zone between the suffocating fluorescent hum of Consolidated Solutions Inc. and the echoing silence of his studio apartment. He was just another face in the crowd, nursing a pint, trying to rinse the taste of corporate drudgery from his palate.

That’s why the woman’s approach was so jarring. She moved with a stillness that seemed to bend the surrounding chaos away from her, like a stone in a rushing stream. Her eyes, the color of twilight, fixed on him with an unnerving intensity.

“You caught my notice,” she said, her voice a low thrum that somehow cut through the bar’s din. “That does not occur very often.”

Liam blinked, pulling his gaze from the hypnotic swirl of bubbles in his glass. She was… striking. Not in a conventional, airbrushed way, but with an almost archaic beauty, her features sharp and defined, her dark hair cascading around her shoulders in a way that seemed untamed by modern styling. She wore a simple, dark dress that nonetheless looked more expensive than anything in his own wardrobe.

He managed a weary smile. “Look, miss, I’m flattered, but no.” He’d learned to preempt.

Her head tilted, a subtle, curious movement. “No, to…?”

“Whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely between them. “I’m not cruising for a hook-up…”

“Nor am I,” she interjected, her tone perfectly even.

“…and I’m not interested in dating.” He’d tried that. It felt like another series of performative interviews, each one ending in a quiet fizzle of mutual disinterest.

“That makes two of us.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips, gone as quickly as it appeared.

“All I want,” Liam said, forcing a note of finality into his voice, “is to enjoy my beer in private before I head home.”

“You call this cattle market private?” Her gaze swept the crowded bar, a hint of disdain, or perhaps amusement, in her eyes.

He shrugged. “I work across the street. This is the closest bar between the office and the subway. Efficient.”

“You could always buy a beer locally and drink it at home.”

“I think drinking alone is a thing sad people do.” The words were out before he could stop them, a raw admission he usually kept locked down.

“But you are alone,” she observed, her twilight eyes seeming to see right through his carefully constructed defenses.

“This place is packed,” he countered, gesturing around. “I’m surrounded by people.”

“And yet,” she leaned forward just a fraction, her presence suddenly more focused, more intense, “you are all alone.”

“By choice,” he insisted, though the word felt hollow even to him.

“What if,” she said, her voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial whisper, “you just made the acquaintance of someone who can make your wildest dreams come true?”

Liam snorted, a laugh that was more disbelief than humor. “That’s your pitch?”

“I do not pitch.” Her eyes held his, unwavering. “I do not promise empty fantasies. I can offer wealth beyond imagining—enough to buy every fleeting desire you have ever had.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Wealth? How? Ponzi schemes? Insider trading? My pension fund isn’t exactly seed capital.”

“I have a knack,” she said, a faint, almost predatory curve to her lips, “for sensing opportunities when they arise. I also know how to position you, so that fortune flows to you effortlessly. The right investments, made with uncanny foresight. The right ventures, presented at the perfect moment. You can be a man of unimaginable success, lauded by financial columns, envied by your peers. And no one, not even you, will fully understand how you achieved it. Only that it happened.”

Liam pictured his cramped apartment, the overdue notices peeking from under his door. The thought was undeniably tempting. “I’ll bet that money comes with a ton of aggravation. Audits. People crawling out of the woodwork.”

“All right,” she conceded with a graceful nod, unperturbed. “Let us try a different route. What about fame? Your name, spoken by millions. You could be adored, celebrated. People hanging on your every word, your every move. An artist whose work redefines a generation. An innovator whose ideas reshape society. With my assistance, you can rise higher than you ever thought possible.”

He thought of the crushing anonymity of his life, the feeling of being an unnoticed cog. “All at the cost of my privacy,” he muttered. “No thanks. I like being able to buy milk in my pajamas.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Then what about knowledge? The kind of knowledge that shapes worlds. Secrets and wisdom far beyond what the greatest minds have ever uncovered. I can help you unlock answers to questions mankind has not even dared to ask.”

This… this gave him pause. His job was mind-numbing, but his mind, when not dulled by routine, was hungry. “What kind of knowledge are we talking here?” he asked, leaning in despite himself. “The unified field theory? The meaning of life?”

“At this juncture, it is privileged information,” she said, a hint of something ancient and vast in her gaze. “If we can come to terms, you will find out—when you are capable of receiving it. Imagine, Liam, being the man who discovers things others only dream about. Understanding the fundamental fabric of reality. Changing the course of history with a single insight. You would have the kind of mind that transcends generations.”

“Just like that, huh? You make it sound so easy.” He tried to maintain his skepticism, but a thrill, cold and sharp, ran down his spine.

“For you, it would be. And you would never know another dull moment in your life. Adventure. Exploration. I know places no one else does—places hidden from the world, woven into the seams of reality. Imagine experiencing wonders that go beyond the limits of any map, things you cannot even picture right now. Cities of crystal beneath the ice, forests that sing with the birth of stars, deserts where time itself pools like water.” Her voice was a mesmerizing cadence, painting vivid, impossible landscapes in his mind.

“And how exactly would you do that?” he asked, his throat suddenly dry.

“Let us just say… I know how to get there.” Her eyes gleamed. “The question is, do you wish to follow me?”

“Follow you, an absolute stranger, on an unreal adventure?” He shook his head, trying to clear it. This was insane. He was having a conversation with a lunatic, albeit a remarkably articulate and compelling one.

“It can be as real as you choose to make it,” she murmured. “You can have all of it—wealth, success, wisdom, fame, adventure. And your name? It would live on long after you’re gone, remembered for centuries, your legacy written in the stars.”

“How would that be possible?” The question was a whisper, lost almost before it was spoken.

A new softness, something almost tender, entered her expression. “I will bear you many children, Liam. Strong, brilliant children. And each one will carry your name with love and pride, scattering your essence across the generations like seeds on a fertile wind.”

The air seemed to crackle around them. Children. Legacy. These were abstract concepts he’d never allowed himself to dwell on. Now, they landed with the weight of mountains. He finally found his voice, hoarse and uncertain. “And what do you get out of all of this?”

“I have already received my reward,” she said, her gaze distant for a moment, as if looking back across millennia. “A long time ago, someone made me the same offer that I am making you. This is me paying that good fortune forward by watching you shine, by witnessing the extraordinary in you. That is my sole purchase; I am doing this to see you become everything you were meant to be.” She leaned a little closer, and for the first time, he noticed the faint, exotic scent that clung to her, like spice and starlight. “The fact that I find you physically attractive is an added bonus, which you will benefit from in our coupling.”

He stared at her, trying to process the sheer audacity, the cosmic scale of her proposition. “And there’s no catch? No fine print? No soul-selling clause?”

“Love me unconditionally,” she stated, her voice losing its softness, taking on a resonant authority. “Remain faithful until the Reaper claims its reward from either of us. More stipulations than a catch, really.”

“Stipulations,” he repeated slowly. “Unconditional love is… a tall order. And faithful… what’s your definition of faithful?”

“It…would be better if you honored your obligations,” she said, and for the first time, a sliver of something cold, something unyielding as ancient ice, touched her tone. “The consequences for transgression are dire.”

A chill traced its way down Liam’s spine, colder than any draft in the bar. “Okay, then, what do you consider cheating? What are these obligations?” He started to list them, almost mechanically, as if testing the boundaries of a cage he couldn’t yet see: “Non-sexual flirting with a coworker? Friendly daily texting with someone who isn’t you? Having a ‘work wife’ for office banter? Regularly commenting on a woman’s social media posts? Watching porn? Having female friends I meet for coffee? Taking a woman’s phone number if she offers it at, say, a conference? Keeping in contact with my exes, even just platonically?”

With each item he listed, her expression grew more severe, her twilight eyes darkening.
“Yes,” she said to the first.
“Yes,” to the second.
“Yes,” to the third, her voice like chipping stone.
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“And yes,” she finished, the word a final, definitive seal. Each “yes” was a bar slamming into place.

Liam leaned back, the initial allure of her offers now curdling into something that felt like suffocation. The vast, starry legacy she painted suddenly seemed like a beautifully gilded prison. He thought of Sarah from accounting, with whom he shared knowing eye-rolls over bad coffee, their harmless daily texts a small spark in the grey. He thought of old college friends, male and female, whose occasional messages were lifelines to a past where he’d felt more alive. He thought of the simple, flawed, messy tapestry of human connection.

“Then,” he said, the weariness returning full force, but this time mingled with a surprising resolve, “that’s a hard pass for me.”

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose. A flicker of something – surprise? Disbelief? Annoyance? – crossed her face. “You would be unfaithful to me? After all I would have given to you? After the promise of eternity?”

“Not intentionally,” Liam said, shaking his head. “But I can’t guarantee none of those things would ever happen. I’m human. I connect with people. Sometimes lines blur, even when you don’t mean them to. What you’re asking for… it’s not love, it’s… ownership. Absolute control. And I can’t live like that, not even for all the stars in the sky.” He met her gaze, no longer intimidated, just profoundly sad. “I guess even my wildest dreams have limits.”

The woman – Lyra, she might have called herself if he’d asked, though he never would now – studied him for a long, silent moment. The ambient noise of the bar seemed to rush back in, filling the space her presence had momentarily carved out. The faint, exotic scent of her receded.

“A pity,” she said finally, her voice once again a cool, distant thrum. “You possess a spark. It is rare.” She rose, as fluidly and silently as she had approached. “Perhaps another lifetime, Liam.”

And then she was gone, not walking away, but simply… not there anymore, as if the space she occupied had blinked. Liam was left staring at the empty air, the half-empty pint in his hand suddenly feeling very heavy.

He took a long swallow of beer. It tasted flat. The neon lights outside seemed dimmer, the chatter of the bar more grating. He glanced towards the door, half-expecting to see her, but there was only the usual flow of patrons.

Had he imagined it? A stress-induced hallucination? A waking dream fueled by cheap beer and existential ennui?

He pulled out his phone, a sudden urge to text Sarah from accounting, just a stupid meme or a complaint about their boss. His thumb hovered over her name. He thought of the word “yes,” repeated like a litany.

He put the phone away.

The weight was back on his chest, heavier than before. He’d been offered the universe and turned it down because the terms and conditions were too steep. Or had he just saved himself from a fate worse than his mundane reality?

He finished his beer, the silence in his head now louder than the bar. As he walked towards the subway, the city lights seemed to mock him, each one a distant, unattainable star. He didn’t know if he’d made the right choice, the wise choice, or the most foolish mistake of his insignificant life. He only knew that for a few brief, terrifying moments, he had stood on the precipice of everything, and chosen to step back.

The question, as he descended into the grimy embrace of the subway, was whether the memory of that precipice would haunt him, or, in some strange way, set him free. And whether Lyra, or whatever she was, truly accepted “no” for an answer. The “dire consequences” she’d hinted at still echoed, a discordant note in the symphony of his suddenly very small, very ordinary existence.

©2001 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys, All Rights Reserved.