After an accident, Imara, a 28-year-old plus-size black woman, ends up in a strange rainforest world from a bittersweet novel she read. This wild jungle is full of mysterious and dangerous beastmen, just like the stories she used to read.
To stay al...
"How long I have waited for you to come to me Imara."
The voice didn't sound like a question. It didn't strike like thunder. It fell—soft, gentle... almost sorrowful. A longing stretched across time. Like someone waiting alone in the dark at a door that never opened. And now, finally... it did.
As if he had been waiting for me—as much as I had been waiting for him.
What I saw before me was the same as that dream I had at Parker's house. A soft, radiant glow pulsed in the distance, growing brighter with every step. Beautiful flowers—shades of lavender, violet, and plum—bloomed in waves around a path, guiding me forward.
That glow was him.
But this time, the darkness didn't blur my vision. There was no veil to keep me from seeing. I started walking—then running, then sprinting. Urgency surged in me like a storm with no end.
Nothing could stop me.
My lungs never burned. My legs never ached. It was like oxygen and strength filled every inch of me, just to keep me moving. Fear and hope tangled inside my chest like a prayer: Please... let nothing stop me this time.
As I got closer, I saw it—A waterfall.
Clear. Beautiful.
Bathed in golden sunlight, its glow spilling over the cliff like liquid warmth. The landscape around it was breathtaking, almost too perfect to be real—an endless field of purple blossoms swaying in a breeze that smelled like peace.
And there... there he was.
A massive white beast sat calmly on a large rock near the water's edge. I was viewing him from a side angle, mostly his back. From what I could see of his side, one arm—gray-furred from the upper bicep to the chest—rested across a bent knee that bore the same gray coloring, the shade fading seamlessly into the white fur below. His other arm lay gently at his side as he leaned toward the sound of the falls, his ears twitching faintly at the crashing water.
His body curled with the regal stillness of something ancient.
All for his back, all I could see was draped in a coat of pure white fur—thick, soft looking, flowing—ruffling in the breeze like clouds finally coming to rest.
His tail, long and heavy, curled loosely around the base of the stone with thick fluffy hair on the end. I caught sight of his hands—large, their pale gray skin marked with glowing golden streaks, like divine veins pulsing quietly beneath the surface.
His mane—if it could be called that—was pure white, just like his fur. It spilled from his head, from crown to stone tumbled over the rock, into the field of purple flowers below pooling at the base like sacred snow. Loose stands glowed faintly, fluttering like feathered light caught in a holy wind.
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