All Of Us Are Dead
Lady Sheldonleave me breathless book
I swallowed hard and nodded, even though every part of me screamed not to.
The platform felt narrower than it looked from behind. The bubbling of the acid below was louder now, filling my head.
My number flashed: 0367.
The wall across the platform hummed, and a glowing outline appeared.
My stomach dropped again.
It was the same “Dancer’s Pose” — one leg up and back, one hand gripping the ankle, the other stretched forward.
“Contestant 0367,” the Game Master said in a sing-song voice, “let’s see if your balance matches your beauty.”