Carmine Cosmos

In a world so beautifully enigmatic, the man of science and avid fan of fiery conundrum has nothing to kneel for but the very thought of discovering grand mystics. Sherrinford Hale is congenitally curious. It is solely upon his judgement that the air he breathes has nothing to do with the oxygen that grips him from abiding nor does it have the right to be the reason how he still exists; he remains because of the relentlessness of human existence.

"The air the Mystery breathes are humans."

Humans tend to gravitate towards the unknown due to their innate inquisitiveness. It's their sheer pleasure to seek and learn and imagine concepts and ideas that every so often doesn't need to be substantial. They are to blame why questions continually reproduce thus the rearing of countless theories of unidentified beings and notions. Sherrinford Hale seems to be in a league of his own when it comes to being passionate about mysteries wrapped in great secrecy. He stoutly believes it's his actual purpose in life. To unravel and scrutinize every mystery that'll come his way all throughout his time.

And perhaps, he achingly found his life's greatest mystery within the confines of the subconscious chamber of his mind palace, or so he stubbornly believes.

It was as if he was floating; swimming.

He couldn't feel his body and couldn't fully comprehend the situation, it's like he's seeing everything move but the idea seems to never reach completeness. Eyesight in blur, hearing blocked.

Grasp in naivety, he thought he was floating in space. A dark abyss wherein human intellect might have had let itself be sucked by a black hole. There's not a single thing to see — no planets and solar systems and blinding balls of fire.

The sole presence of void is the only thing he could make sense of...

Until he finally succumbed to ennui and despair of nothingness and he closed his deep ocean eyes, unable to respire any further; he felt the hands of quietus.

Then a sudden urge to unlatch his eyelids struck Hale.

There he saw the most breathtakingly prepossessing pair of vermillion gems, gleaming in full splendor.

Was it even close to being fair that someone could have such treasure for eyes? They appeared to have nil proximity; he almost gave up thinking that it's possible he's lost in someone's own universe; a stunning world of carmine. It was enchanting and one that's undeniably spine-chilling. Blinking; the scene was followed by a lithe figure, Sherrinford viewed, in glistening blonde, staring keenly at his frigid soul in spite of their neutral countenance. It appeared to be a man, however Hale is, for the first time in that brief confusing time of his life, downright certain it was anything but a "man" —a creature from the broad imagination reared by humans. A creature so commercial even a few pages of proof that it does exist can make one showered in currencies.

Sherrinford's mind attic had no space for tall tales but he wasn't deaf not to overhear those silly narratives from the circles of dreamy children and adults alike. He's married to the very job of confronting mysteries, in fact he inhaled it like a drug that awakes his blood as if there's no tomorrow, nonetheless, Hale had the nerve to show moderation, meaning there are certain types of mystery that only he accepts as his case.

But this ethereal beauty...

...is the kind of "puzzle" he never thought he'd genuflect just to caress a single piece.

Maybe it's a good comeuppance? A divine reward even, because of an excellent exhibition of benevolence from his past life? It's truly a blessing when that heavenly creature of the sea maneuvered to hold Sherrinford's cheek and waist closer to theirs, and viewing down he saw an intricate perfection ever made by God. A tail embellished with the finest gradient of rose and gold, scales glistening in all its glory.

He was...

"..so glorious.." Hale disclosed mentally, unaware the other party has the power to decipher human minds. Hearing such an erotic remark, the creature was unable to erase the delighted smirk off its lovely face; it urged this glorious entity to go for the human's lips, devouring him like a fine salmon from the south.

"Posthac meus es, Sherrinford."

°°°

On a foreign hospital bed, he awoke, and in the neighbouring room he found his companion, John, still recovering from the shipwreck during their solitary sail to America for his best friend's medical convention.

Sherrinford was initially adamant to give credence to every mote of memory he could recall; he told himself it was his weary hippocampuses doing...only he hadn't the guts to push the notion further through his head.

Down with the option to a wider perception, at the end of the day, he mused that certainly, the air the Mystery breathes— it wasn't all just humans.