Today was supposed to be simple.

It was supposed to be the beginning.

The start of everything she had been working toward.

Tonight, Salem wasn’t just another dancer in the lineup- she was center stage. The spotlight would be hers. And more than that… They were letting her sing. Not lip-sync. Not hide behind someone else’s voice or a prerecorded track.

Her voice.

That alone was huge.

In modern burlesque, live singing wasn’t just rare—it was earned. Most performers stuck to lip-syncs layered over original choreography. Auditions for true vocalists only opened when someone left.

And someone had left.

Carly.

Off to get married. Off to start a new life.

Good for Carly.

And even better for Salem.

Because this- this- was her shot.

Ever since she was a kid, Salem had lived for the stage. Singing, acting, performing, being seen. Broadway wasn’t just a dream- it was the dream. The final destination.

And now?

Now it felt closer than ever.

Practice had just ended, and Salem had already kicked off her dancing shoes, darting barefoot across the floor as she checked her phone. The glow of the screen lit her face- and then-

She froze.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Then kicked into overdrive.

An email.

One that practically burned against the screen with importance.

The subject line alone was enough to make her breath hitch.

Her thumb trembled slightly as she opened it.

Ms. Salem,
We would like to thank you for your interest in the Dallas Doh Theatre group and are thrilled to offer you a second-round try-out…

Her pulse roared in her ears as her eyes raced across the words.

Second round.

Second round.

Out of all the candidates- all of them- she had made it through.

“H-holy…” she breathed, the word falling apart before it could fully form.

The rest of the email blurred as she skimmed- dates, times, requirements- but none of that mattered yet. Not really.

She stood there, frozen in the lobby of the lounge, reading it again. And again. 

(When she had put on her shoes, she didn’t recall. Can’t. Not as she is now.)

Making sure it was real.

Making sure she hadn’t imagined it.

Because if this were real-

If this were actually happening-

Then tonight wasn’t just a performance anymore.

It was a stepping stone.

A launch point.

A door opening.

She could feel it- electric, overwhelming, dizzying.

Broadway didn’t feel so far away anymore.

Her thoughts exploded into motion.

Okay- manicure. Simple, clean. No distractions.
Hair- no. The twists won’t work. Not for this. Not for them.

Her fingers instinctively brushed one of the long, neatly done twists draped over her shoulder. Protective style. Practical. Perfect for rehearsals.

But not for this.

Not for an audition like that.

Her mind raced through options- styles, wigs, looks she had tucked away in her apartment, waiting for the right moment.

This was the moment.

Energy surged through her, impossible to contain.

And with that same momentum-

She shoved the lobby doors open.

BAAM!

Salem slammed through the cabaret lounge’s double doors, ready to bolt for her trusty Civic- then froze. Where the parking lot should have stretched beneath the warm glow of a summer afternoon, there was nothing but suffocating, endless blackness.

“What the fu…” She murmured in shock.

Her eyes narrowed, panic flickering beneath the surface as a terrifying thought crept in - had she lost her sight in a single instant? The thrill that had filled her moments ago drained away, swallowed by the emptiness where her vision should have been.

WHOOSH!

Salem spun around in place - ignoring how some of her twists slapped her in the face from the sudden movement. She ignored the deep red twists that were her natural hair and glared into the pitch-black space. She wanted to ask Cristal, a co-worker who had been right behind her, if she was seeing the same thing she was. Only to find that the inside of the lounge was no longer there.

Panic and fear struck Salem at that exact moment. Convinced now that she had indeed gone blind due to the lack of... well, anything, Salem crouched down and closed her eyes for a moment. Open or closed, she could see nothing.

Salem exhaled deeply and began to call for help - but the sound died in her throat as a violent heat flooded her body, her skin burning as if consumed by invisible fire.

Her eyes opened wide, and for a split second, she forgot the fire consuming her. Her left hand steadied her - unchanged, unmistakably hers. Rings of silver and gold caught the light, her small, intricate floral tattoos lined her arm, and her smartwatch rested like an anchor at her wrist.

“Ok, I’m not blind…”

Salem blinked over and over, testing it - again, and again. It took until the third time for it to fully register. First, the burning hadn’t disappeared; it had dulled into a steady warmth. And second… her arm- no, her entire body- was glowing.

Salem’s dark brown eyes widened in shock before she jumped up. As she jumped up, the duffel bag across her shoulders sharply jostled her hips and arm.

“Holy fuck- am I on fire?!” She whispered fiercely. In a burst of panic, Salem began what could only be described as a half-hearted hokey pokey, twisting and checking herself in the surrounding void.

“STOP, DROP, AND ROLL!” Salem yelled, far too late. She pitched forward, about to throw herself into the empty void- when everything snapped from black to a searing, endless white. The brightness tore at her vision, forcing her to raise her arms as faint, overlapping voices echoed around her.

"ΔΗΣΚΕΗϑΣΝΚΝΕΟΦ ΚΛΔΧΣΝΚΔϑΦΒΧΣΚΝΑ.ΚΣΕΗΦΚϑ ΝΧΖ,ΜΣΧ€ ΔΗΣΚΕΗϑΣΝΚΝΕΟΦ ΚΛΔΧΣΝΚΔϑΦΒΧΣΚΝΑ.ΚΣΕΗΦΚϑ ΝΧΖ,ΜΣΧ€ "

“HELLO?!” Salem shouted. Her head was pounding at the sudden noise.

But the voices only seemed to get louder.

ΔΗΣΚΕΗϑΣΝΚΝΕΟΦ ΚΛΔΧΣΝΚΔϑΦΒΧΣΚΝΑ.ΚΣΕΗΦΚϑ ΝΧΖ,ΜΣΧ€ ΔΦΝΚΣΖΙΚΦ.ΛΣΣΚΔΣΝΜΔΛΔΧ ΝΣΚΧΝΣΚΑΝΕΥΝΚΛΑ.Λϑ.ΛΟΛΩΙΑΛ;,ΝΑμϕηεκλνδ δκλα! Νκηδαλ;.υοεδ!

Ωε συμμον ψου!

Ωε συμμον ψου!

Ωε συμμον ψου!

“We summon you!”

“We summon you! Great Saintess!”

That was the last thing Salem heard- the last thing she understood- before everything changed.

The burning vanished.

The blinding white void collapsed in on itself, as if it had never existed at all. And in its place, the voices- those rhythmic, echoing chants she now realized had surrounded her- shattered into something else entirely.

Gasps.

Sharp. Staggered.

Shocked.

Salem forced her eyes open, her arms lowering slowly from where they had been frozen in defense. For one fragile, desperate moment, she prayed- begged- to see the familiar stretch of asphalt, her car waiting under the gentle blaze of the summer sun.

The prayer died unfulfilled.

She stood rooted in place.

Surrounded.

Dozens of figures encircled her, draped in stark white robes lined in gold silk, their presence suffocating in its silence. The ground beneath her feet was uneven, jagged, unsettling - and when she dared to look down, her breath caught. The floor had been carved away, etched into some vast, deliberate symbol that pulsed with quiet menace.

Salem had read enough fiction and fantasy novels to understand her near impossible situation. This wasn’t a room. It was a ritual space.

Dim firelight flickered from torches lining the perimeter, shadows twisting and stretching as if alive.

Slowly- too slowly- Salem turned, taking it all in. And as she did, something colder than fear began to settle in her chest.

The faces.

Those who had not hidden themselves behind their hoods stared openly - some wide-eyed with terror, others twisted with unmistakable disgust.

Every single gaze was fixed on her.

Unused to this blatant hostility and disgust, Salem tried to smile at these strange people who had kidnapped(?) her.

Am I dreaming? I don't remember falling asleep...

“Um... excuse me,” Salem took a single step forward and every single robed individual took three steps back.

This one act made Salem's mood do a 180. Now, she was frustrated and steadily growing angrier.

Fucking great. Even in my dream, I’ve been kidnapped by what looks to be racists.

“Okay- can someone tell me where I am?” Salem demanded, her voice cutting through the silence. “Or at least what the hell y’all did to me?”

Nothing.

No answer - only a suffocating, oppressive quiet that seemed to thicken with every passing second.

The air itself felt heavier. Watching. Waiting.

Her gaze flicked sharply across the crowd - and then she saw it. A stairwell, half-hidden behind the largest cluster of robed figures, like a fragile promise of escape.

That was enough.

The last thread of her patience snapped.

With a tight, irritated breath, Salem hitched the straps of her duffle bag higher on her shoulder and took a step forward, then another - moving out of what she’d officially decided was a summoning circle.

Somewhere, deep beneath the rising panic, the fantasy nerd in her burned with questions, clawing for understanding in this surreal, impossible nightmare.

But louder than curiosity was instinct.

And instinct was screaming one thing:

Run.

She had seen enough horror movies to know exactly how this went - and she had no intention of sticking around long enough to find out how this one in particular ended.

Every step Salem took sent ripples through the crowd. Gasps broke out- ragged, uneven- while robed figures recoiled as if her mere movement burned them. Some began to tremble openly. Others turned and fled outright, scrambling up the very stairwell she’d been heading toward as if escape were their only salvation.

“STOP, DEMON!” a deep voice rang out, cutting through the chaos.

Salem flinched at the word. Demon.

Her head snapped toward the voice, eyes narrowing as she searched- and found him. Taller than the rest with wider shoulders, standing rigid where others faltered. His platinum-blond hair caught the torchlight, almost glowing against the dark, while a mask concealed his face entirely.

At that moment, their eyes locked onto each other.

Salem said nothing. She simply turned back around and kept walking.

“There is a barrier around the summoning platform, demon!” he shouted again, louder now- more desperate. “You will not be able to leave!”

She heard it then- the strain in his voice. The fear.

And despite everything, she had to fight the urge to smile.

So she had been right. A summoning circle.

A flicker of excitement- pure, ridiculous, deeply nerdy- sparked in her chest. Somewhere inside, her inner anime fan was absolutely losing it, ready to celebrate.

She ignored it. Barely.

Her face remained carefully blank as she approached the edge of the raised platform, the stairs looming just beyond. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her hand.

There was nothing there. No shimmer. No distortion. No sign of the “barrier” he had warned about.

Still, she pushed forward- slowly, cautiously- half-expecting resistance.

Nothing.

Her hand passed through empty air. No resistance. No force.

No barrier.

Salem paused. Then glanced back over her shoulder.

Even in the low, flickering light, she saw it clearly- the color draining from the masked man’s face beneath the edge of his disguise.

If the situation had been even remotely normal… she might’ve flirted with him.

“Oh, Gods…” someone whispered.

“What have we done…?” another voice trembled.

“A demon has come upon our land.”

The words rippled outward, dissolving into quiet sobs, into fear, into something dangerously close to hysteria.

Salem listened.

And frowned.

Because now? Now she was certain.

This had to be a dream.

Because there was no way- no version of reality- where people in the 21st century were looking at a black woman and calling her a demon to her face.

That sealed it.

The last of her restraint snapped clean in two.

“Demon. Demon. Demon.” Her voice dropped into a low growl, sharp and cutting as she glared back at them. “I’m not a demon, you assholes. I’m Black.”

And with that, she hopped off the platform.

The drop was easy- nothing compared to the stages she’d performed on. She landed without effort, steady and unbothered.

Still no barrier.

Nothing stopping her.

Nothing at all.

That seemed to break them.

The moment she moved past the edge, most of the robed figures collapsed. Some crumpled where they stood, others dropped to their knees, and a few bowed so low it bordered on pathetic.

All of them shrinking away.

All of them terrified.

Of her.

For a moment, Salem let the shock slip.

What replaced it wasn’t fear.

It was irritation.

This- whatever this was- was a terrible welcome, and she had already had enough. She didn’t care about the strange robes, the chanting, or the impossible shift in reality. She just wanted out. Out of the suffocating dark, out of the heavy air, out into something real- something that made sense.

She couldn’t stand another second in what she now firmly labeled a summoning prison.

Even for a dream, this was pushing it.

Her sneakers made no sound as she stepped off the platform and climbed the stairs, each movement smooth, controlled, deliberate. Behind her, the robed figures collapsed further into despair, their voices rising into a chorus of grief.

“Dawne… Dawne…”

The name echoed after her- pleading, broken.

Salem’s face twisted.

Who the fuck is Dawne?

The confusion barely slowed her.