He Wears crimson scales, heptagons, veined delicately in translucent ivory. He realizes after his arrival, after the Portal deposits him, that he does not respire; no swelling and deflating in his chest, no lungs, but the veins atop his seven-sided scales pulse vigorously, like rivers on a strange living map, and these seem to do his breathing. He’s roughly humanoid, at least. This is a torso. These are two stumpy legs, with complicated joints of some sort halfway along their modest lengths. His upper limbs are asymmetrical, one a rubbery mobile sapling, the other a great hook, ending in a

This content is available to subscribers and issue purchasers.

Buy this issue or