Elara blinked. "I… don't understand."
Inside, the tram platform had become a garden of glass flowers that chimed when the wind—which shouldn't have existed underground—passed through them. At the center, a group of figures stood in a loose circle. They were not all human. One had a head like a broken clock, gears ticking where its mouth should be. Another was simply a tailored suit floating in midair, a cloud of fireflies for a face.
One by one, the attendees shared their answers. The clock-headed figure chimed: "The pause between two heartbeats." The porcelain woman said: "The taste of a forgotten dream." Then all eyes turned to Elara. illuxxtrandy meeting
She had no idea what it meant. But as a curator of impossible art, she couldn't resist.
"Silence," Elara said.
She felt a strange calm. "The moment you realize you're not the only strange thing in the world."
Elara had received the invitation on a piece of translucent vellum that smelled of ozone and old honey. There was no address, only a single, hand-drawn eye weeping a constellation of tiny stars. The word at the bottom read: illuxxtrandy . Elara blinked
"Welcome to the Illuxxtrandy Meeting," said a woman with skin like cracked porcelain, from which tiny green shoots emerged. "We convene every time reality grows too dull. Tonight's question: What cannot be drawn, but must be met? "