The Deep of Oblivion

Author's Foreword

Hey everyone! It's such an honor knowing you're holding this book – my first one, the one I've been dreaming about forever. As a newbie author, I've poured my heart and soul into it, and I really hope it resonates with you.

Please be kind – I know it's not perfect, but I gave it my all. I'd love to hear what you think, any comments, wishes, or feedback! Drop me a line at TheDeepOfOblivion@gmail.com – your opinion really matters.

If you dig this story, I promise the sequel won't keep you waiting long!

And, of course, I have to thank the people who were there for me on this wild ride.

Zhanna K., my first reader and best friend forever! Your support was priceless.

Mom, my first editor! This story wouldn't be the same without you. Thanks for your keen eye and wise advice.

Anastassiya C., thanks to you, the main character is who she is! Your contribution to her creation is invaluable.

Tatyana M., thanks for your support and comments. I really appreciate it!

And, of course, thank you, my future readers! Thank you for your interest and for giving me a chance.

A small but important note: While the images of some characters are inspired by real people, this book is a work of fiction. All events and characters are a figment of my imagination, and any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

A throbbing in her head pressed against her temples, like a vise squeezing her skull. Nia opened her eyes and tried to focus on the gray, rough wall right in front of her. An alley. Dark, unfamiliar, smelling of machine oil and something sickly sweet. She was lying on the cold ground, feeling the dampness seeping through the thin fabric of her pink skirt.

A skirt… Pink? She instinctively tugged at the hem. And a bluish top with weird patterns. This isn't my style, she thought. But what was her style? Her mind was a blank. Not a single thought, not a single memory. Who am I? How did I get here? her mind raced.

Nearby, on the ground, lay a small bag, more like a stylish clutch than something practical. Instinct told her the bag belonged to her. Gathering her last strength, Nia got up, wobbling, and grabbed the bag. Light, weightless. As if there was nothing in it.

The throbbing intensified, joined by some muffled sounds – either voices or the screech of metal. Without figuring out what was happening, Nia shuffled out of the alley, trying to stay in the shadows. I need to get out of here. I need to figure out where I am. And who the hell am I? That single thought pounded in her head.

Emerging from the alley, Nia froze, staring in awe at the scene before her. A city. But not like she imagined it. Or rather, like she thought she imagined it. Tall, warped buildings, shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow. Flying cars darting between them like fireflies. Huge screens broadcasting unimaginable images.

This isn't my world. She knew it in her gut. But whose is it then? Surprise turned to anxiety. Where is everyone? Why is no one noticing me? She was like a ghost in this shimmering, but cold city. Gathering the remnants of her will, Nia stepped into the nearest building. A large hall filled with people, or rather, their imitations. All were glued to screens hanging right in front of their faces or manipulating something with their fingers in the air. No one talked, laughed, or paid attention to each other. They moved like programmed robots, each in their own digital world.