Saturday Story 2025 #37 (When Twilight Comes For Your Mind))
Dr. Vanessa Madsen is back. Her new story is now available on my Patreon. Synopsis below:
Dr. Vanessa Madsen visits an art gallery whose latest exhibit is dedicated to thought-provoking, hypnotic art. When the gallery’s director tries to mess with her mind, she quickly – and effortlessly – shows him who’s boss.
This is the fifteenth story featuring Dr. Vanessa Madsen, with more to follow. If there’s any scenario you’d love to see her in, reach out and tell me your idea. Maybe I’ll make it come true.
https://www.patreon.com/posts/139361218
To read this story before anyone else, head over to my Patreon page and become Spell… B-O-U-N-D, too. The minimum pledge for this type of early access is $5 per month.
An excerpt is available below:
Dr. Vanessa Madsen entered the gallery as if she were stepping into a waking dream. The transition from the crisp autumn air to the dense hush of the exhibit was abrupt and disorienting, almost as if the revolving doors served as a portal between alternate universes where anything was possible. She paused, letting her eyes adjust, and then drew a deep breath, savoring the faint aroma of paint in the air.
The gallery’s interior was a corridor of shadows, cut through by illuminated displays: each painting, sculpture, or kinetic installation seemed to float in its own halo, the darkness between them making the art appear less like objects and more like supernatural phenomena that human minds weren’t ready to comprehend.
Vanessa sauntered, her heels barely audible, her silhouette wavering in the pulse of projected colors. On another day, she might have laughed at how the curators had staged the place to evoke a sense of awe bordering on the sacred. But today, she was willing to suspend her skepticism.
The exhibit’s title, “The Mind’s Eye,” was printed in sleek Sans-serif on a frosted-glass partition. It shimmered as she moved, the words refracting into multi-colored prisms as she walked by. She was entering a sanctum of secrets, which suited her just fine. She lived for them, both her own and those of others. Her reputation as a therapist/hypnotist was built on a knack for unmasking people’s hidden compulsions, their shadow selves. It seemed appropriate to be here, among unapologetic manifestations of the unconscious.
She was thirty-six, but looked younger in the dim light – her hair styled in an efficient sweep, and her lips painted with a plum so deep it was almost black. She wore a tailored blazer and a silk blouse. She had chosen her wardrobe for the evening with the same precision she applied to her research: everything said “serious professional,” yet nothing denied her taste for risk. Vanessa’s schedule was clear, and her mind, sharp. She wanted to have fun.
A server hovered nearby, offering champagne from a tray. Vanessa declined with a polite smile and drifted toward the first cluster of visitors, observing their reactions as much as the art they admired.
The crowd comprised a mix of art students, collectors in subtle finery, and a smattering of avant-garde types with hair dyed in improbable colors. What interested her most was the way they seemed to move in synchrony, as if the exhibit itself had induced a kind of group hypnosis.
The first piece that caught her eye was a large canvas titled “Spiral of Surrender.” Its intricate patterns seemed to ripple and spin, drawing her inward with each glance. The artwork was a maelstrom of black, white, and shades of red, swirling into an infinite vortex. It was beautiful, and it would make a fine addition to her office wall, if not for the prohibitive price. “No thanks,” she muttered to herself. She only liked that many zeroes when they were lining up her bank account, not draining it.
(…)
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