Booktok 📚 discussion

I having a really hard time trying to figure out what genre my book actually falls under.

You would think that wouldn't be that complicated, but let me give you a fairly stand alone chapter and tell me i am NOT CRAZY!

Though to be honest that's definitely a possibility.

Chapter: The Outside of the Universe



Kira stood barefoot on a disc of perfect black.
Not stone.
Not shadow.
Just—absence, pressed into obedience.
Around her stretched a void not of darkness, but of white light—not glowing, not shining, simply existing.
Like water filled with starlight, suspended mid-breath.
Still.
Vast.
Unreachable.
It wasn’t fog or mist—no texture, no temperature.
Just a presence.
Watching.
As if the universe had stopped to study her—and forgotten to start again. No edges.
No motion.
Even her breath felt loud in the stillness, as if it might ripple that weightless sea—but the white never moved.

And beneath her—the disc. It bowed gently in all directions, a vast curve without a center.
Not steep enough to stumble, but enough to break perspective.
It tricked her depth, folded her balance, bent her sense of direction into soft submission.
She took a step.

Nothing changed.

The white didn’t shift. The disc didn’t speak. The horizon—if there was one—remained perfectly indifferent.

"She doesn’t know, does she?" The voice came like a breath she hadn’t taken.
Not aloud. Not around. Inside. She froze. Looked up. Still nothing.
Another voice followed.
Walk again.
Go on.
Pretend it matters.
Amused. Almost kind. Like a laugh buried beneath words.
She stepped. Again. No sound. No friction.
Only the quiet confirmation that she was exactly where she had been. The curvature made motion a mockery. A loop dressed as a destination. No matter how far she walked, there was only here.
Only this moment. Only her. And the light. Unmoving.
Untouchable.
"Don’t look down," hissed a third voice.
Not a warning.
A dare.
A grin folded into a whisper. That’s where the real story is. Her skin prickled.
She blinked—and for a moment, her eyelashes scraped against something that wasn’t her face.
Then silence.
No—waiting.
The kind of pause that smells like static and tastes like forgetting. She bent to one knee. Not from exhaustion. Not reverence. Just to see. To feel anything different. To be closer to the curve. And that’s when she saw it.
Her.
Not a reflection.
There was no surface to reflect. No reversed features. No mirrored gaze.
Just… another Kira, staring back—as if her face had been pressed gently behind a pane of invisible glass.
Neither flinched. Neither breathed.
The other Kira just stood. Head tilted. Expression unreadable. The curve of the disc cut through them both—but the boundary didn’t feel physical. It felt like a rule being followed.
A page being turned on the same sentence, read twice. Then—the eyes. Burning. Orange. Not like fire. Like code written in fever. Like the first light to ever scream.
That Kira didn’t blink.
Didn’t twitch.
Only watched. Not hateful. Not curious.
Just… present.
Something uncoiled in Kira’s chest. Warm. Familiar.
Wrong. The voices returned.
"Ask her what she remembers."
"Ask her what you buried to become her."
"Ask her if she’s still you."
Then— It laughed. Short. Sharp. Bright as broken glass. Kira flinched. The sound didn’t echo.
It ricocheted—behind her eyes, along her ribs, vibrating down her spine like a blade drawn sideways. The other her didn’t move.
Didn’t smile.

Just watched—as the laugh escaped Kira’s own mouth a full second later.

She slapped a hand to her lips—too late.
The sound had already happened.
Already been her. She stared. The double tilted its head. Just a fraction. As if listening to something behind her—or remembering a joke it had once been.

Then, finally— it smiled.

Not wide. Not wicked. Just... certain. “I told you not to look down.” The words landed like a blade dropped gently onto silk.
Not a threat. A fact. Already fulfilled. Kira’s mouth was dry. Her tongue felt like paper.
But the words came anyway—small, quiet, trembling at the edges. “Is this… his madness?” Her voice sounded strange here.
Not distorted—distant. Like it had to pass through too many versions of herself to reach the air.
The other Kira didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
The smile lingered.
Not smug.
Not cruel.
Just… knowing.
The voices answered instead. "Whose?"
"The boy with too many names?"
"The one who bled stars and forgot how to die? "
"Oh, sweet light," another whispered, lovingly venomous.
"This isn’t his madness."
"This is what he left behind so he wouldn’t take you with him." And the double finally moved.
A single step.
No sound.
No ripple.
But the disc noticed.
The curve tensed.
Reality winced—just a little.
The space between them folded like paper. And Kira knew: She hadn’t descended into madness.
She had been made a home for it.
Then—it spoke.
Not the voices.
The double.
Its mouth moved for the first time. Not rushed. Not forced.
Like the words had been waiting for the right moment to remember themselves.
“You are not the first of your kind to venture here.” The words didn’t echo.
They imprinted.
Burned themselves into the curvature of her breath.
The double took another slow step.
“There was another. Long ago.”
It said nothing more. Let the weight of that linger. Let it seep beneath her skin.
"Another?" Kira opened her mouth— but the question caught in her throat.
Not fear.
Recognition. Something stirred beneath the disc.
A tremor that wasn’t sound. A memory that wasn’t hers.
“Who?” she asked.
Her voice was steadier than it had any right to be. The double’s eyes pulsed—once. Like dying suns igniting in reverse.
Then it smiled again.
Wider, this time. Not cruel. Not mocking. Pleased.
“Aren’t you a brave little Virtue…” it murmured.
The disc didn’t groan.
It held its breath.
“I suppose there’s no harm in telling you.” It crouched—on the far side of nothing.
One hand splayed on the floor, the palm faintly visible through some invisible field that wasn’t quite space.
The other propped up its chin, eyes dancing with mirthless delight.
It leaned in.
Just a little.
As if to whisper a secret across time.
“It was me.”
The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. The smile didn’t fade. Not pride. Not guilt.

Just remembrance.
“I could have ended it.” A breath. Not quite a whisper.
“He begged me to.” A pause. Longer. Heavier.
“Instead, the Abyss lives on.”
“That’s my sin, little Virtue.”
“You are my sacrifice.”
Her words folded through her, bending every memory along the way.
The disc shivered beneath her. The white light above rippled for the first time—not from movement, but from recoil.
Kira blinked.
Once.
As if something in her snapped.
Not fear.
Not pain.
A thread pulling taut—gold in blue and unbearably warm. The Madness inhaled.
But the light exhaled. A breeze. Soft. Certain. Real.
It rolled across her cheek, not cold, not forceful—but true. Somewhere, far and near, a single note rang out—clear and steady, the sound of something choosing her.
The disc cracked.
A silent fracture of meaning.
Then— She felt it. 
Inside her chest.
No—in her heart. A shock. A spasm.
Like a star collapsing and reigniting all at once.
A single pulse of heat that shook her to the bone.
Not just light—life, will, return.
“I guess you're out of time to play…”
Her lungs tore open as breath crashed in.
She convulsed once on the crystalline floor—arched, hands clawing at the stone.
The world slammed back into her.
Magic hummed like wildfire, his magic.
The scent of ozone and dust filled the air.
The weight of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.
Light—real light—shone above her now.
Not white.
Not mad.
Gold, flickering at the edges of her vision. 
Blue, pulsing faintly from the glyphs beneath her skin.
She was awake.
She was herself.
And somewhere, very close, the walls began to rumble.
She gasped.
Air tore through her lungs like fire.
Her back arched against cold crystal.
Her eyes flew open—just in time to see the wall explode.
A shockwave slammed into the chamber, shattering silence with a roar of stone and void. Something massive had hit—a silhouette—massive, writhing, wrong—tearing its way through the far archway.
Black limbs.
Red veins.
Eyes that dripped with rage and rot.
The Behemoth.
Her ears rang like struck bells. Beneath her jaw, a low hum surged into a shriek—too deep to scream, too loud to forget.
She struggled to sit up—head spinning, vision doubled. “Faust…?” She barely got the word out.
And then—

I ran out of room to type. What do you think? What genre is this?

For the record my vote is for nonsense.