ã€ŠI&#x2019;m Stuck as a Ghost in Someone Else&#x2019;s Isekaiã€‹


 1. The Library

    Once, there was a man who discovered something unbelievable. Something vast, impossible, secret.

    Pisces¡¯ hidden library.

    For five years, he had returned to it, over and over, obsessed with its mysteries. He had read every book, reread them, searching for **something¡ª**something buried between the words, something that refused to reveal itself.

    It had started on a warm afternoon.

    He had been walking through the forest, as he often did, trying to clear his mind. His walks could stretch for hours¡ªsometimes six, sometimes more¡ªdepending on how far he let himself wander.

    The library sat atop a massive hill in the middle of that forest. Not many people came that deep into the woods, and so the hill was his alone. There were others like it¡ªscattered mounds and ridges across the landscape¡ªbut this one?

    This was the tallest.

    At first, he had simply circled its base. Then, over weeks of cautious exploration, he began to climb. The path was steep, the terrain treacherous, but he kept going. Until, one day, he reached the top.

    If you ask about its height¡ªwell, you could compare it to a skyscraper. Maybe twice as tall. He was never good at guessing distances. But he knew this:

    It was a hell of a climb.

    The top of the hill was unlike anything else around it.

    The forest vanished, leaving a small, unexpected clearing. And in that clearing?

    Ruins.

    A forgotten structure, half-buried in the hill itself. It might have been a castle, a church, a temple¡ªits original form was unclear, its architecture strange and crumbling.

    The bricks were worn and gray, eroded by time, but one word remained perfectly visible, carved into the stone.

    Pisces.

    The name blended into the wall, almost as if it had grown there naturally.

    The sight of it had stopped him cold.

    He had explored these woods for years. No one had ever mentioned a ruin like this.

    Perhaps because no one knew it existed.

    The hill was hidden away, covered in dense trees. It wasn¡¯t a scenic place, not worth the effort of climbing. Even the roads leading here were in disrepair. No highways, no trails¡ªjust rough, wild land.

    And so, it remained abandoned.

    His.

    The entrance wasn¡¯t a door.

    At least, not exactly.

    It looked more like a window¡ªa stained glass pane, its edges shattered, its frame old but intact. A handle rested at the side, inviting him forward.

    There were other windows, higher up, but none within reach.

    So, out of curiosity, he got onto his knees and crawled inside.

    Inside, the world changed.

    The library was massive.

    Larger than any building that should fit inside the ruin. As vast as a theater, lined with towering shelves.

    Upon entering, there was only a narrow hallway, followed by a set of steep, vertical stairs. He had descended carefully, step by step, until he reached the main hall.

    The floor was tiled¡ªworn green and yellow squares, aged but too new to belong to a place like this.

    Light streamed through stained glass windows, casting shifting colors onto the shelves below.

    And yet¡ªsome of the windows weren¡¯t showing the sky above.

    He had looked up, squinting, and seen it:

    Some windows reflected a different world.

    The clouds moved out of sync with the real sky. Some showed stars, even though it was daytime.

    Others¡ª

    Others displayed colors that didn¡¯t belong to this world at all.

    He had strained his eyes, trying to see what was beyond them.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    And then¡ª

    He stepped forward.

    And he began to read.

    The books were old.

    Not just old¡ªancient.

    He ran his fingers along the spines. Hardcovers, all brown, all worn down by time. The pages inside were yellowed and brittle, some edges curling inward like dried leaves.

    He pulled out a random volume, brushing off the dust.

    ¡°The Life of Caruncle Periwinkle as Narrated by Ellen Valmonte.¡±

    On the first page, a single handwritten note stood out:

    ¡°To Jazmin, my one and only love. ¡ª Ellen¡±

    His stomach twisted at the intimacy of it.

    He placed it back.

    Reached for another.

    ¡°The Life of Caruncle Periwinkle as Narrated by Ellen Valmonte, Vol. 2.¡±

    A frown.

    He returned that one as well and stepped back, scanning the shelf.

    Every book was the same.

    Volume after volume. A hundred, maybe three hundred, maybe more. All of them telling the same story.

    Caruncle Periwinkle.

    He hadn¡¯t even heard the name before.

    And yet, this place was filled with him.

    Over time, he had read everything.

    And then read it again.

    And again.

    The life of Caruncle Periwinkle was one of war, revolution, and triumph. A man who toppled an empire, led an independence movement, and changed the fate of twenty nations. The revolution he sparked had reshaped an entire continent.

    And he didn¡¯t stop there.

    The library contained more than just his biography.

    It had academic records of the nations that came after him. Detailed accounts of his comrades, his enemies, his family. Political treatises, personal letters, maps of a world that did not exist.

    A world that¡ªas far as he could tell¡ªhad never existed.

    Because when he searched for Caruncle outside these walls, there was nothing.

    No records. No mentions. No books.

    Caruncle Periwinkle was fiction.

    So was Ellen Valmonte.

    And yet, someone had written hundreds of volumes about them.

    Why?

    That day, as the light faded, he forced himself to stop reading.

    If he left too late, he¡¯d have to walk through the forest at night.

    And navigating these woods in darkness wasn¡¯t just unpleasant¡ªit was dangerous.

    He had tried staying overnight before.

    Tried burying himself in blankets, tried keeping warm with layers.

    But Pisces'' library was cold.

    A deep, biting cold that seeped through everything.

    He had spent nights shivering on the stone floor, waking up feverish, barely able to breathe.

    He had learned his lesson.

    Sometimes, no matter how badly he wanted to stay, he had to leave.

    He climbed the stairs, slipped back out through the stained-glass window, and landed on solid ground.

    Then, he froze.

    Someone was standing in front of him.

    A woman.

    She was too close to the entrance.

    He straightened, brushing dirt off his clothes, eyes flicking up to her face.

    She was older than him. Late thirties, maybe early forties.

    Jet black hair. Grey eyes.

    She was smiling.

    Her clothes were odd. Animal hide for a top. Loose shorts. No shoes.

    She looked like she had walked out of a different time entirely.

    And she was staring straight at him.

    ¡°How much did you read?¡±

    The woman¡¯s voice was calm, steady. But her smile didn''t move.

    He glanced around.

    The clearing was empty.

    The sun was setting.

    The air had turned cold.

    ¡°I¡ªwhat?¡± he asked, not because he hadn¡¯t heard her, but because he needed a second to gather his thoughts.

    ¡°How much did you read?¡± she repeated, same tone, same unnerving smile.

    Something about it made his stomach clench. Maybe she was sick.

    Or maybe¡ª

    No. No, don¡¯t be stupid.

    He swallowed. ¡°I¡ªuh, I guess I read¡­ a lot?¡± His voice dropped, his words hesitant. Was he embarrassed to be caught crawling out of an abandoned building? Or was it the way she seemed to already know what he was doing?

    ¡°Do you¡­ know about this place?¡± He motioned vaguely toward the ruin behind them. ¡°The library?¡±

    Her smile widened.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s something I¡¯ve studied for a long time. A very long time.¡± She finally closed her eyes, crossing her arms, giving him a brief reprieve from that unblinking stare. ¡°Quite the place, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Y-Yeah.¡± He scratched the back of his neck. Why did he feel guilty?

    ¡°How long have you been coming here?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­ about five years.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± She nodded, as if filing that information away. ¡°Then you must be familiar with the language.¡±

    ¡°The¡­ language?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Were you able to decipher it all?¡±

    He blinked. ¡°It was in English.¡±

    She frowned.

    ¡°What?¡± he asked. ¡°I mean, everything I read was just¡­ normal? I didn¡¯t find anything strange.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    A long silence.

    Her eyes were closed, but she was thinking, deep in thought.

    He shuffled his feet. He wanted to ask her about the library, but how? She was the first person he¡¯d met who knew about it, but she was also the most unsettling person he¡¯d ever spoken to.

    So instead, he went with the safest option.

    ¡°You know¡­ it¡¯s really interesting,¡± he said, cautiously. ¡°Not just the library itself, but the books. The details in Caruncle¡¯s life. The world-building, the history¡ªit¡¯s all so¡­¡±

    ¡°Right.¡±

    She opened her eyes again.

    And locked onto him.

    ¡°But if it was all in English,¡± she said, tilting her head, ¡°then you must have read most of it.¡±

    He froze.

    ¡°W-Well, yeah.¡±

    Her gaze flicked up and down, examining him, studying him.

    ¡°In that case¡­¡± Her smile returned. ¡°Tell me, what would you change?¡±

    ¡°¡­What?¡±

    ¡°About Caruncle,¡± she said. ¡°What would you change?¡±

    ¡°Y-You mean, as a character?¡±

    ¡°Caruncle was a real man.¡±

    He laughed nervously. ¡°Right. A ¡®real man.¡¯¡±

    Her smile widened.

    ¡°Tell me,¡± she said again, ¡°what would you have done differently?¡±

    Something shifted in the air.

    His stomach hollowed out. His body felt lighter, like he was about to float away.

    It was getting dark.

    Too dark.

    This conversation was wrong.

    He had always been bad with strangers. And even worse with situations like this. His brain was already spiraling, making up ridiculous backstories for her, trying to rationalize what was happening.

    But then¡ª

    A thought.

    A really stupid, really funny thought.

    If she was what he thought she was, then wouldn¡¯t it be hilarious to see the look on her face if he said¡ª

    ¡°I would have done a lot better,¡± he said, smiling shyly, staring at his shoes.

    Her expression froze.

    ¡°¡­Better?¡± she repeated, her smile twitching. ¡°How so?¡±

    ¡°I think Caruncle sacrificed more people than he needed to. If it had been me, I would have protected them.¡± The silence that followed was too long.

    Then, slowly¡ª**too slowly¡ª**she frowned.

    ¡°¡­A lot of those people were fated to die,¡± she said, the edges of her lips curling back into something wrong. ¡°Caruncle blamed himself, but there was never another way.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± he swallowed, ¡°I guess Lorenzo never learned how to keep a low profile.¡± Her entire body went still.

    ¡°¡­Low profile?¡±

    ¡°There were things Caruncle didn¡¯t see coming,¡± he said, finally looking up. And then¡ªhe smirked.

    Just to see what she would do. She chuckled. Low. Dark. Then her face hardened. The air shifted again. She was staring into him. He tried to look away. He couldn¡¯t.

    ¡°You know what?¡± she said, voice light, almost amused. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go ahead and show me?¡±

    ¡°¡­Show you?¡±

    He felt like he was tilting, off balance, falling.

    He needed to leave. Now.

    Maybe if he asked her to come down the hill with him, maybe if they walked together, maybe¡ª

    ¡°Uh, wait,¡± he blurted. ¡°I don¡¯t think we introduced ourselves. What¡¯s your name?¡±

    She smiled.

    ¡°Jazmin.¡±

    The moment she said it¡ª

    Everything went dark.

 2. The Mirror

    She didn¡¯t find it funny.

    As punishment, I was cast down to Earth¡ªtrapped as a ghost, bound to wander until the sun burns out. That was a long time ago.

    Now, I watch people. I follow them. I see them grow, suffer, die. I see places I once loved crumble to dust. But I can¡¯t speak. I can¡¯t touch. And when someone is gone, they are gone forever.

    I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re reading this before I vanish, or after. Either way, I know one thing for certain:

    We will never meet.

    But this story isn¡¯t about me. This is the story of Caruncle Periwinkle.

    That day, the air felt wrong. Not just heavy¡ªthick, suffocating.

    Caruncle sat at the dining hall table, staring at the gray sky through a grime-covered window. The walls were stained, the floor dusty, everything worn down like it had been forgotten by time.

    At noon, he usually met with Evelyn, Valentin, Felicity, and Percival. They had no classes at this hour, so they gathered to eat and talk.

    And I sat at the top of the table, watching. They never minded me.

    ¡°You know, I¡¯ve been reading Maxwell McAbe lately,¡± Percival said, stirring his tea.

    ¡°Oh really?¡± Evelyn asked. ¡°How is it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m still waiting for him to convince me. People say he¡¯s one-note, but once his books fall into place, they¡¯re¡­ alluring.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d agree,¡± Valentin said. ¡°Someone once told me to read him while listening to Brid Jewele. The result is¡­ interesting.¡±

    ¡°Oh, do you have one of those phonographs?¡± Evelyn asked, perking up.

    ¡°Indeed I do. Quite the invention.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t wrap my head around it,¡± Percival admitted. ¡°I¡¯ve studied how they work, but it¡¯s still practically magic.¡±

    ¡°Where does the music come from?¡± Felicity asked.

    Something about her expression always bothered me.

    ¡°They record it somehow,¡± Percival said. ¡°It¡¯s stored in a thing¡ªa plate, I think. If you put it on a phonograph, it plays back the sound.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Felicity mused. ¡°But how does it move on its own?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a spring mechanism. Some kind of engine.¡±

    ¡°An engine?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Evelyn leaned in. ¡°Wait, you said they store music on something? What¡¯s it called?¡±

    ¡°Forgot.¡± Percival frowned. ¡°I saw one the other day. A black plate. You put a needle on it, and that¡¯s how it plays the sound.¡±

    ¡°And you don¡¯t remember the name?¡± Felicity asked.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°What about you, Caruncle?¡± Evelyn turned to him. The others followed, waiting for a response.

    Caruncle sat completely still.

    His eyes¡ªhollow.

    His voice¡ªa whisper.

    ¡°¡­It¡¯s the same thing.¡±

    ¡°What did you say?¡± Evelyn frowned.

    ¡°It¡¯s the same thing,¡± he repeated, a little louder. ¡°The same thing.¡±

    The same thing.

    Valentin scowled.

    ¡°What the hell are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, I don¡¯t know,¡± Caruncle muttered, scratching his head. His eyes were glued to the table. ¡°I apologize, I just¡­ the phonograph reminded me of something. And these coincidences¡ª¡± he exhaled sharply, swiping a hand over his forehead as if wiping off sweat. ¡°They keep piling up.¡±

    ¡°And we¡¯re uneasy with your babbling,¡± Valentin cut in, voice sharp. His gaze flickered across the table¡ªbriefly meeting mine. A cold, crawling sensation ran down my spine.

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to say something, say it. Otherwise, shut the hell up.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± Evelyn sighed. ¡°We don¡¯t need another argument right now.¡±

    ¡°Let him talk,¡± Valentin insisted. ¡°I want to hear this nonsense.¡±

    ¡°As exhausting as Caruncle¡¯s rambling is,¡± Felicity added, crossing her arms, ¡°your whining is worse.¡±

    Percival and Felicity exchanged glances, watching the tension build. Then Felicity leaned forward, voice softer but no less pressing.

    ¡°You know, Caruncle, Valentin has a point,¡± she said. ¡°You clearly have something to say, so say it. Keeping things bottled up hasn¡¯t done you any good.¡±

    Caruncle didn¡¯t look at her. He didn¡¯t look at anyone.

    ¡°I¡¯d agree,¡± Percival said. ¡°And I know you don¡¯t want to hear this from me again, but my offer still stands. If you ever need¡ª¡±

    Caruncle finally looked up.

    Valentin sat back, arms crossed. Felicity¡¯s gaze flickered with pity, maybe even irritation. Evelyn and Percival just looked worried.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about how to say this for a while,¡± Caruncle admitted, shifting his gaze back to the floor. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m not sure how to explain it.¡±

    ¡°Then get to the point,¡± Valentin snapped.

    ¡°Valentin,¡± Evelyn shot him a glare.

    ¡°I just need him to say it. I don¡¯t have all day.¡±

    ¡°Please, quiet.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s fingers curled into his sleeve.

    ¡°I don¡¯t even know how to explain it,¡± he admitted.

    ¡°Why?¡± Felicity asked. ¡°What¡¯s so hard to say?¡±

    ¡°Because what happened to me¡ª¡± He hesitated. ¡°It hasn¡¯t happened to anyone else. There¡¯s nothing I can compare it to.¡±

    ¡°Then just say it. Stop going in circles,¡± Valentin groaned, rubbing his temples.

    Caruncle smirked, shaking his head. ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Felicity raised her hand. ¡°Caruncle, if you¡¯re not going to speak, then let¡¯s move on. But I¡¯d rather not hear you say we didn¡¯t give you the chance later.¡±

    ¡°Okay, okay,¡± he exhaled, shaking his leg. I moved closer¡ªhis heart was hammering so hard I could feel it from here.

    ¡°You see, there¡¯s a memory¡­ I don¡¯t know, it was like a dream.¡±

    The smirk was gone.

    Caruncle looked at them. All of them. Watching. Waiting. So he looked back down and kept going.

    ¡°A dream?¡± Felicity raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if it was a dream.¡± Caruncle¡¯s voice dropped lower. ¡°But when I was a kid¡­ I saw a mirror.¡±

    ¡°Where?¡± Felicity asked.

    ¡°Look, I don¡¯t remember where I was,¡± he said, irritated. ¡°But I remember the mirror. It had this liquid coating over it. If you made a loud sound in front of it, the surface would ripple¡ªlike water.¡±

    Valentin whispered something to Percival. I caught the words not in the mood before Caruncle kept talking.

    ¡°I got curious, so I reached for it.¡± His hands trembled slightly. ¡°I¡­ touched it. And it was cold. Thick and cold.¡±

    He stopped.

    No one spoke.

    ¡°Go on,¡± Evelyn said softly, reaching for his hand. Her grip was warm, careful¡ªnot exasperated like the others.

    Caruncle swallowed hard, staring at their fingers as if he wasn¡¯t sure how they got there.

    ¡°I got scared,¡± he admitted. ¡°So I tried to pull my hand out.¡±

    A deep inhale.

    Another glance at his hands. At his legs. Like he was searching for something.

    ¡°But I¡­ I couldn¡¯t.¡±

    His voice was barely a whisper now.

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t pull it out.¡±

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t get it out?¡± Felicity leaned in, her eyes narrowing. ¡°As in, was the mirror hollow? Did it have something inside?¡±

    ¡°Yes, like a first aid kit?¡± Percival added.

    ¡°No, not at all.¡± Caruncle bit his lip before continuing. ¡°I said it had a liquid coating over it. When I first stuck my hand inside, it was like¡­ molasses.¡±

    Felicity raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why the hell would you put your hand in molasses trapped in a mirror?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªlook, I don¡¯t remember why¡ª¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re scared to even go outside, and you¡¯re telling us you stuck your hand into some phantom inside a mirror?¡± Valentin wasn¡¯t even angry anymore. Just tired.

    ¡°Just let me finish.¡± Caruncle rubbed his forehead like he was wiping sweat off, but his skin was dry. His face, however, was burning. ¡°At first, I panicked. I panicked. I tried to pull my arm out, but it wouldn¡¯t budge. So I grabbed my wrist with my other hand and pulled as hard as I could.¡±

    ¡°And?¡± Felicity asked.

    ¡°It didn¡¯t work.¡±

    ¡°No?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s fingers dug into his sleeve. ¡°Then¡­ the mirror started pulling me in.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°It pulled me in.¡±

    ¡°You mean you fell through it?¡± Percival scratched his head, rolling his eyes.

    ¡°Yes. And when I came out the other side, I was in a bathroom.¡±

    ¡°You said you didn¡¯t know where you were,¡± Felicity pointed out.

    ¡°I don¡¯t. But I remember the bathroom.¡±

    ¡°What did it look like? Any windows? What material were the walls?¡±

    ¡°They were¡­ green.¡±

    ¡°Green?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Caruncle¡¯s voice wavered. ¡°But that wasn¡¯t what scared me.¡±

    Percival sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t think green bathroom walls should be terrifying.¡±

    Felicity burst into laughter. The others chuckled along, even Evelyn. Caruncle scowled, looking away, his face burning hotter.

    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± Percival said, still smirking. ¡°What was scarier than your spooky bathroom walls?¡±

    Caruncle inhaled.

    ¡°Everything was mirrored.¡±

    Silence.

    He finally looked back at them.

    ¡°The door that had been on my left was now on my right. The tarnished window¡ªswitched sides. The bathtub. Everything.¡±

    They stared at him.

    ¡°And then?¡± Percival finally asked.

    ¡°Yes, did you wake up?¡± Valentin¡¯s smirk returned, mocking.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I did.¡± Caruncle¡¯s voice was shaking now. ¡°Because ever since then, everything looks¡­ off. Like it¡¯s still mirrored.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like it must be hell trying to read,¡± Valentin muttered. The table laughed.

    Caruncle didn¡¯t.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s what happened,¡± he said flatly. His gaze dropped to the table. ¡°I don¡¯t know if it was a dream or not.¡±

    He turned away from them, but then¡ªhesitantly¡ªglanced back at Evelyn. At the others.

    ¡°Everything looks weird. Unfamiliar but the same. It¡¯s so¡­ uncanny. I hate it. And I can¡¯t leave. I can¡¯t¡­ leave this place.¡±

    His fists clenched under the table. He made sure no one could see.

    ¡°Leave?¡± Valentin narrowed his eyes. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®leave¡¯?¡±

    ¡°How long ago was this?¡± Percival murmured. ¡°Eight years?¡±

    ¡°Wait¡ªwhat happened eight years ago?¡± Felicity leaned forward.

    ¡°That¡¯s when Caruncle fell into a well.¡±

    Felicity blinked. Then snorted. Then¡ª

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    She burst into full-blown laughter.

    ¡°Wait, wait.¡± She clutched her stomach. ¡°You fell into a well? How? How does that even happen?!¡±

    ¡°He got a bad fever,¡± Valentin smirked. ¡°Broke his arm. Had to stay in bed for weeks.¡± He tilted his head. ¡°Honestly, I think he broke his brain too.¡±

    Felicity howled. Evelyn pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle.

    Caruncle sat there. Silent. Scowling.

    But inside his mind, the well replayed.

    No. No. No, please¡ªno.

    I had found him crying at the bottom of that well.

    I was wandering through town, looking for someone to observe, when I heard him sobbing from far away.

    When I reached the well, he was thrashing. Punching at the stone walls.

    Fourteen years old. Trapped. Chest-deep in filthy water. Bleeding.

    ¡°Uh¡ª¡± Percival had peered down, trying not to laugh. ¡°You¡¯ll have to wait a bit. We¡¯ll get a rope.¡± Then he walked away.

    Caruncle gasped through his teeth, trying to keep himself together. But he was losing it. Hyperventilating. Shaking.

    That was weird to me.

    I had seen him fall into this well before. But last time, he hadn¡¯t cried. I looked into his thoughts. And what I saw surprised me. So I followed him. Just because I was bored.

    ¡°Caruncle, don¡¯t you think,¡± Percival began, leaning forward, ¡°that maybe it was just a dream? You spent days mumbling in your sleep. You looked awful.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s really let some dream mess up his head,¡± Valentin snorted, glancing at Felicity. Evelyn scowled, but he didn¡¯t acknowledge her.

    Caruncle, however, grinned.

    ¡°Oh, you want to know what¡¯s really been messing with me?¡±

    Valentin rolled his eyes. ¡°Not particularly.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you know,¡± Caruncle said, voice light, ¡°just a couple of books I¡¯ve been reading.¡±

    ¡°Like what?¡±

    ¡°The Randolph Suchet Chronicles.¡±

    Valentin¡¯s smirk disappeared.

    His body stiffened. His lips pressed into a hard line.

    Caruncle watched, pleased.

    ¡°Ever heard of them, Valentin?¡± His voice was mocking now. ¡°Fascinating books. And there¡¯s something¡­ especially interesting about them.¡±

    Felicity glanced between them. ¡°What the hell are the Randolph Suchet Chronicles?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re satire novels,¡± Evelyn answered, ¡°circulating through Lucinian underground presses. They criticize the Basilian Dominion. The books are banned. Distribution is getting riskier¡ªespecially with the ongoing investigation into the authors.¡±

    Felicity turned back to Caruncle. ¡°And you¡¯re reading that why?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I haven¡¯t read that much.¡± Caruncle smiled. ¡°Just heard about them.¡± He turned back to Valentin. ¡°Supposedly, the Dominion executed the author. People say a rebellion might break out.¡± His voice was casual. ¡°What do you think, Valentin?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you want me to say,¡± Valentin muttered. ¡°I haven¡¯t read them.¡±

    ¡°Oh, really?¡± Caruncle¡¯s grin widened. ¡°That¡¯s odd.¡±

    ¡°And I think you¡¯re messed up in the head.¡± Valentin pushed back his chair. ¡°I¡¯m leaving.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s eye twitched.

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I thought.¡± He scratched his cheek. ¡°Coward.¡±

    Valentin stopped.

    Percival caught his arm before he could storm off. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s just breathe. No one¡¯s trying to start a fight.¡±

    Valentin yanked his arm back, but he stayed.

    ¡°I¡¯d be careful around him, Evelyn,¡± he muttered. ¡°You don¡¯t know what he¡¯s capable of.¡±

    Evelyn frowned. ¡°What does that mean?¡±

    Caruncle cut in before he could answer. ¡°Nothing. He¡¯s just being an idiot.¡± He went to bite his nails, but Evelyn grabbed his hand, stopping him.

    Felicity turned to Valentin. ¡°Is there something about you that we don¡¯t know?¡±

    Valentin folded his arms. ¡°Caruncle¡¯s just trying to piss me off.¡±

    ¡°I just wanted to rattle him,¡± Caruncle admitted. ¡°I know he doesn¡¯t like those books.¡±

    Percival sighed. ¡°And what did you expect to accomplish by bringing them up?¡±

    Caruncle leaned back. ¡°I know what he¡¯s afraid of.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Percival tilted his head. ¡°And what would that be?¡±

    Caruncle shrugged. ¡°I feel like a rebellion is coming soon.¡±

    ¡°You feel?¡± Felicity repeated flatly. ¡°And what, exactly, gave you this feeling?¡±

    ¡°The air is different,¡± Caruncle said. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve noticed, but the whole town feels¡­ off.¡±

    Percival exhaled sharply through his nose. ¡°You¡¯re hiding something.¡±

    Caruncle froze.

    ¡°I¡ªI¡­¡± He glanced at Valentin. The same scowl. The same stiffness. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you. Not yet.¡±

    ¡°How convenient.¡±

    Caruncle hesitated.

    He wanted to say it. Wanted to tell someone close to him. Anyone.

    But something in his mind screamed, don¡¯t.

    ¡°I¡ªmaybe it was just a dream.¡± He swallowed. ¡°Like you all said.¡±

    Evelyn¡¯s grip on his hand tightened. ¡°What was it?¡±

    Caruncle exhaled.

    ¡°My memory of the mirror.¡±

    Silence.

    ¡°Did you see something through the mirror?¡± Felicity pressed. ¡°Is that why you¡¯re saying all this?¡±

    ¡°¡­Yes.¡±

    Everyone stared at him now.

    ¡°On the other side,¡± Caruncle murmured, ¡°you learn a lot of things.¡±

    Felicity narrowed her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re joking.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±

    Percival studied him for a long moment.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re trying to accomplish with all this,¡± he finally said.

    Caruncle looked him straight in the eye. ¡°I remember a man named Alcairo.¡±

    Percival¡¯s breath hitched.

    He covered it with a cough.

    ¡°Caruncle?¡± Evelyn shook his arm.

    He blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°If you know something, you should tell us.¡±

    Caruncle looked down at the table.

    The others waited.

    The silence dragged.

    Finally, he spoke.

    ¡°¡­We should leave.¡±

    ¡°Leave?¡±

    ¡°We should move to Leyva or Salento while we still can.¡±

    Percival scoffed. ¡°For what purpose? Leyva is occupied by the Dominion. If a rebellion is coming, things won¡¯t be any better there.¡±

    Evelyn crossed her arms. ¡°Salento is out of the question, too. You know where I come from.¡±

    ¡°If you think war is coming, we should stay and fight,¡± Percival said.

    They both turned to Caruncle.

    Felicity and Valentin remained silent.

    ¡°¡­¡±

    ¡°Caruncle?¡±

    He didn¡¯t answer.

    Evelyn frowned. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t we stay?¡±

    Caruncle exhaled slowly. ¡°What¡¯s even the point?¡±

    Valentin scoffed. ¡°You¡¯re pathetic. You think this is some kind of game?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not playing any games.¡±

    ¡°Then say what you know.¡±

    Caruncle raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re telling me you haven¡¯t noticed?¡±

    ¡°Noticed what?¡±

    ¡°This morning,¡± Caruncle said, leaning forward, ¡°you saw our father talking to someone. Did you see who that was?¡±

    Valentin¡¯s jaw tensed.

    I didn¡¯t need to read his mind to know he had.

    It had been early¡ªraining. Hard to see. But he¡¯d caught a glimpse of a man in a brown, tattered cloak. Their father had been tense, speaking in hushed tones, glancing around as if he expected someone to be watching.

    ¡°You know what he¡¯s up to,¡± Caruncle continued, voice low. ¡°That¡¯s what this is really about.¡±

    Valentin clenched his fists. ¡°If you know something, don¡¯t spoon-feed me scraps. Just say it.¡±

    Felicity sighed loudly, tilting her head back. ¡°Are we still on this?¡±

    Percival checked his watch.

    Evelyn was already pushing back her chair.

    The conversation had gone in circles for too long.

    Caruncle watched them with a dry smile. ¡°So, you¡¯d rather ignore it?¡±

    Valentin¡¯s chair scraped against the floor as he shoved himself to his feet.

    ¡°No,¡± he snapped. ¡°What I¡¯m ignoring is you. You sit here acting strange for weeks. You talk in riddles. You know something, but instead of telling us, you play this stupid game¡ªlike we need to beg you for it. Do you know how exhausting you are?¡±

    Felicity stood up as well, adjusting her dress. She glanced around, checking if anyone was watching, but the dining hall had emptied out.

    Percival and Evelyn stayed seated.

    Caruncle, for once, was silent.

    Valentin folded his arms. ¡°So? Are you going to talk?¡±

    Caruncle finally looked up at him. ¡°If I do¡­ then you have to help me.¡±

    Valentin stared at him, incredulous. ¡°Help you? Help you with what?¡±

    Caruncle didn¡¯t answer.

    Valentin¡¯s face twisted in frustration. ¡°Are we not family? Isn¡¯t that enough? You know something, and yet you refuse to speak. You demand something in return, but you won¡¯t even say what you want. You go in circles, and you expect anything to happen that way?¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s throat bobbed.

    ¡°Because if I tell you,¡± he murmured, ¡°you¡¯ll stop seeing me as family at all.¡±

    Valentin blinked.

    Then, slowly, his expression hardened.

    ¡°I don¡¯t even know what that¡¯s supposed to mean,¡± he muttered. ¡°And I¡¯m not playing this charade any longer.¡±

    Silence.

    The two brothers stared at each other.

    Finally, Percival stood. Evelyn clapped her hands lightly.

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said, voice crisp. ¡°We¡¯re done here. This conversation should continue later, somewhere private. Percival, may we use your residence tonight?¡±

    Percival hesitated. ¡°Well¡­¡± He glanced at the ceiling. He always did that when he was stalling.

    I could have looked into his thoughts.

    But I¡¯d stopped checking his mind a long time ago.

    ¡°¡­Yes,¡± he finally said. ¡°That should be fine.¡±

    Evelyn nodded. ¡°Then we¡¯ll meet tonight. If the conversation runs past midnight, we¡¯ll stay over. Agreed?¡±

    Neither of the brothers answered.

    Evelyn turned toward Valentin. ¡°Will you be coming?¡±

    He barely spared her a glance.

    ¡°I¡¯m not in the mood for games.¡±

    Evelyn exhaled sharply. ¡°This is serious.¡±

    Valentin pushed past them, walking toward the exit.

    ¡°You¡¯d better talk tonight,¡± he muttered.

    And then he was gone.

    The others exchanged quiet goodbyes, heading toward their classrooms.

    I didn¡¯t bother following.

 3. The Confession

    In the evening, I went back to find Caruncle lying beside Evelyn in bed. She was half-asleep, but he moved in close, pressing small kisses along her neck, inching toward her mouth.

    It was awkward.

    The thing about Caruncle¡ªwhat made him so easy to hate¡ªwas that the more you looked at him, the more pathetic he became. A hollow man wearing the shape of something whole. I liked watching him fail.

    The room was suffocating. No windows. Stale air. The kind of place where things fester. The sheets smelled like perfume that had long since faded, like something trying to hold on.

    Evelyn stirred.

    ¡°Wait, stop¡ªstop.¡± She pushed him away, voice thick with sleep. ¡°I told you not to do that.¡±

    He sat up. ¡°I was waking you. You said nine.¡±

    ¡°Not like that.¡± She rubbed her face and turned away from him. ¡°I don¡¯t like it.¡±

    There was a pause.

    Caruncle scratched his head. ¡°What do you expect me to do at this point?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    ¡°Are we pretending this isn¡¯t expected?¡±

    Evelyn exhaled, slow and tired. ¡°Forget it.¡±

    Caruncle let out a sharp laugh. ¡°See? And people say I¡¯m the one who plays games.¡±

    She didn¡¯t take the bait. Instead: ¡°What are you going to tell your brother?¡±

    He went still.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You said you had something serious to tell Valentin. Are you going to tell me first?¡±

    A long silence.

    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±

    And there it was¡ªCaruncle retreating. I could have called it before he even opened his mouth. A man too weak to move forward, too afraid to step back.

    ¡°Why not?¡± Evelyn¡¯s voice was softer now. She already knew where this was going.

    ¡°Because I only have so much strength,¡± Caruncle said, staring at his hands. ¡°I need to save it. I need to say it once, and then never again.¡±

    She studied him.

    ¡°What if I told them for you?¡±

    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t work.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Why do you hate it when I kiss you?¡± The words came out too quickly, like he was trying to outrun them.

    ¡°What does that have to do with anything?¡±

    ¡°Maybe everything.¡±

    She didn¡¯t answer right away. I wondered if she would just get up and leave.

    Then, softly: ¡°Do you even love me?¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s throat worked around an answer.

    ¡°I think you¡¯re beautiful,¡± he said at last. ¡°You¡¯re kind. And if I could be near you forever, maybe¡­ I¡¯d feel whole. Even if nothing else changed.¡±

    That almost sounded like love. Almost.

    ¡°¡®Maybe¡¯ whole?¡± she echoed.

    Caruncle¡¯s jaw clenched.

    ¡°I don¡¯t feel complete.¡±

    Evelyn studied him. ¡°Because of me?¡±

    ¡°No. Because of me.¡±

    Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

    ¡°Caruncle¡­¡± Evelyn hesitated. ¡°Why do you flinch when I touch you? Why do you only reach for me when I¡¯m not looking? Why¡ªwhen we¡¯re together¡ªdo you always have that look on your face?¡±

    ¡°I told you¡ªI won¡¯t kiss you like that again.¡±

    ¡°You know that¡¯s not what I mean.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°So tell me why.¡±

    A long silence.

    Caruncle exhaled. ¡°Can I ask you something first?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Do you think I¡¯m unpleasant?¡±

    She frowned. ¡°Is this about the marriage arrangement?¡±

    ¡°No. This is about me.¡±

    ¡°I think¡­¡± Evelyn hesitated. ¡°I think you¡¯re a good man. But something is wrong with you, Caruncle. And you won¡¯t tell me what it is.¡±

    ¡°I disgust myself.¡± His voice was flat, factual. ¡°I don¡¯t just hate myself. I can¡¯t stand myself.¡±

    Evelyn flinched. Not because she disagreed.

    ¡°Caruncle,¡± she started, carefully. ¡°You¡¯re always desperate. Desperate about me. About your father. About whatever war is happening in your head. But you won¡¯t talk about it. You let it eat you alive, and I won¡¯t let it eat me too.¡±

    The clock ticked between them.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Caruncle said at last. ¡°I should have loved you better. You deserved that.¡±

    Evelyn swallowed. ¡°You can still change.¡±

    Caruncle stood. ¡°Let¡¯s go to Percival¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°Caruncle¡ª¡±

    But he was already reaching for the door.

    ¡°I need to clear my head first,¡± Caruncle muttered. ¡°Maybe then things will make more sense.¡±

    They dressed in silence.

    I was already sick of watching him collapse in on himself, drowning in his own self-pity. I had seen him like this countless times before. Crying, always crying. At some point, I¡¯d leave¡ªbecause I had my own suffering, my own punishment to deal with, and it was far worse than his.

    But eventually, I¡¯d come back. Morbid curiosity.

    It was never worth it.

    Caruncle and Evelyn stepped outside, his hand looped stiffly around her arm. He moved like someone wearing a body that didn¡¯t fit.

    Above them, the full moon hung low, soaking the street in cold light.

    Evelyn looked at it and thought¡ªmaybe in another life, she would have been an explorer. Maybe she would have left the planet, vanished into the sky, and never looked back.

    Caruncle, meanwhile, stared at the city. The streets felt foreign to him, no matter how many times he walked them. The gaslights. The carriages. The roads, rough and crumbling, worn down by time and neglect. The air reeked of filth. It all felt wrong.

    They stood together, but neither spoke.

    Minutes passed. The carriage arrived.

    Inside, the velvet interior swallowed them up, trapping them in its warmth.

    Evelyn, watching the world blur past through the window, finally broke the silence.

    ¡°What were you thinking about?¡±

    Caruncle blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Before the carriage came.¡±

    ¡°Oh. That.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Tell me.¡±

    He hesitated. Say it, Caruncle. Just say it. It won¡¯t change a damn thing.

    ¡°I was thinking¡­ I still haven¡¯t gotten used to this place.¡± A half-truth. A weak, meaningless compromise.

    ¡°The city?¡±

    ¡°¡­You could say that.¡±

    Evelyn turned back to the window, scanning for the moon. She couldn¡¯t find it anymore.

    I let my attention drift, running my fingers over the velvet lining of the carriage. The only real thing in this suffocating, useless conversation.

    ¡°Did you ever get lost in the city as a kid?¡± Evelyn asked.

    Caruncle thought for a moment. ¡°I don¡¯t remember.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t remember much of my childhood.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    Thirty minutes later, they arrived at Percival¡¯s home.

    Caruncle stepped out of the carriage and looked up at the house.

    It leaned too much to one side, groaning under its own weight. It looked like it could collapse at any moment.

    He didn¡¯t realize he was thinking about himself.

    ***

    They arrived at Percival¡¯s house, which looked like it owed gravity a favor and could collapse at any second.

    Inside, the hallway was so narrow and dimly lit that it felt like walking into an underground crypt. Caruncle immediately regretted coming. He considered running, dramatically throwing himself out of a window, maybe even faking a seizure¡ªanything to not be here. Unfortunately, his legs had chosen violence and refused to move.

    By the time he realized the hallway was over, he was already sitting in a chair by the fireplace. Trapped.

    ¡°I hope you¡¯re doing alright, Caruncle,¡± Percival said, placing a candlestick on the wall. His voice was warm, which somehow made it worse.

    Caruncle shivered. ¡°Why are you here tonight?¡± he asked Felicity.

    ¡°Evelyn invited me.¡± Felicity crossed her legs under her ridiculous mountain of a dress¡ªa massive, frilly, aggressively yellow monstrosity that made her look like a human-sized canary.

    Caruncle felt personally attacked by how much space she took up.

    ¡°I thought she should hear what you have to say,¡± Evelyn added.

    ¡°Suit yourselves.¡± Caruncle scratched his head. He felt like a prop in a play where everyone else had been given the script except him.

    ¡°You should really get to the point,¡± Percival said, settling into his chair.

    Caruncle glanced at Valentin, who had been staring at him like he was trying to will him into shutting up.

    ¡°You want me to talk,¡± Caruncle began. ¡°You think I can help. I can¡¯t. But I don¡¯t think you can help me either. So, I¡¯ll just say what I came to say so we can all go home and pretend this never happened.¡±

    ¡°Caruncle, you still haven¡¯t told us what you need help with,¡± Felicity pointed out, raising a hand like she was a teacher and he was an underperforming student.

    ¡°You want to know what I know, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t tell you what I know because if I do, you won¡¯t help me.¡±

    ¡°¡­I have several questions.¡±

    ¡°Go ahead.¡±

    Felicity took a slow, deliberate breath. ¡°It seems like we¡¯re going in circles. You say you know something. You also say you can¡¯t tell us. You also say you need our help. But you won¡¯t tell us what you need help with until we agree to help you. Are you seeing the issue here?¡±

    Caruncle blinked. ¡°¡­Yes.¡±

    ¡°Great! So, let¡¯s start with what you need help with.¡±

    Caruncle rubbed his forehead, staring at the fireplace like it might offer him an escape route. His heart was going insane.

    Then, in the most awkward, tragic, and absolutely humiliating way possible, he blurted out:

    ¡°I want to be a woman.¡±

    Silence.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Valentin tilted his head. ¡°¡­What?¡±

    ¡°I want to be a woman. That¡¯s what I said.¡±

    ¡°¡­PFFT¡ªHAHAHAHA!!¡± Felicity lost it.

    She threw her head back and cackled, the sheer volume of her laughter so aggressive that Caruncle was genuinely concerned for the foundation of Percival¡¯s already questionably stable house.

    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s messing with us again!¡± she wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye.

    Caruncle, stone-faced, did not find this particularly amusing.

    ¡°I¡ªWHAT?¡± Valentin stood up so fast his chair nearly fell over. ¡°This¡ªthis is the thing you dragged us here for?!¡±

    Felicity was still laughing. ¡°Oh my God, imagine if you actually had something important to say¡ª¡±

    ¡°STOP LAUGHING!¡± Caruncle snapped.

    Felicity did not stop laughing. If anything, she laughed harder.

    In fact, she seemed determined to die from laughter, which was probably inconvenient for everyone else in the room judging by how they looked at her.

    ¡°Felicity, can you¡ªcan you just¡ªwait,¡± Percival finally interrupted, rubbing his temples like a man who had seen too much. ¡°Let¡¯s just¡ªCaruncle, what do you mean? I don¡¯t think we quite heard you properly.¡±

    Caruncle turned toward him with the dead expression of a man who had already mentally left the building.

    ¡°I meant what I meant,¡± he said, voice monotone and exhausted. ¡°I want to be just like Evelyn, like Felicity, like your mother or mine¡ª"

    ¡°STOP TALKING,¡± Valentin burst out, throwing his hands up like Caruncle had just threatened to blow up the house. ¡°This is ridiculous! What are you even talking about?!¡±

    ¡°If you don¡¯t want to hear me out, you can leave.¡±

    ¡°You said you had something serious to say, and THIS is your grand revelation?!¡± Valentin¡¯s foot started tapping like he was about to teleport out of sheer frustration.

    ¡°I told you what I needed,¡± Caruncle muttered, barely holding back tears.

    ¡°You just told us you are hysterical.¡± Valentin pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure the only thing a doctor would prescribe for you is a knife through your balls. And maybe a hammer through your skull.¡±

    ¡°Oh, really? I didn¡¯t know you were a doctor,¡± Caruncle shot back. ¡°Are you planning to include that in your next shitty novel?¡±

    Valentin stood up so fast his chair screeched.

    For a brief moment, I really thought he was going to commit to murder.

    ¡°Yes, yes, everyone sit down, let¡¯s talk like civilized people,¡± Percival practically threw himself between them. Evelyn, meanwhile, had physically forced Valentin back into his seat before he could start throwing punches.

    Percival took a slow breath and turned back to Caruncle. ¡°Okay, when you say you want to be a woman, what does that entail?¡±

    ¡°A physical change.¡±

    ¡°Alright. Do you, uh¡­ know how you envision this physical change?¡±

    ¡°Well, I know what I want it to look like,¡± Caruncle muttered and immediately started eating his nails.

    ¡°PLEASE, let¡¯s just stop right here,¡± Valentin groaned. ¡°It¡¯s clear he got hit in the head too hard as a child.¡±

    Evelyn dragged both hands down her face. ¡°Caruncle, I¡ªof all the things you could¡¯ve said¡ªyou might as well have said you wanted to be a frog.¡±

    ¡°Or a pig!¡± Felicity added, grinning like a demon. ¡°So he could roll around in filth all day like he already does.¡±

    ¡°That sounds more like you than me,¡± Caruncle snapped.

    Felicity cackled harder.

    ¡°Wait, wait, everyone, I think we started on the wrong foot,¡± Percival, ever the optimist, attempted to regain control of the situation. ¡°Caruncle, listen. I think you might be¡ªif you allow me to say¡ªexperiencing a crisis. You might feel like if you were something else, if you didn¡¯t have so many responsibilities, or if¡ª¡±

    ¡°You could not be more wrong,¡± Caruncle cut him off, voice flat and miserable.

    ¡°¡­Also,¡± Percival added, blinking, ¡°Divinity wouldn¡¯t approve of thoughts like this.¡±

    Caruncle turned toward a ridiculously buff statue of a naked man sitting dramatically on a rock.

    The statue was beautiful. The perfect symbol of Divine Judgment.

    Caruncle, maintaining direct eye contact with the statue, spat on the floor.

    Felicity gasped like she had just witnessed a crime.

    Evelyn: horrified.

    Percival: deeply offended.

    Valentin? Valentin chuckled.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Percival exhaled, visibly trying to restrain his anger. ¡°But have you considered that your¡­ feelings might stem from a nervous affliction?¡±

    Caruncle blinked.

    ¡°Physicians have documented cases of ¡®hysteria¡¯ in women,¡± Percival continued, clearly talking out of his ass. ¡°It¡¯s not entirely inconceivable that a man might suffer from a similar disturbance of the nerves.¡±

    Caruncle slowly turned back to look at him.

    ¡°¡­Are you saying I have girl disease?¡±

    Felicity, still grinning like a gremlin, crossed her arms. ¡°We adhere to the natural order as Divinity intended, because that is what gives us order. Men have their place, and women theirs. To blur these lines wouldn¡¯t make you any happier, and you know it.¡±

    Caruncle, staring dead-eyed at the floor, mumbled, ¡°I understand, but I still want to be one.¡±

    ¡°A what?¡± Valentin, voice dripping with sarcasm.

    ¡°A wo¡­man.¡± Saying it out loud again felt like throwing up. I could see it. The physical cringe rippling through his entire body. Glorious.

    ¡°Caruncle,¡± Evelyn¡¯s voice cut in, sharper than usual. ¡°You know what I went through, right? Do you remember when my family moved here?¡±

    ¡°Yes, remember it well.¡±

    ¡°So why are you saying all this?¡± Her tone was flat. ¡°If you were a woman, you¡¯d have to follow the same path. My studies? Paid for by your family. I wasn¡¯t even allowed to choose my own profession, do you know why? Because everything I do has to involve you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m well aware.¡±

    ¡°You¡­ you remember why we are together, right?¡± Evelyn¡¯s voice shook. ¡°It¡¯s not because we love each other.¡± She wiped her eyes, refusing to look at him.

    Caruncle swallowed. ¡°You don¡¯t have to blame yourself.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Felicity arched a brow.

    Caruncle finally glanced up. It was eerie how still he was. Like a corpse processing a joke. The kind of stare that made you want to back away slowly.

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t care about you, don¡¯t you have anything else to say?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t put words in my mouth, Felicity,¡± Evelyn snapped, still not looking at him.

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t love me,¡± Caruncle muttered. ¡°But I do.¡±

    Felicity, delighted, tilted her head. ¡°Really? Even as a faggot?¡±

    No one moved.

    No one breathed.

    I, personally, was waiting to see if Caruncle would simply evaporate out of shame.

    Finally, Percival, ever the host, cleared his throat. ¡°I feel this might deserve a talk on its own, but in the meantime¡­ let¡¯s go back to the topic at hand.¡±

    Caruncle turned toward him, his expression horrifically neutral.

    ¡°You say you want to be a woman,¡± Percival continued, visibly struggling to make sense of his own words. ¡°Does that mean that you¡­ want to be married to a man?¡±

    Caruncle looked like someone had just punched him in the face.

    ¡°No,¡± he said, disgusted. ¡°I don¡¯t see myself with a man.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t stop the act now,¡± Valentin scoffed, arms crossed. ¡°You barely touch your fianc¨¦e, you want to escape your duties as a man, what else would you want to dress in drag for if not to be some man¡¯s toy?¡±

    ¡°That would be immoral,¡± Felicity murmured, as if that was the most offensive thing she had heard tonight.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be in drag,¡± Caruncle said, staring into the void. ¡°I want to be a woman.¡±

    Percival, ever the diplomat, raised an eyebrow. ¡°And what, exactly, do you plan to do if you don¡¯t find a suitor?¡±

    Caruncle, genuinely confused: ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    Felicity, with the cold efficiency of a guillotine: ¡°You need to learn your place. Your job is to provide. That isn¡¯t something you can avoid.¡±

    ¡°I still want to be a woman.¡±

    Valentin¡¯s foot tapped. His fingers twitched. He looked this close to throwing a chair across the room.

    ¡°You can¡¯t just escape your own responsibility,¡± he finally hissed. ¡°You can¡¯t just choose an easier life because you¡¯re disappointed in yourself. You¡¯ll burn our family¡¯s reputation to the ground. Do you understand that?¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s eye twitched.

    ¡°Escape?¡± His voice was low. ¡°You think I would choose something like this? You think this is easy?¡±

    Valentin finally stood up. Arms crossed, jaw clenched.

    ¡°You¡¯re mentally ill,¡± he announced.

    ¡°Oh, thank you, Doctor,¡± Caruncle deadpanned.

    ¡°Living with someone this hysterical is not something I want to be a part of,¡± Valentin continued, ignoring him. ¡°I¡¯d rather have you cured. Or exorcised.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not hysterical¡ª¡±

    ¡°You still have a penis.¡±

    The entire room gasped as if Valentin had just dropped the atomic bomb.

    To be honest, I didn''t get why it was such a big deal. But people just kept silent. Their faces said something like "The audacity. The horror. The guts it took to acknowledge genitalia in this economy." I just had lost all notion of having a body and it had completely numbed me to the discussion.

    Felicity? Felicity chuckled. My beloved.

    Finally, Caruncle broke eye contact. He stared at his hands like he had never seen them before.

    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± he muttered. ¡°Not here. It isn¡¯t possible here.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not possible anywhere,¡± Felicity chirped, pointing at him. ¡°The most you could do is cut off your balls and even then, you wouldn¡¯t be a woman. Because you are not!¡± She then opened a bottle of wine and started drinking straight from it.

    The room settled into a heavy silence.

    I turned toward Evelyn. She hadn¡¯t said anything in a long while.

    She just sat there, her face unreadable.

    And finally, when she spoke, her voice was cold.

    ¡°Do you even understand,¡± she asked, ¡°what the life of a woman is?¡±

    Caruncle, breath hitching, wiped his face, smearing tears across his sleeve. ¡°I understand.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Evelyn cut in, voice sharp. ¡°I don¡¯t think you do. Because if you did, you wouldn¡¯t be wishing for something like that.¡±

    I had to admit, their sheer rage over something physically impossible was hilarious. The looney man wanted to walk to Mars, and they were all furious about it. Who was really insane here?

    Caruncle straightened his spine. ¡°I would accept any pain in the world, as long as I could live as a woman.¡±

    Evelyn stared. ¡°But why?¡±

    ¡°I just want to.¡± He said, while finger twiddling.

    Fantastic answer. Bravo. Give the man a standing ovation for clarity.

    Percival sighed, rubbing his forehead. ¡°If you were a woman, you wouldn¡¯t just be vulnerable. You¡¯d be weaker.¡±

    ¡°I am fine with that,¡± Caruncle whispered, stroking his hands like they were foreign objects. ¡°Maybe who I am inside isn¡¯t someone that¡¯s strong.¡±

    Valentin, now thoroughly entertained, chuckled. ¡°You sound like one of those flamboyant homos.¡±

    Caruncle blinked, unfazed. ¡°And if I were?¡±

    Valentin¡¯s smirk widened. ¡°Would you like me to bring you a skirt? Huh? Would you put it on and twirl around like a pretty little girl?¡±

    Caruncle, pouting: ¡°What if I did? Afraid you¡¯ll get infected?¡±

    Felicity, stifling a laugh, turned to Evelyn. ¡°I feel so sorry for you.¡± She patted her shoulder like a doctor delivering a terminal diagnosis. ¡°Your fianc¨¦ is humiliating you. I suggest you make him stop.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to humiliate anybody,¡± Caruncle said, still weirdly calm. ¡°I¡¯m just saying what I feel.¡±

    Felicity¡¯s grin returned. ¡°But that¡¯s the thing. I still don¡¯t understand. Why?¡±

    Then, with perfect comedic timing, she snapped her fingers. ¡°Wait. I know. It¡¯s because he¡¯s a pervert. That¡¯s what this is.¡±

    Oh, I loved this part. I had been cheering her on all night, but now? Now, I was actually pissed off.

    Caruncle, meanwhile, looked blank.

    ¡°I always knew something was off about you,¡± Valentin mused, getting closer, eyes dark with glee. ¡°And now that you¡¯ve finally said it, it makes perfect sense.¡±

    Oh no.

    No, no, no.

    I could see where he was going.

    ¡°I bet you steal Evelyn¡¯s dresses,¡± Valentin continued, voice dripping with mockery. ¡°Wear them in secret. Sniff them. Get a hard-on just thinking about yourself in them.¡±

    Then, he slapped him.

    I didn¡¯t laugh this time.

    Percival stood up. ¡°Valentin, I must ask you not to do this in my home.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive me,¡± Valentin said, completely ignoring him. ¡°But I need to bring some sense into my brother.¡±

    Then he punched him in the stomach.

    Caruncle collapsed. Gasping, clutching his ribs, doubled over like a sack of broken bones.

    Felicity and Percival exchanged glances but didn¡¯t move.

    Evelyn, tears in her eyes, clenched her fists. She said nothing.

    I, meanwhile, was checking out. This was no longer funny. It was boring.

    Boring, predictable, exhausting.

    Maybe, if I was lucky, one of the candles would catch the curtains on fire and end this whole thing.

    "Hey everybody look through the windows! It''s the giant monster penis attacking us right now! It''s about to destroy our lives!" I yelled, but nobody laughed.

    Valentin crouched down, voice low. ¡°You will stop talking nonsense. This isn¡¯t just disgusting. It¡¯s dangerous. If this gets out, do you know what happens? Do you?¡±

    Caruncle, barely able to breathe, managed to whisper: ¡°Being a man is the grossest thing I have ever had to experience.¡±

    Then he started sobbing.

    I rolled my eyes.

    ¡°Don¡¯t make this worse than it already is,¡± Caruncle begged, voice small.

    ¡­Okay. Maybe he just needed another beating.

    ¡°Oh?¡± Valentin tilted his head, grinning. ¡°Do you need help? Do you want me to help you become a man?¡±

    Ah. Here we go.

    Valentin, stretching his neck like a boxer about to deliver a knockout, smirked. ¡°You started going insane the moment you started growing hair on your balls. Since then, you¡¯ve had that creepy-ass look on your face, like you¡¯re about to burst into tears because you got a boner in church.¡±

    Honestly? I was over it.

    Valentin sounded tired.

    I was tired.

    Maybe I should¡¯ve left for the night. It was clear this wasn¡¯t getting any funnier.

    Outside the window, I noticed a couple of moths fluttering against the glass.

    They were beautiful.

    ¡°I¡¯ve felt this way since I was a child,¡± Caruncle choked out. Barely understandable.

    Between his sobs, I had half a mind to leave.

    But watching him suffer was still somewhat entertaining.

    Maybe I could stay a little longer.

    Felicity, shaking her head, finally sighed. ¡°Ridiculous.¡±

    Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw Valentin¡¯s expression shift.

    For the first time, he looked¡­ panicked.

    ¡°Have you told our mother about this?¡±

    Caruncle, shaking violently, whispered, ¡°No.¡±

    Silence.

    Percival, ever the diplomat, stepped in. ¡°People. Let¡¯s not forget why we¡¯re here.¡±

    Right. That.

    We were originally here because Caruncle had claimed he had some big, earth-shattering knowledge.

    Which, at this point, I had completely forgotten about.

    Percival continued, gentle as ever. ¡°Caruncle. You can¡¯t change into something you aren¡¯t. But¡­ maybe we can still help you.¡±

    Caruncle stared at the floor.

    ¡°Is there anything else we can help you with?¡± Percival pressed. ¡°Anything at all?¡±

    Caruncle, voice empty: ¡°Nothing.¡±

    ¡°Nothing?¡± Percival tried again. ¡°Are you sure? Maybe financial help? Maybe your relationship with Evelyn? Perhaps if you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Nothing.¡± Caruncle let his head hit the floor. ¡°This is the only thing I want in my life.¡±

    His tears were already staining the carpet.

    Which, by the way, was wonderful.

    Valentin, finally remembering why we were all here, straightened.

    ¡°Right.¡± His voice was flat. ¡°You¡¯re not leaving this house until you tell us what you know.¡±

    Caruncle, muffled: ¡°Screw you.¡±

    Valentin grabbed him by the collar. ¡°You¡¯re not leaving. Talk.¡±

    Caruncle, weakly shoving him off: ¡°You¡¯ll have to kill me, then.¡±

    Valentin snorted. ¡°Our mother would be so disappointed if she knew how pathetic you are.¡±

    Caruncle didn¡¯t respond.

    He simply closed his eyes.

    With his vision blurred, the candlelight dim, and his body beaten, he barely noticed as the room faded away.

    He let himself sleep.

 4. The Suspicion

    Let me apologize for last night. Things got out of hand. Caruncle was exhausting, everyone was tired, and, well¡­ whatever. Let¡¯s just forget about it. Let¡¯s talk about something else. Someone else.

    I¡¯m an imaginative person. You turn that way after death. I can imagine thousands of stories about the people I meet, but this morning, I followed Evelyn.

    She was in the garden of the Dominguez estate, where she lived at the time, drinking coffee with Felicity. Felicity sat across from her, a book in hand, flipping pages without reading. A maid had just left a tray of cookies on the table¡ªan intricate mosaic table, the kind with so many patterns that if I stared at it too long, I¡¯d get lost in the shapes.

    ¡°I was meaning to ask you how the party went this weekend,¡± Felicity said, flashing one of those too-sweet smiles.

    ¡°Oh, let¡¯s just say I wasn¡¯t the star of the night.¡± Evelyn sighed dramatically, stirring her coffee.

    ¡°Oh, my. What happened?¡±

    ¡°The people there and I¡­ didn¡¯t quite agree on what made a dance enjoyable.¡±

    ¡°Oh, what are you saying, madam?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you later. I need to discuss something with Felicity for now. You may go.¡±

    ¡°If you say so. If you need me, you know where to find me.¡± The maid disappeared into the house.

    Felicity wasted no time. ¡°So, what did they say?¡±

    ¡°The guard at the assembly hall said they hadn¡¯t noticed anything I should be alarmed about.¡±

    ¡°They didn¡¯t let you in.¡±

    ¡°No. They told me to talk to my fianc¨¦ instead. Apparently, he ¡®has a place at the hall¡¯ and should ¡®know what to do.¡¯¡±

    Felicity rolled her eyes and flipped a page in her book. She plucked a cookie from the tray and took a bite. Evelyn, still lost in thought, barely touched hers.

    That morning, she had seen her father arguing with a councilor from the Basilian Empire. The topic? A potential mutiny¡ªLucianians rising up against their Basilian rulers.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what my father is thinking,¡± she said finally, ¡°but I know he won¡¯t risk another situation where we have to flee the country and leave everything behind again.¡±

    ¡°What about you?¡± Felicity asked, watching her carefully. ¡°I mean¡­¡±

    ¡°I know what I¡¯ve said. If we have to leave again, I don¡¯t know if it¡¯ll be better or worse. But running is something I don¡¯t want to do twice.¡±

    ¡°I thought you liked traveling,¡± Felicity smirked.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Evelyn took a sip of coffee. ¡°Maybe I just don¡¯t like him, that¡¯s all.¡±

    Felicity didn¡¯t answer. She broke another cookie in half, then looked back at Evelyn.

    ¡°Are you still worried about what Caruncle said?¡±

    Oh, here we go. Always Caruncle. Always him. I sighed and sat on the table, pretending to steal one of their cookies.

    ¡°How could I not be worried, Felicity? How could I not be?¡±

    ¡°Do you think he¡¯ll break the engagement?¡±

    ¡°No. I don¡¯t think he would.¡± She exhaled through her nose. ¡°But I feel like I should.¡±

    Felicity raised a brow. ¡°What are you saying?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m saying I¡¯m not marrying a queer.¡±

    Felicity stared at her. She opened her mouth, then closed it, as if tasting the words before deciding against them.

    ¡°I¡¯m worried about what kind of father he¡¯d be.¡±

    ¡°You think he¡¯ll run away if it¡¯s too much for him?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid he¡¯ll do something drastic,¡± Evelyn whispered.

    Felicity chuckled but stopped when she noticed Evelyn gnawing at her nails.

    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±

    Evelyn dropped her hand, but her fingers twitched.

    ¡°And what he said last night¡­ Before we arrived, we were talking. He said that what he¡¯d tell us would help me understand him more, but now I¡¯m more confused than ever.¡±

    ¡°That he likes drag? As far as his family¡¯s concerned, they¡¯re all devout to the Divine. He couldn¡¯t publicly allow himself another relationship with a man, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°No. That¡¯s not what I¡¯m worried about.¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not worried about him being a homosexual.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean? He said he wanted the life of a broad.¡±

    ¡°He said he was in love with me.¡±

    Felicity snorted. ¡°And you believed him?¡±

    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I? I¡¯ve been with him long enough.¡± Evelyn threw her hands in the air, voice rising slightly before she caught herself and glanced around the garden to make sure no one else was nearby.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°You¡¯ve said he avoids you.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I have.¡±

    ¡°So either he wishes to be a broad, or he wishes to be with you, but he can¡¯t really wish for both.¡±

    ¡°Yes. I understand that.¡±

    Felicity set her book down, unimpressed. ¡°I think you need to calm down. I doubt he¡¯ll break the engagement, so don¡¯t try to call it off yourself.¡±

    ¡°You mean he¡¯ll get back on his feet.¡±

    ¡°No, most likely, he won¡¯t. Probably never will.¡±

    Evelyn narrowed her eyes. ¡°Are you saying I should tie myself to a man who¡¯s lost half his marbles?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m saying there might be a silver lining¡ª¡± she gestured vaguely ¡°¡ªa quiet life, with someone less likely to assert himself.¡±

    Evelyn scoffed. ¡°That¡¯s supposed to be a silver lining?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve told me how afraid you are of ending up with a man who can¡¯t keep his hands to himself. A man who¡¯d treat you like furniture instead of a wife.¡±

    ¡°That man¡¯s anguish is as palpable as any other¡¯s, and I don¡¯t have the strength to deal with the neuroses of another man.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s spineless. Tell him to roll over and die, and he¡¯d probably do it.¡±

    ¡°Yes. That¡¯s what I¡¯m worried about.¡±

    ¡°What for?¡±

    ¡°I think he¡¯s going to anchor himself to me.¡±

    Felicity shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s what an engagement is.¡±

    ¡°I mean him.¡±

    ¡°Well, better for you, isn¡¯t it? He¡¯s not the type to have an affair.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I care about that anymore.¡±

    I was still sitting on the table, but the thrill of it had long since faded. I used to test my luck, wondering if someone would ever notice me. At this point, I would have welcomed the embarrassment. Anything was better than being ignored forever.

    ¡°He¡¯ll lead a quiet life, won¡¯t he? No ripples in the pond. Not the sturdiest branch, but then, you never did fancy climbing too high.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯d agree with your idea of a quiet life.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t his family send him to a doctor?¡±

    ¡°That wouldn¡¯t be convenient for them. A scandal would delay the engagement.¡± She sighed.

    ¡°What if they send him after the wedding? You¡¯d be left managing his family¡¯s assets¡ªand yours¡ªalone.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like what you¡¯re implying, Felicity.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me, then, Evelyn, I was just speaking my mind.¡±

    Evelyn stirred her coffee, gaze drifting to the garden. The gallica and damask roses stood in neat rows, but beyond them, the bushes were unimpressive. She had tried to bring new varieties back from Abrego once, but the seeds were confiscated at the border, and the few flowers that survived the journey withered before they could take root.

    ¡°Besides,¡± she said, voice quieter, ¡°he¡¯s still convinced something is coming. Something in the city.¡±

    ¡°Well, he¡¯s hysterical. That¡¯s to be expected.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s hysterical, but he knows something.¡±

    Felicity raised a brow. ¡°Do you think so? I¡¯m starting to suspect he just wanted attention.¡±

    ¡°Valentin didn¡¯t seem to think so.¡±

    ¡°Then maybe Valentin¡¯s the one who¡¯s dug up something on him. That would make the most sense, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. And this is starting to give me a headache.¡±

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t let yourself get worked up over this. These sorts of things come with the territory.¡±

    Evelyn exhaled slowly. ¡°He said his father was planning something.¡±

    ¡°He did, didn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°Do you have any guesses?¡±

    ¡°An affair.¡±

    ¡°Hmm¡­ you might not be wrong.¡±

    ¡°Of course not. How could I be?¡±

    Evelyn didn¡¯t react. She simply stirred her coffee again, absentminded.

    ¡°But still,¡± she said, after a pause, ¡°I don¡¯t like being left in the dark.¡±

    ¡°Do you really want to find out what his father is doing?¡±

    ¡°I think understanding his father might help me understand what¡¯s got him so on edge.¡±

    Felicity smirked. ¡°I think his repressed desire for drag has him more perturbed than anything else.¡±

    Evelyn gave her a dry look. ¡°What if his father¡¯s affair is what started his delusions?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­¡±

    ¡°Maybe Caruncle¡¯s finally acting against him.¡±

    ¡°I thought he always did.¡±

    ¡°Not really. His father never liked him much, but I don¡¯t think Caruncle ever truly disobeyed him before.¡±

    Felicity leaned back in her chair. ¡°Then perhaps Caruncle is right about something for once.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°He looks miserable, doesn¡¯t he? But what else do you expect from a man that stubborn about his dreams?¡±

    Evelyn groaned. ¡°Don¡¯t talk to me about dreams.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I apologize. Must I assume your endeavors haven¡¯t worked out either?¡±

    Evelyn¡¯s gaze returned to the garden. ¡°Lucianians don¡¯t seem interested in bluebells.¡±

    Her father had suggested filling the space with local flowers instead. The few roses that remained looked lonelier than ever.

    ¡°Oh.¡± Felicity hesitated. ¡°That is¡­ unfortunate.¡±

    Now, I¡¯ve always liked flowers. Caruncle was amusing in his pathetic way, but Evelyn¡ªEvelyn made me feel at home. I watched her stare at the sky, searching for something she would never find. And maybe that¡¯s why I wanted to stay with her. Even then¡ªeven then¡ªI wanted to drown in her melancholy, to let it consume me.

    I wanted to forget myself.

    A ghost wandering the world without sense or purpose, clinging to a woman who didn¡¯t even know I was there. If I stayed long enough, if I let myself disappear into her quiet sadness, maybe I could forget I was dead. Maybe, just for a moment, I could pretend I was human again.

    But I digress.

    Evelyn waved a hand, shaking off her thoughts. ¡°Let¡¯s not stray from the topic at hand.¡±

    ¡°You mentioned Caruncle¡¯s father looked cast down?¡± Felicity asked. She took a slow sip of her coffee, now nearly cold. ¡°I always took him for the taciturn type, but if Caruncle says he¡¯s been acting strange¡­¡±

    ¡°Anything come to mind?¡±

    ¡°Well, it wouldn¡¯t be wise to ask my family directly, but someone should keep an eye on what Mr. Periwinkle has been up to.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Felicity dabbed her lips with a handkerchief.

    ¡°Maybe Caruncle¡¯s paranoia has something to do with it. Or maybe there¡¯s something worse about his family that I need to know.¡±

    ¡°Have you thought of asking him when you¡¯re alone?¡±

    ¡°I will. But I¡¯d rather find out about his father myself first.¡±

    ¡°You want my help.¡±

    ¡°Please.¡±

    Felicity sighed, setting her cup down. ¡°If it worries you that much¡­¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t ask if I didn¡¯t think it was necessary.¡± Evelyn leaned forward, taking Felicity¡¯s hands in hers. Her eyes were wide, desperate. ¡°He might just be under the weather, but¡ªI don¡¯t know. I just need to be sure.¡±

    Felicity studied her for a moment, then nodded. ¡°Alright.¡±

    Evelyn turned back toward the house. She could still hear her father¡¯s voice from that morning.

    "I get that you¡¯re worried, Evelyn, but let¡¯s leave the serious decisions to those of us with experience, alright?"

    She bit her nails, lost in thought.

    "Caruncle, I really want to understand you. But why¡ªwhy in the world would you want to be a woman?"

 5. The Letter

    Alright, I¡¯ll admit it¡ªfollowing Evelyn around was a bore. I thought she¡¯d cheer me up, but no, it was all sigh, sigh, melancholy, sigh. So how about we switch things up? What do you say we spend some time with Felicity instead?

    Now that girl would¡¯ve been my best friend in another life.

    I caught up with her that afternoon as she made her way home. She lived on top of a very steep hill, the kind of steep where carriages had to consider their life choices before attempting the climb. Every time she rode up, she¡¯d clutch the walls of the carriage like it was her last moment on earth. The sheer terror on her face made me chuckle every single time. What a goof. What a little ol¡¯ funny gal.

    When she finally made it inside, the house servant greeted her with a well-rehearsed smile.

    ¡°Good afternoon, Miss Felicity. Lunch will be served in twenty minutes.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Dolores. I¡¯ll be in my room until then.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely, ma¡¯am.¡±

    She started toward the stairs but hesitated, turning back. ¡°Dolores, do you know if the locals have been saying anything¡­ strange lately?¡±

    Dolores blinked. ¡°Strange, ma¡¯am?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Unease in the city? Whispers of unrest?¡± Smooth, Felicity. Real smooth.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t follow.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Well. Never mind, then. Don¡¯t trouble yourself over it.¡± She waved a hand dismissively.

    Dolores gave a polite nod and disappeared toward the kitchen. Felicity, on the other hand, sighed and dragged herself up the stairs toward her room.

    Now, if she just did something dumb¡ªsomething ridiculous, something thoroughly Felicity¡ªI¡¯d be entertained. Come on, girl, spirits need amusement too!

    Instead, she flopped onto her bed. Ugh.

    A knock at the door. ¡°Felicity? Are you home?¡± It was her father¡¯s voice.

    Felicity jolted upright. ¡°Father? Yes! I¡ªI didn¡¯t have classes this afternoon, so I came home for lunch.¡± She quickly straightened herself and opened the door.

    ¡°We were looking for you this morning,¡± he said, eyeing her. ¡°Where were you?¡±

    ¡°Oh, Evelyn asked me to accompany her. She had something she wanted to talk about.¡±

    Her father nodded, though he didn¡¯t seem particularly interested in Evelyn. ¡°I see. I wanted to ask about something Father Maxim mentioned the other day.¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°He said you had¡­ a disagreement with your former fianc¨¦?¡±

    Felicity stiffened. ¡°Oh. Joseph. Yes. I was going to tell you about it later.¡±

    ¡°I see. Do you need any help?¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯ve been busy with my coursework. It¡¯s been keeping me occupied.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good. I know you¡¯ve been doing well with your studies.¡± He gave her an approving nod. ¡°I also wanted to congratulate you.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± She waved a hand as if it was nothing. ¡°I¡¯ve been reading more than I expected, but I¡¯m focused on finishing my¡ªuh, my report.¡±

    ¡°Good, good. I¡¯ll be speaking with Dolores¡ªdo you need anything?¡±

    ¡°Tell her to make more of that milk candy. It was lovely.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    Her father left, and Felicity shut the door, her expression immediately twisting into an irritated scowl. With a huff, she sat back at her desk and returned to her writing.

    Now, don¡¯t ask me what she was writing about¡ªI wasn¡¯t interested. But I did peek at the books and notes scattered around. Theology, mostly. Some drivel about Xenothropides. Honestly, I stopped paying attention the moment I saw the word doctrine.

    Eventually, lunch was ready, but instead of eating with her family, Felicity insisted on having it brought to her room. Her mother protested, calling it improper, but Felicity argued she needed to focus on her report.

    Dolores, ever dutiful, arrived with the tray. ¡°Is there anything else you need, ma¡¯am?¡±

    Felicity took a sip of her wine, then frowned. ¡°What year is this?¡±

    ¡°That one is from last year¡¯s harvest, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Bring me one from 9887.¡±

    Dolores hesitated. ¡°From ¡®87? Are you sure, ma¡¯am?¡±

    Oh, she was sure. She was definitely avoiding eye contact. What are you hiding, Felicity?

    ¡°Yes, why do you ask, Dolores?¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s an eleven-year-old wine, ma¡¯am. Your father told me that one was only for special occasions.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. If he says anything, I¡¯ll talk to him directly.¡±

    ¡°If you say so. Anything else?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Could you bring me Alfonzo, please?¡±

    Dolores hesitated. ¡°Oh, Alfonzo is speaking with your father in the study, ma¡¯am. I can send him to you once he¡¯s free?¡±

    ¡°Yes, please. I have something rather delicate to discuss with him.¡±

    ¡°Understood. I¡¯ll take my leave.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Dolores.¡±

    Five minutes later, her mother arrived. Felicity kept her eyes on her report, pretending to work, as if that would somehow make this conversation go away.

    ¡°Felicity, I heard you say you needed to speak with Alfonzo about something sensitive?¡±

    Felicity¡¯s grip on her pen tightened. Of course Dolores had talked.

    ¡°Yes, Mom.¡±

    ¡°Can you tell me what for?¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    Felicity turned to face her, trying to keep her expression neutral. ¡°Evelyn and I are worried.¡±

    Her mother frowned. ¡°I rarely see you worried about anything. What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Felicity hesitated, looking away. The last thing she wanted was her mother¡¯s gaze pinning her down like an insect. ¡°Do you think the Dominion will hold onto this country much longer?¡±

    Her mother tilted her head. ¡°Felicity, I¡¯m not sure what you¡¯re asking me.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± she stalled, searching for the right words. ¡°There was a fight at a business in the north of the city.¡±

    ¡°A fight?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Two Lucianans asked to borrow a longcase clock from a Basilian shopkeeper for a dinner they were hosting, but the owner refused.¡±

    Her mother¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°I see¡­ but I don¡¯t understand why that would concern you.¡±

    ¡°I know. It just¡­ seems like things have been uneasy lately.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s why you want to speak to Alfonzo?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I just¡ªI need him to look into something for me.¡±

    Her mother¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°What for? I don¡¯t see the need for that.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just to give me peace of mind,¡± Felicity insisted. ¡°Nothing serious.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. If you say so.¡±

    Felicity nodded and turned back to her report, but her gaze drifted to the small drawer where she kept the letter. The thought of it made a knot form in her head¡ªor something like that. Look, I¡¯m not a doctor. Whatever it was, it was unpleasant.

    She sighed and glanced out her window. There it was¡ªthe city, vast and unfeeling.

    With slow, deliberate movements, she opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small wooden box. Around her neck hung a delicate chain with a key. She slipped it into the lock, turned it, and retrieved a worn, wrinkled letter from inside.

    She didn¡¯t read it. She just looked at it, running her fingers along the creases. Every so often, her eyes flicked back to the window, her thoughts circling the request she had just made.

    But while she hesitated, I didn¡¯t. I took the opportunity to read it myself.

    "I must thank you for your kind comprehension in these poor times for my wife and myself. After we lost Maria, Carmen couldn¡¯t eat or sleep¡ªI thought I would lose her too. And if I lost her, I wouldn¡¯t be able to forgive myself. I had already seen the horrors of tuberculosis within my family, through a cousin I had long ago. It is not something I wanted to relive, but if that¡¯s Divinity¡¯s will¡­ then somehow, we will have to accept it. The mole below her left eye reminds us of Maria too, so we think this is the one. We appreciate your help with this matter in particular, Father, and we thank your parish as well. If the parents of this little child are long gone from this world, we will do our best to take care of her as if she were our own. You can be sure that no matter if she comes from Lucianan parents, we will raise her as a Basilian girl."

    The letter was old, dusty, and full of crossed-out words, the kind of thing you write when you¡¯re trying too hard to sound respectable. It had been buried in a box in Felicity¡¯s father¡¯s office, stuffed between household expense records and business notes. A draft, no doubt¡ªthe cleaned-up final version probably sent off to someone important.

    Felicity set the letter down. She wasn¡¯t reading it anymore, just looking at it, her fingers running over the creases. Then she sighed, opened the window for some fresh air, and¡ª

    Whoosh.

    The letter took off like a bird freed from a cage.

    ¡°Seriously?¡± she muttered, glaring at the piece of paper as it fluttered outside, where it landed just out of reach in the dirt.

    She stood, already irritated, and made her way downstairs, weaving past furniture and tapestries like an obstacle course.

    Oh, right. I hadn¡¯t described the house, had I? A proper estate, built of solid concrete instead of the wood and adobe you saw elsewhere. Pompous but sturdy, painted in pastel colors, with ceramic tile floors that gleamed under the light. Cozy, if you liked that sort of thing. The front yard, however, was just dirt. Nothing grew there. The family had chosen the location for the view, not the landscaping.

    Felicity was nearly outside when¡ª

    ¡°Felicity.¡±

    Her father intercepted her in the living room.

    She froze, eyes darting toward the door. Letter still there. Wind picking up. Clock ticking.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°I heard you had another party last week?¡±

    ¡°Oh? Yes, it was Javier¡¯s birthday.¡± She smiled, shifting her weight toward the exit. ¡°He was turning eighteen. Naturally, we wanted to celebrate properly.¡±

    ¡°Did it really have to be at Ibarra¡¯s Coffeehouse?¡±

    She flinched.

    Damn it.

    ¡°What coffeehouse?¡± she asked, feigning ignorance as she glanced outside again. The letter twitched in the breeze, taunting her.

    ¡°Ibarra¡¯s. That place is expensive.¡±

    ¡°I mean, I know what you¡¯ve said, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve discussed this before.¡± His tone was clipped. ¡°Have you seen the bill we received?¡±

    ¡°Father, please. I wouldn¡¯t have done it this way if it weren¡¯t for a special friend.¡±

    ¡°Special friend?¡± His expression darkened. ¡°Did you even discuss this with your fianc¨¦?¡±

    ¡°My fianc¨¦?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I heard the two of you had a disagreement last week. Was any of this related?¡±

    And just as Felicity opened her mouth, preparing to weave together some elegant excuse¡ª

    The letter lifted off the ground.

    Her heart stopped.

    But just before the wind could snatch it away for good, a hand caught it midair.

    Alfonzo.

    Thank Divinity.

    ¡°Excuse me, Father,¡± she said quickly, ¡°I need to speak with Alfonzo. It¡¯s important.¡±

    She slipped past her father and stepped outside.

    ¡°Alfonzo,¡± she exhaled, snatching the letter from his hands.

    ¡°My lady.¡± He gave a small bow, then grinned. ¡°What a privilege it is to lay eyes on such beauty once more.¡±

    She sighed, relieved. At least he hadn¡¯t read it.

    Alfonzo had been with the family forever, one of those men who did everything¡ªodd jobs, field work, city errands, whatever was needed. He was past fifty, but he had a charm that made you trust him, even if he was rough around the edges. He wore a high-collared shirt under a poncho, knee-high boots, and a machete at his belt. A practical man. And one of the few people Felicity knew she could rely on.

    ¡°I appreciate it,¡± she said, folding the letter and tucking it away. ¡°Actually, I was looking for you.¡±

    ¡°For me?¡± He raised an eyebrow. ¡°What does my lady need of me?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ remember what I asked you about Emilio?¡±

    Alfonzo¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Yes. Is he giving you trouble again?¡±

    ¡°Oh, no, not at all. We had a fight, but that¡¯s not why I needed you.¡± She lowered her voice. ¡°This is about Mr. Periwinkle.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Periwinkle?¡± He hesitated. ¡°So you have heard.¡±

    Felicity blinked. ¡°Heard what?¡±

    Alfonzo sighed, scratching his chin. ¡°I don¡¯t like spreading gossip, my lady, but¡­ word is, he¡¯s been paranoid lately. People say he¡¯s working with smugglers down at the port.¡±

    ¡°Smugglers¡­¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the rumor, anyway. I haven¡¯t confirmed it myself.¡±

    Felicity frowned. Smuggling? That wasn¡¯t exactly a crime unheard of, but if Mr. Periwinkle had turned to it, something had to be seriously wrong with the family finances.

    ¡°Well,¡± she said, filing the thought away for later. ¡°Do you think Marzipan could help us out again?¡±

    Alfonzo let out a low whistle. ¡°Marzipan¡­ I think he¡¯s in the city, but he won¡¯t be cheap. Espionage is a death sentence these days, what with all the murmurs of rebellion.¡±

    Felicity stiffened.

    ¡°What murmurs?¡±

    ¡°Oh, my lady. Haven¡¯t you heard? People say an insurrection might be coming.¡±

    A chill ran down her spine.

    ¡°I see.¡±

    ¡°Oh, but you shouldn¡¯t worry yourself over it,¡± Alfonzo said lightly. ¡°I doubt it will trouble you.¡±

    ¡°Why do you say that?¡±

    ¡°Your parents always said you were a blessing. That mole under your left eye¡ªwhen you were born, they believed it was a sign of good fortune.¡± He chuckled. ¡°As my mother used to say, ¡®Trust, and the ones above shall provide.¡¯¡±

    Felicity¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. She glanced back at the house, then at him.

    ¡°Are you going into town now?¡± she asked. ¡°I¡¯d like to speak with you on the way.¡±

    ¡°If you wish, my lady. Whatever you say, I shall obey.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°And don¡¯t worry about the cost. This is important.¡±

    The two of them walked toward the carriage. Felicity held the letter tightly all the way down the hill.

 6. The Visit

    That didn¡¯t work either¡­ Everyone was just so downcast lately. Maybe I needed to switch angles.

    What about some time with Valentin?

    Valentin was holed up in his ¡°office,¡± which was less of an office and more of a glorified shack. Wooden walls, rickety beams¡ªif you sneezed too hard, the whole place might collapse. Stacks of newspapers, printed articles, and drafts cluttered the space like a paper graveyard. The air smelled of ink and damp wood.

    He sat at a small desk, staring out the window. Every time he came here, his heart pounded as if trying to escape his ribcage. He feared someone would find him. He feared what would happen if they did. But even with that fear, he couldn¡¯t stop.

    In front of him sat a daguerreotype of an old woman, Valentin as a child standing at her side. He glanced at it, inhaled sharply, then picked up his pen¡ª

    The door creaked open.

    A man in a worn striped shirt stepped inside, newspaper in hand. ¡°Your latest article is causing trouble. The local party is threatening to expose us.¡±

    Valentin¡¯s fist clenched. He exhaled slowly. Caruncle¡¯s words. Always fucking Caruncle.

    ¡°I know,¡± he muttered. ¡°Have any other publishers agreed to print for us?¡±

    ¡°No. It¡¯s not just Randolph Suchet being threatened anymore. Most presses in the city refuse to touch our work. Not in the front, not in the back, not buried in the middle. Nothing.¡±

    Valentin drummed his fingers against the desk. ¡°We might have to rely on our own press. It¡¯ll be costly, but we¡¯re running out of options.¡±

    The man hesitated. ¡°You think someone¡¯s feeding them information?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Valentin¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°And I know who.¡±

    ¡°Someone we know?¡±

    ¡°My brother.¡±

    ¡°¡­Your brother?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s serious, Valentin. If someone that close to you has caught on¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± He cut him off, voice sharp. ¡°And it¡¯s not even my biggest problem with him right now.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it,¡± Valentin muttered. Then, as if trying to banish the topic from the air itself, he waved a hand. ¡°But listen. Don¡¯t let the others worry about him¡ªI¡¯ll handle it.¡±

    The man scratched his head. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s time to recruit him.¡±

    Valentin looked out the window again, shoulders tense. Then he sighed. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t help.¡±

    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll tell Almodovar to wait.¡± The man paused. ¡°Oh¡ªbefore I go. There¡¯s a group of women who want to publish something in the paper.¡±

    Valentin raised an eyebrow. ¡°A group of women? About what?¡±

    ¡°Another report of violence. Housewives. They want to share their experiences anonymously.¡±

    Valentin rubbed his temple. ¡°We don¡¯t have time for that.¡±

    ¡°I thought it might divert some attention,¡± the man suggested. ¡°Besides, you could use it for your Guatava article.¡±

    Valentin¡¯s expression darkened. He looked at the daguerreotype again.

    ¡°Lucrencia didn¡¯t die because she had a bad husband,¡± he said quietly. ¡°She died because some piece of shit thought his life was worth more than hers.¡±

    The man sighed, then turned toward the door. ¡°Understood. I¡¯ll take my leave.¡±

    ¡°Wait.¡± Valentin¡¯s voice stopped him. He didn¡¯t turn around. ¡°Tell Clara to take their testimony. At least for later.¡±

    The man nodded and left.

    Valentin stared at the firelight flickering against the walls. Then, shaking his head, he picked up his pen.

    ¡°Dear people of Guatava,

    We write to you because we need your help. Like us, your people have been controlled for too long by the Basilio Dominion. We have seen, we have endured, and we have waited.

    But no more.

    We are those caught between nations¡ªof Basilian blood but Lucianan birth, treated as second-rate citizens in our own land. Let this document stand as proof, not just for today, but for the generations to come. If we do not act now, we will never be free men.

    We hope these words will not only open your eyes but stir you to action. And for those who cannot read, share this message by voice, by memory, by whatever means you can.

    Together, we can break our chains. Together, we can claim our independence.¡±

    His quill scratched furiously against the parchment, ink staining his fingers.

    Valentin stared at the page in front of him. He read it once, then again, then crushed it into a ball and threw it across the room.

    "This won¡¯t even do as a decent draft."

    I chuckled. At least the man had some self-awareness¡ªbecause in my opinion, he was a terrible writer.

    He sighed, rubbing his temples. His thoughts kept circling back to his father. He had hoped to uncover something, anything, about what the old man was scheming, but the conversation with Caruncle had been a disaster. Now, instead of just worrying about his father, he had to deal with his brother¡¯s delusions, too.

    It was obvious Caruncle knew something. But to Valentin, he was like a stopped clock¡ªuseless, repeating the same nonsense over and over.

    He tried writing again.

    Another page.

    Then another.

    Eventually, he looked at the pile of discarded drafts beside his desk, a dozen crumpled sheets buried in ink and frustration.

    "A stopped clock gives the right time at least twice a day," he muttered.

    He shoved his chair back and stood. Enough. He needed to move.

    Down the creaky stairs, out the back door, into the waiting carriage.

    "Percival¡¯s residence," he told the driver.

    ***

    When Valentin arrived, the housekeeper, Carmelita, opened the door with a nervous glance over her shoulder.

    "Good afternoon, sir," she said quietly. "I¡¯m afraid Master Percival is not at home."

    A sharp voice cut through the hallway before Valentin could respond.

    "Where is that shellac? Carmelita! Come here this instant!"

    Valentin frowned. "Is someone else here?"

    Carmelita hesitated, but before she could answer, heavy footsteps echoed down the grand staircase.

    Archie.

    Percival¡¯s uncle was a stiff-backed man with a Basilian¡¯s sharp features and the cold demeanor of someone who had long since run out of patience for the world. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, eyes flicking over Valentin with something between suspicion and disdain.

    "Ah. Valentin." His voice was clipped, as if just saying the name annoyed him. "What brings you here?"

    "I came to see Percival," Valentin replied evenly. "But it appears he isn¡¯t home. My apologies for intruding."

    "Indeed, he is not," Archie confirmed. Then his gaze snapped back to Carmelita.

    "And what have you been doing, Carmelita? I just said a shellac record is missing. You wouldn¡¯t have taken it, would you?"

    Carmelita flinched. "Oh¡ªno, sir! I don¡¯t even¡ª I wouldn¡¯t be able to play it myself, I don¡¯t have¡ª"

    "Enough." Archie cut her off. "If it doesn¡¯t appear by the end of the week, it¡¯s coming out of your wages."

    "Sir, please! If I pay for it, I won¡¯t have enough until the end of the month. I¡ª I¡¯m trying to put my sister in school¡ª"

    "Stop." Archie waved a hand, irritated. "If you keep blabbering, I¡¯ll have you pay for the other records that have been left out of their cases, too."

    Carmelita¡¯s breath hitched. "Sir¡ª"

    Archie sighed dramatically. "Please, you¡¯re making a scene in front of our guest. We wouldn¡¯t want Valentin to think poorly of us, would we?"

    Valentin tensed as Carmelita turned toward him, desperation in her eyes.

    For a split second, his heart twisted with sympathy.

    But then Archie turned toward him, watching.

    Valentin knew better.

    His face twisted into a sneer just as Archie got closer. "What?" he scoffed. "You think I¡¯d help cover for this? I heard everything¡ªstealing to pay for your sister¡¯s schooling? That¡¯s shameful. Absolutely shameful."

    Carmelita¡¯s face crumpled. She turned and rushed down the hall, blinking back tears.

    Valentin felt a wave of nausea roll through him. A cold sweat prickled at his neck.

    Archie clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning. "Ah, Valentin, my boy! How are you?"

    Valentin swallowed hard.

    He wanted to leave.

    But he knew better.

    So he forced a smile, just as well-rehearsed as his disgust had been.

    "Doing well, sir," he lied.

    Valentin shifted uncomfortably as Archie put on a record in Percival¡¯s study.

    "Ah! This music! This music, indeed! What do you think, Valentin?"

    Valentin¡¯s gaze lingered on the phonograph, but his mind was far away.

    The record sleeve read Xenothropides¡¯ Dance with the Nadiabukures, a symphonic piece for string orchestra. The melody crept into his ears, twisting into a hollow pit in his stomach.

    The sheer verbosity of it. The arrogance in believing that sound alone could express emotions too complex for words. The conceit of grandeur, of orchestras swelling to tell some ineffable truth.

    The violins, the cellos, the double bass¡ªnothing but an elaborate mosquito buzz to him.

    He hated it.

    "It sounds very¡­ layered," he forced out.

    "Oh, but most pieces like this are layered!" Archie chuckled, swirling his drink. "But I see what you mean¡ªeach section of the orchestra playing off one another, a dialogue of instruments, wouldn¡¯t you say?"

    Yes, Valentin, say what you really want to say.

    But he didn¡¯t.

    Instead, he nodded absently. His eyes flicked toward the briefcase at Archie¡¯s side. It was stuffed, almost bursting at the seams.

    He wondered what was inside.

    <hr>

    A few hours later, Valentin arrived at Alcairo¡¯s home.

    Well¡ªhome was a generous word. Alcairo rented a small room in a shared cottage, his entrance opening straight to the street. It was cramped, barely furnished, and far from secure, but at least it gave him some privacy.

    Inside, Alcairo was half-asleep, resting in Percival¡¯s arms. Percival lay beside him, smoking and staring at the ceiling.

    "You really should move out of this place," Percival muttered.

    "Yeah," Alcairo mumbled, eyes still closed. "If I could just afford to."

    "You could move in with me."

    "Percival¡­"

    "I know, I know, but I don¡¯t like this neighborhood. The other day, I saw someone begging outside¡ª"

    "Yes, and I told you, I can¡¯t risk it."

    "You¡¯re too paranoid."

    "Didn¡¯t I tell you that two of my uncles are priests? If they ever found out, I¡¯d be better off dead."

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    "Then don¡¯t ask them for anything."

    "I wasn¡¯t going to, but¡ª"

    "Just don¡¯t. I don¡¯t want to risk it."

    "I¡¯m still in the clear," Percival said, exhaling smoke.

    "How do you figure that?"

    "My parents are still involved in the town assembly. I attend the meetings. Last week, when we heard about those two women from Guatava? The ones caught together in the city? The assembly voted to extend their prison sentence. I voted in favor, too."

    "Percival¡­ those two¡ª"

    "My one vote wouldn¡¯t have changed anything. Everyone voted in favor. They don¡¯t want the city¡¯s image to deteriorate any further."

    "I know."

    "My parents¡¯ money might not be enough now, but just wait."

    "Thank you, Percival."

    "One day, I¡¯ll either buy a house big enough to turn into a boarding house or buy this goddamned pigsty."

    "Don¡¯t call it a pigsty."

    A knock at the door.

    "Good afternoon! Is anyone home?"

    Both of them froze.

    "Valentin."

    Panic shot through Alcairo as Percival leapt up, scrambling for his clothes.

    "You told him you¡¯d be here?!" Alcairo hissed.

    "I told Carmelita not to say anything!" Percival whispered back. "That fucking woman¡ª"

    "Hello?" Valentin¡¯s voice came again, closer this time.

    "Just pretend you¡¯re not here."

    "No. I told the driver to wait around the next street. He knows I¡¯m here. It¡¯ll be even more suspicious if I don¡¯t answer."

    "Goddamn it, Percival, make him leave."

    "Stay in bed. Don¡¯t say anything. I¡¯ll handle it."

    Percival buttoned his coat, ran a hand through his hair, then opened the door.

    Valentin gave him a long, unimpressed look.

    "Uh. Are you alright? I¡¯ve been knocking for minutes."

    "Yes. Sorry, I was¡ª" Percival forced a yawn. "You caught me asleep."

    "¡­Asleep? At someone else¡¯s house?"

    "I wasn¡¯t feeling well. Alcairo offered me a place to rest for a bit."

    "You¡¯re diabetic. Should you really be passing out in some stranger¡¯s room?"

    "I locked the door," Percival said quickly, fixing his hair and avoiding Valentin¡¯s eyes.

    Valentin narrowed his gaze. "What were you doing here, exactly?"

    "Nothing. Alcairo had to leave for work."

    "And he left you alone here?"

    "Yes, because if he¡¯d been late, he wouldn¡¯t have gotten paid."

    Valentin scoffed. "You never know what a man like that does for a living."

    "He delivers newspapers. Anyway, never mind that. What do you want, Valentin?" Percival hurriedly stepped outside, walking ahead so Valentin wouldn¡¯t see his face.

    "I haven¡¯t slept," Valentin admitted as they walked.

    "Why?" Percival sighed. "Is this about Caruncle?"

    "Caruncle is one thing. My father is what worries me."

    "Have you learned anything new?"

    "I heard from a colleague this morning¡ªhe¡¯s been smuggling. And that¡¯s not the worst part. One of our family paintings is missing."

    Percival raised an eyebrow. "Why would he sell a family painting?"

    "That painting is an heirloom¡ª"

    "Then I doubt he¡¯d sell it."

    "¡ªand it¡¯s also stolen."

    Percival stopped walking. "¡­Excuse me?"

    Valentin exhaled sharply. "I was looking through the attic, trying to find more pictures of Lucrecia. The painting was gone. I think he¡¯s trying to sell it, and I think he¡¯s involved in something bigger."

    "Like what?"

    "People have seen him at the port with some very dubious men. And now that painting is gone."

    Percival was silent for a moment.

    "You heard this from who, exactly?"

    "A colleague."

    "And this colleague is trustworthy?"

    "Trustworthy enough to scare the shit out of me."

    Percival sighed. "Why would your father need to get involved in smuggling?"

    "Business has been going badly. And if he¡¯s desperate enough to sell stolen property, then¡ª"

    "You need to talk to him."

    "He won¡¯t be back until Friday."

    Percival glanced at the horizon. The sky was streaked with red.

    Valentin took a breath.

    "I want to check his records first."

    Percival frowned. "You¡¯re not seriously suggesting¡ª"

    "You and I both know his finances are not transparent. If you distract his assistant, I can check the books."

    Percival ran a hand down his face.

    "You really want to do this?"

    "I need to know, Percival."

    A long silence.

    Then Percival sighed, looking toward the darkening sky.

    "Fine," he muttered. "But I already regret it."

    ***

    Zuriel Periwinkle was a wooden ship manufacturer.

    He had inherited his father¡¯s business and, along with it, a love for the craft¡ªthe construction, the design, the sheer labor of it. He had also inherited his father¡¯s stubbornness, which, in these times, was more of a curse than a virtue.

    Wooden ships were falling out of use. They were relics of a world that had already moved on. He told himself he could market them as a cheaper alternative to steel, but each year, that became more of a lie. The costs were outweighing the profits.

    And yet, he refused to let go.

    He told himself it was about tradition. About legacy. About family.

    But really, it was just about him.

    Zuriel had started taking risks¡ªdangerous ones¡ªto keep the business afloat. He saw no other choice. If he let this go, he would have nothing left.

    In short, he was almost as stupid and pathetic as his son.

    His office smelled of varnish and old paper. People said wooden houses were more graceful than adobe ones, but all Zuriel saw were the cracks.

    Across from him sat a man in a dark green suit. He looked pale, his skin stretched too thin over his bones, but his smirk never faltered. It was the smirk of a man who was never really sick.

    "I appreciate your vision a great deal, Mr. Periwinkle," Lopez said smoothly. "But let¡¯s be honest. To build anything worthwhile, one must be willing to make sacrifices. Wouldn¡¯t you agree?"

    "I''m not selling my family business, Mr. Lopez," Zuriel said flatly.

    Lopez¡¯s smirk didn¡¯t falter. "Of course, of course! A man should protect his legacy. Tell me¡ªhave your sons shown any interest in taking over?"

    Zuriel hesitated. "Not yet."

    Lopez sighed theatrically. "How dreadful. And have you considered which one might be¡­ persuadable?"

    "Valentin is a good kid," Zuriel admitted. "But he wants to be a doctor."

    "A noble pursuit, but I imagine quite costly."

    "It¡¯s a good investment," Zuriel said stiffly.

    "And the younger one?"

    Zuriel frowned. Caruncle¡¯s face surfaced in his mind¡ªthose empty eyes, that hollow expression.

    "I don¡¯t know," he admitted. "I can¡¯t figure that kid out."

    "Does he misbehave?"

    "No, but¡­ I wish he did. At least then, I¡¯d know what to do with him."

    Lopez raised an eyebrow, but I noticed something that he didn¡¯t. Zuriel shivered.

    "Oh?" Lopez leaned in. "In what sense?"

    Zuriel hesitated. Then, with an exhale, he said, "One time¡­"

    Zuriel had been about to buy a property on the other side of the city.

    It was large. Beautiful. The previous owner had died with no heirs, and the auditor¡ªeager to leave the country¡ªwas selling it for far less than it was worth. It was an obvious investment.

    Then Caruncle told him not to buy it.

    Zuriel had ignored him at first. But the boy had insisted.

    He never explained why. He never gave a reason.

    Zuriel got caught up in other business and never went through with the transaction.

    A month later, the house collapsed.

    The entire thing crumbled to the ground, killing the family who had moved in.

    Lopez¡¯s smirk finally vanished. He scratched his head.

    I chuckled.

    "And the auditor?" Lopez asked after a pause.

    "Vanished," Zuriel said simply. "Took the money and ran."

    Lopez exhaled slowly. "I see."

    Zuriel stared at his hands. "That wasn¡¯t the first time Caruncle has¡­ unnerved me."

    Lopez tilted his head. "You¡¯re afraid of him."

    Zuriel didn¡¯t answer.

    Lopez leaned back, more intrigued than amused now. "Mr. Periwinkle, that¡¯s quite a drastic interpretation. There could be many explanations¡ª"

    "Please," Zuriel cut him off. "I know what you¡¯re going to say. That I¡¯m overreacting. That I¡¯m a bad father for feeling this way. But tell me¡ªhow should a man feel, when he looks at his own son and doesn¡¯t know what the hell he¡¯s looking at?"

    Lopez tapped his fingers against his knee.

    Zuriel continued. "I trust Valentin. I trust myself. And because of that, I put everything¡ªeverything¡ªinto my business. Because that¡¯s what my family is built on. That¡¯s the one thing I understand."

    Lopez smiled.

    Not a warm smile.

    Not even a mocking one.

    Just a quiet, pitying smile.

    Like a man watching someone marry their own doom.

    He didn¡¯t say anything. But I saw it.

    Because I¡¯m smart. I notice things.

    Zuriel didn¡¯t.

    Poor bastard.

    Someone knocked at the door.

    I¡¯ll spare you the details¡ªfrankly, I don¡¯t remember them well, and I refuse to strain my brain for such nonsense¡ªbut here¡¯s what happened:

    Valentin stormed in, dragging Percival behind him.

    Then Evelyn and Felicity followed, because apparently, they had decided this was their business too.

    And just like that, the whole damn circus had arrived.

    Valentin came for answers. Specifically, about Egg¡¯s Feet.

    Yes. You heard me. That was the name of the painting. Egg¡¯s Feet.

    It was a portrait of a naked humanoid fox. Or maybe a human with fox-like features. It was hard to say. What was clear was that it was provocative, in that way that was either meant to be artistic or just a really elaborate joke.

    Zuriel claimed it had been stolen¡ªrescued, rather¡ªby his great-great-grandmother when she fled to this country. A symbol of her past. A reminder of her time in chains, locked in her master¡¯s house.

    A touching story.

    And also? A complete lie.

    I knew the truth. It had been stolen in a duel by Zuriel¡¯s grand-uncle, a man whose defining trait was extreme pettiness. But no one wanted to talk about that, so the painting stayed in the attic, an heirloom too scandalous for the living room, yet too valuable to be thrown away.

    Valentin had found out the painting had been recovered by the police after an attempted sale at the underground market.

    Zuriel, his own father, had been trying to sell it.

    The seller had fled and been shot on the spot, which meant there were no witnesses left to explain how the painting had gotten there in the first place.

    But that also meant no painting.

    No heirloom.

    No fortune.

    And if that wasn¡¯t bad enough, Valentin had also discovered the family business was on the edge of bankruptcy.

    And then.

    Oh. Then.

    The argument spiraled¡ªbecause of course it did.

    Zuriel accused Valentin of being irresponsible, Valentin accused Zuriel of being a fraud, and then, in a moment of absolute idiocy, Valentin¡ªmy absolute favorite moron¡ªdecided to bring up Caruncle.

    Yes.

    Somehow, the conversation turned from the painting, to the bankruptcy, to Caruncle wanting to wear some goddamn panties.

    And that is where I lost my patience.

    Do you understand how infuriating this was? I hated Caruncle, yes. I wanted him to fail, yes. But he was MY toy. My idiot to play with. Not theirs.

    And now they were kicking him around like a stuffed pig at a butcher¡¯s contest.

    It made me angry. So angry.

    By the time the shouting had died down, everyone was sitting in exhausted silence.

    Evelyn¡¯s engagement was in shambles.

    Zuriel¡¯s business was finished.

    Everything sucked.

    And then, finally, the man in the dark green suit¡ªthe one who had been quietly watching from the next room this entire time¡ªstood up, adjusted his cuffs, and smiled.

    ¡°I believe,¡± he said, voice smooth as polished brass, ¡°I might have a solution for your troubles.¡±

    Zuriel startled, as if he had forgotten Lopez was even there.

    "Mr. Lopez," he said, standing abruptly. "I¡ªI apologize. This is not a good time. Perhaps we should reschedule¡ª¡±

    Lopez lifted a hand.

    ¡°Please, sit.¡±

    Zuriel hesitated, then obeyed.

    Lopez gave him an easy smile. ¡°You say you don¡¯t want to sell your business. But you are struggling to pay the bills, yes?¡±

    Zuriel exhaled through his nose. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Then,¡± Lopez said, ¡°let¡¯s speak privately. I think you¡¯ll want to hear this.¡±

    The two disappeared into Zuriel¡¯s office.

    The others stayed behind, drained and bitter, drinking stale black coffee in a haze of complete defeat.

    Nobody had anywhere to go.

    Nobody had the energy to leave.

    They spoke for about ten minutes.

    And when Zuriel emerged?

    His eyes were wide.

    He sat on the sofa, staring at nothing.

    ¡°I¡­¡± His voice was barely a whisper. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have indulged such a¡ªsuch a proposition.¡±

    Valentin frowned. ¡°What did he say?¡±

    Lopez stepped forward, smiling like a snake that had just finished swallowing a canary.

    ¡°Allow me to explain.¡±

    He adjusted his cufflinks.

    ¡°Apart from my ventures in real estate, I am also a collector.¡±

    Dermid Lopez.

    That was his full name.

    And on that afternoon, he planted a seed.

    A terrible, vile idea.

    One so grotesque, so unthinkable, that even I¡ªwho had seen every foul thing men were capable of¡ªcouldn¡¯t believe they took it.

    To this day, I still can¡¯t believe it.

    I turn it over and over in my mind, trying to make sense of it, but I can¡¯t.

    Because what happened next?

    It wasn¡¯t just wrong.

    It wasn¡¯t just insane.

    It was evil.

    There¡¯s no other word for it.

    It was evil.

    And they took it.

    They took it.

 7. The Escape

    Where has our hero been all this time? Surely, he must have been out there, making bold decisions, taking his life into his own hands, forging ahead with unwavering resolve.

    No.

    He was in bed. Sinking, festering, rotting in his own misery like the useless waste of life he was.

    Caruncle had already missed two classes and wasn¡¯t even trying to hide it anymore. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to process everything. The conversation at the university. The phonograph. The slow, creeping realization that time here was wrong. Off by just a little, just enough to gnaw at the back of his mind.

    The telephone existed. The motion picture camera. The modern bicycle. But no light bulbs. No automobiles. 364-day years, with 13 months and an extra "year day" that somehow still accounted for leap years. It was all close¡ªtoo close. Like the world was an imitation of what he knew, but not quite.

    And if history could echo itself like this, what about the worst parts? What about the things he had read about? What about the things he knew were coming?

    His breath was unsteady. He sat up, gripping his temples. His thoughts kept spiraling back to that night, to the words that had left him exposed, raw, vulnerable¡ªand completely alone. No one had supported him. No one even tried. And worst of all, he knew that was going to happen, and he let it happen anyway.

    Fine. If they wouldn¡¯t help him, he would help himself. He wasn¡¯t going to sit around and wait for the sky to fall on top of him.

    I sighed. Here we go again. Go ahead, Caruncle, tell us¡ªwhat¡¯s the brilliant plan this time? Are you finally going to do something meaningful? Are you going to take responsibility, stand your ground, and fight for what you want?

    No.

    You¡¯re going to run.

    Coward.

    Caruncle stepped out of his bedroom, properly dressed in his polished black loafers, a dimly-colored suit, and an old tie. If you looked at him now, you might mistake him for a chauffeur.

    His mother sat on the sofa, knitting. Her hands were delicate, moving carefully as if every motion had to be measured, rationed. She was wrapped in an old, comfy sweater, and for a moment, Caruncle thought about asking her to make one for him too.

    ¡°How are you feeling, Caruncle?¡± she asked, not looking up.

    ¡°I think I¡¯m just a bit under the weather.¡± His voice was quiet, distant.

    ¡°I saw a beautiful flower arrangement the other day,¡± she said, still knitting.

    ¡°What kind?¡±

    ¡°Orchids. Light purple, almost glowing. I thought about asking your father to bring me some.¡±

    He turned to the window, watching the heavy gray clouds settle over the city.

    ¡°Your father doesn¡¯t think I should be tending the garden myself. Says it¡¯ll hurt my back. But I think I¡¯m finally convincing him. If it¡¯s just a small one, I think I can manage.¡±

    Caruncle exhaled softly. ¡°That sounds nice.¡±

    For a long moment, he just stood there, his thoughts drifting outside. A part of him almost hoped to see something there¡ªsomething to shake him awake.

    But there was nothing.

    ¡°You look beautiful today, Mom,¡± he said, finally looking at her again.

    She smiled, her wrinkles deepening. ¡°Thank you, dear. But you look worried.¡±

    She finally met his eyes.

    ¡°Is there something you¡¯d like to talk about?¡±

    ¡°Oh, you know, just struggling with this week¡¯s topics,¡± Caruncle muttered.

    ¡°Really? That professor you mentioned¡ªis he giving you trouble?¡± his mother asked, her knitting needles clicking softly.

    ¡°No, not really. I just¡­ I still feel lost with all the material.¡±

    ¡°Oh, please. You¡¯ll do just fine.¡±

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    ¡°Really?¡± He glanced back at the window. Talking to his mother was always difficult. Every time he gave an empty answer, a sharp pang of guilt ran through his chest.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve always thought you were a very smart boy.¡±

    He looked at her then.

    ¡°Truth is¡­ if I¡¯m being honest, I don¡¯t know if I can finish this. What I started, I mean. I don¡¯t think¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes, you will,¡± she interrupted, her voice steady.

    ¡°But you know I always struggle to focus, and I¡ª I don¡¯t know, I just can¡¯t keep up. I can¡¯t, I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Caruncle.¡± She finally looked up from her knitting. ¡°You may lack strength¡ªI struggle with that myself¡ªbut you will not fail because of a lack of wits. Take a breath, and push forward.¡±

    He lowered his head, staring at the wooden floor with a strange sense of embarrassment. ¡°...Okay.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing, dear.¡± She returned to her knitting. ¡°As I always say¡ªI know and love my children, no matter what.¡±

    Caruncle took in the warmth of the room. The wooden walls, the aged floorboards, the air inside¡ªstagnant, but comforting. A sharp contrast to the cold waiting for him outside.

    ¡°I should get going.¡±

    ¡°God bless you, dear.¡±

    His mother kept knitting, occasionally glancing out the window.

    Caruncle stood, adjusting his coat and picking up his bag. The floor creaked under his steps, a melody to me, but to him, it was a groaning, screeching thing that made him feel like the whole house was going to collapse beneath him. His father had promised renovations next year, but Caruncle knew that was a lie.

    Stepping outside, he spotted a carriage waiting across the street. His hands trembled as he climbed inside. He checked the bag beside him, feeling the weight of his possessions¡ªhis escape plan, packed neatly away.

    I sat beside him, smirking. It always fascinated me, how I could sit in these moments, as if I were flesh and blood. I had a theory once¡ªsomething I called ghostly magnetism, the idea that celestial beings like myself were somehow anchored to the movements of the world we haunted. But with no one to discuss it with, and nowhere to write it down, I lost interest.

    Instead, I watched Caruncle.

    He stopped near a restaurant, eyeing the back entrance from a narrow alleyway.

    According to a book he had read in Pisces'' library, this place was a perfect target. He remembered the details well¡ªnext year, an employee would use a backup key hidden under a trash can to sneak in and rob the safe. His coworker, oblivious, would be smoking by the front door just before opening.

    All Caruncle had to do was steal the money first. No one would even suspect him. It was easy. It was perfect.

    So why wasn¡¯t he moving?

    I waited. And waited.

    His heartbeat was already hammering at his ribs. Cold sweat dripped down his neck. His hands clenched, his legs locked in place. I could feel the nausea twisting in his gut.

    Oh, Caruncle. What is it this time? The perfect heist, all laid out for you, and still¡ªnothing.

    ¡°Damn it!¡± he whispered harshly, punching his knee. He clenched his jaw, turned away, and signaled the carriage to move on.

    Fine. Maybe he had enough money. Maybe it wasn¡¯t worth the risk. Maybe, if he ran out of money down the road, he¡¯d figure something out.

    Coward.

    He arrived in the city¡¯s center, stopping in front of a small, rusting house. The poorest part of town, filled with bustling markets during the day, was eerily quiet in the morning.

    Caruncle knocked.

    I felt something tight coil in my stomach. For once, this wasn¡¯t funny.

    ¡°Goddamn it, what are you about to do now, you idiot?¡±

    The door opened.

    ¡°I knew you¡¯d come.¡±

    A woman¡ªslightly shorter than him¡ªstood in the doorway. She wore a worn apron over a modest, checkered dress. Her jet-black hair was tied into a long ponytail.

    She looked¡­ cute.

    This was Lila.

    Lila was strong-willed, hardworking, and sharper than most people gave her credit for. Her family ran a market stall, selling fruits and vegetables grown on a small farm north of the city. She had a gift for haggling¡ªconvincing customers to buy more than they intended with the promise of a ¡°slightly¡± reduced price.

    But she was tired. So tired.

    The idea of leaving this all behind¡ªof escaping a life of lifting crates and hauling sacks of yucca¡ªwas appealing.

    Caruncle had met her by chance, wandering through the market in search of masato, a fermented drink one of his family¡¯s servants liked. He asked for directions. She adopted him like a lost puppy.

    And for reasons even I couldn¡¯t understand, she had spent the past few months trying to charm him.

    What she didn¡¯t know was that today, Caruncle was going to ask her to run away with him.

    ¡°Lila. Were you working just now?¡± Caruncle asked.

    ¡°My mother needed help. I didn¡¯t want to make her suspicious.¡±

    ¡°Well¡ªo-okay, that¡¯s fine.¡± He swallowed. ¡°It¡¯s going to be a long trip. Maybe you can rest on the way.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°It depends on the road. Now come on, before anyone else sees us.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    They both climbed into the carriage. Caruncle sat stiffly on Lila¡¯s left, his hands clenched in his lap. I slid onto her right, though neither of them noticed, of course.

    Now it was the three of us.

    Almost like a real family.

 8. The Assault

    The sick feeling in my stomach had faded, but I still couldn¡¯t move. It was as if something heavy had been placed on me, holding me down. Maybe it was the thought of having to watch that idiot Caruncle dig himself deeper into a mess he wouldn¡¯t be able to crawl out of. Maybe it was the realization that, for once, I actually didn¡¯t find it funny.

    I thought about Felicity and Evelyn, wondering if I should go spend time with them instead¡ªsomething, anything to distract me from this pathetic tragedy unfolding. But no. I stayed. Not because I wanted to, but because I didn¡¯t have the energy to leave.

    Caruncle sat rigidly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, barely acknowledging the woman beside him. Lila, his partner in this foolish escape, sat just as silently. They traveled in near-total silence, trapped inside their own minds.

    By the time the sun had set, they stopped at a cheap inn. Caruncle paid for a room for two and led Lila upstairs.

    Inside, the moonlight crept through the window, casting a pale glow across the small room. It wasn¡¯t unwelcome. If anything, it felt more like company than either of them could offer each other. Lila lay by the window while Caruncle curled against her back, holding her like a lifeline, trying to fall asleep.

    ¡°Caruncle?¡± she whispered.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Are you sure this is the right decision?¡±

    He tensed. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Leaving everything behind. Us. Are you sure we made the right choice?¡± Her voice was small, uncertain. ¡°I feel like¡­ like we¡¯re going to be found. That we might have to go back. There¡¯s always this voice in my head telling me to stop, but I don¡¯t know what to do.¡±

    A knot formed in Caruncle¡¯s stomach.

    ¡°I thought this is what you wanted,¡± he said, bitterness creeping into his tone.

    ¡°What I want is to be happy,¡± she said. ¡°Will running away make us happy?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I was just doing what you told me.¡±

    ¡°Caruncle¡­ I just¡­¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Did you even think this through?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªwell¡ªI can¡¯t think things through,¡± he admitted. ¡°If I do, I¡¯ll start panicking again. I don¡¯t want that. I just want peace. And I thought you did too.¡±

    Lila didn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°I have money saved,¡± he continued, as if that alone could solve everything. ¡°It should be fine.¡±

    He thought about what he had read in the history books back at Pisces¡¯ library, the fragmented knowledge of this world¡¯s future that had been his only lifeline.

    Lila turned over to face him. ¡°What are we going to do once we leave the country? Do you have a plan?¡±

    He exhaled slowly, looking past her at the window.

    ¡°I do.¡±

    He thought that if they could reach the border before they were caught¡ªor before the war swallowed the country¡ªthey would be safe. From there, they would travel across the continent to a small country called Acquavella. A village by a lake. A little shop owned by an old man in his 80s. His wife had died recently, and Caruncle knew from history that the man would follow in a matter of months. If they arrived in time, they could buy the shop. Lila would cook for the villagers. They¡¯d scrape by. A simple life. An easy life.

    For him, at least. He didn¡¯t know how to cook. The useless brat. But first, they had to survive the journey.

    ¡°Caruncle?¡±

    He barely turned his head. ¡°What?¡± His voice was tight, coiled. I wanted to slap him. He had no idea what he was doing, and worse, he knew it. What was the plan, Caruncle? Cross an entire continent like this? You barely left your house growing up, and now you think you can outrun fate?

    ¡°Would you touch me?¡±

    ¡°I am touching you.¡±

    ¡°No. Touch me.¡±

    He froze. His arms pulled back as if she had turned into a pile of burning coal. ¡°We¡­ we aren¡¯t married.¡± He rolled over, curling himself around a pillow like a coward.

    ¡°Caruncle, please¡­¡±

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    And then I saw it.

    The thing under the bed.

    It slithered up from the dark, its claws curling around the edge of reality. His breath hitched, and I knew it had him. His heartbeat pounded, his stomach twisted. The thing seeped into him, warping him, stretching him. He was unraveling. Veins bulged, his face contorted, his body twisting into something grotesque, something barely human.

    ¡°What the fuck is going through your head, Caruncle?¡± I whispered, my voice dripping with disgust. I wanted to laugh, but it wasn¡¯t funny anymore.

    ¡°Give me time,¡± he pleaded, barely above a whisper.

    ¡°Time? Time for what?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m not in the mood.¡±

    She stared at him, waiting for something that wouldn¡¯t come. ¡°What does that even mean?¡±

    ¡°It means I¡¯m going to sleep,¡± he muttered.

    Lila turned away, unimpressed, staring at the moon outside.

    And Caruncle? Oh, poor, poor Caruncle. Still a boy. Not a man. Not even close. Give him time? At this rate, he¡¯d need a third lifetime.

    The demon didn¡¯t leave him. I saw it gnawing at his soul, stretching his limbs into something foreign, something wrong. I reached in, dragged him into the void, and started swinging. My fists cracked against his face, over and over. I wanted to see him match the monster inside.

    No one came to save him. No one ever would.

    When he woke up, he couldn¡¯t remember a thing. But I was still grinning.

    The next day, they continued toward the border. The rain hammered against the carriage roof, drowning out their silence.

    ¡°We might need to stop somewhere,¡± Lila murmured. ¡°Even with the car, we¡¯ll get soaked.¡±

    ¡°The car?¡±

    ¡°Yes, this.¡±

    She blinked at him. ¡°You mean the caleche?¡±

    "Oh yeah, that. Sorry, I don¡¯t know where I got that word from."

    They stopped beneath a cluster of towering trees at the edge of the forest. The trunks stretched high, disappearing into a thick canopy, swaying under the weight of the wind. A heavy breeze carried the scent of damp earth, the promise of a storm lurking within the tangled branches. Caruncle shifted uncomfortably on his seat, eyes darting between the road ahead and the woman beside him. Lila, for all her presence, was more of a burden than a comfort. But he had chosen her. Or maybe she had chosen him. Either way, they were here now.

    Lila sensed his unease. She offered a small smile, but it did nothing to loosen the knot in his stomach. He thought about saying something, anything, but his throat locked up before the words could come.

    Then, footsteps.

    Quick. Closing in.

    Caruncle¡¯s breath hitched. Lila turned sharply, eyes wide, and before either of them could react, figures emerged from the trees. Unkempt. Ragged. Smiling like they had been expecting this. I figured they probably had been. Caruncle was moving so damn slow, they had plenty of time to track him.

    A man with a revolver stepped forward and raised it.

    ¡°Out of the caleche. Now.¡±

    Lila gasped, clutching Caruncle¡¯s arm. He felt his stomach turn. They stepped down into the mud, rain soaking through their clothes almost instantly. He could hear the wet slosh of the thieves'' boots. He imagined fighting them. He imagined lunging, dragging the knife he had in his bag across their throats, carving them apart before they had a chance to react. But that was just a thought.

    He didn¡¯t move.

    ¡°Empty your pockets,¡± one of them ordered, shoving a sack toward him. ¡°Let¡¯s make this easy, and we¡¯ll be gone before you know it.¡±

    Caruncle froze. Seconds dragged on like hours. He didn¡¯t move until the man shouted again, snapping him back into reality. His hands shook as he fumbled with his bag, pulling out what little they had. He handed over his small briefcase without a word.

    ¡°Caruncle?¡± Lila¡¯s voice was sharp with disbelief. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    I laughed.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move!¡± he whispered back. ¡°You¡¯re going to get us killed!¡±

    The men chuckled at his pathetic display.

    Lila¡¯s breath hitched. Her voice cracked. ¡°Caruncle¡­¡±

    The thieves took everything. Their money, their papers, Lila¡¯s savings¡ªher entire life stuffed into a bag. Gone. One of the men turned away, but the other kept the gun trained on them, as if waiting for some kind of resistance.

    Caruncle stood motionless, muscles locked, jaw clenched. He didn¡¯t fight. He didn¡¯t argue. He didn¡¯t even glare at them. Just fear. Just silence. And then, before he could fully grasp it, it was already over.

    ¡°Alright, well done, you lovely birds,¡± one of the men sneered. ¡°Don¡¯t try to follow us. Won¡¯t end well.¡±

    And just like that, they were gone.

    Lila turned to him, shaking.

    ¡°Caruncle¡­ what the hell are we supposed to do now?¡±

    He stared at her. His lips parted, but no sound came out. His knees buckled, and he collapsed into the wet grass. His hands dug into the earth, trying to ground himself, trying to process what just happened. But it had happened. It was real. And it was his fault.

    He had fucked up.

    Lila climbed back into the caleche without another word. The rain pounded against the roof. The wind howled through the trees. The air between them turned to stone.

    I looked at the sky. The clouds were thick, swallowing the daylight, drowning everything in pale blue. The grass and trees shimmered under the rain, covered in a thin, transparent sheet of ice-cold misery. I felt cold too. I pulled on a lace-detailed blouse, an ankle-length skirt, lace-up boots, and opened a brown parasol. No one could see me, but at least I felt a little warmer.

    Caruncle sat still, not thinking anymore. Just listening. To his own heartbeat. To his cold, shallow breaths.

    He couldn¡¯t escape. He didn¡¯t have what it took. He knew it. I knew it. The only thing left was to face the facts.

    The fantasy was over.

    No money. No possessions. No way forward.

    He would have to go back. Back home. Like a dog crawling on its belly.

    I laughed.

    It would be better for him to keep going, to wander like a vagabond, to vanish into the nameless dirt roads. Because what was waiting for him back home?

    Oh, Caruncle.

    It was going to be so much worse.

    End of Act I.

    "The mirror where the screeching came from"

 9. A Purchase

    Caruncle couldn¡¯t see anything. Cold stone pressed against his bare skin. His wrists and ankles burned where the chains dug in. His body ached in ways he had stopped cataloging long ago.

    The door creaked open. Footsteps¡ªmeasured, unhurried. Lopez.

    Caruncle didn¡¯t look up. He barely breathed.

    A metal bucket hit the floor beside him with a dull clang.

    ¡°Drink.¡±

    He dragged the bucket closer, hands shaking, and slurped the water like a dog.

    Lopez chuckled. ¡°Your father was quite the sad old man, Caruncle.¡±

    Ah. Here we go.

    Lopez crouched, watching him with fascinated contempt, like a scientist observing a rat that had outlived its usefulness.

    ¡°You wanna know what happens next?¡± His voice was casual, conversational, like he was about to recount a funny story at dinner.

    Caruncle didn''t answer.

    Lopez didn¡¯t care. He continued, tone almost fond.

    ¡°Your brother came storming into your father¡¯s office, shouting about some ridiculous painting¡ª¡®Egg¡¯s Feet,¡¯ remember that? What a stupid name. A naked fox-man or something, stolen generations ago, blah blah. He accused your father of selling it on the black market. Tragic.

    ¡°Then¡ªoh, you¡¯ll love this part¡ªyou got brought up. Yes, right in the middle of the shouting match. Your dear brother decided that the real problem wasn¡¯t the bankruptcy, the fraud, or even the dead fence who got shot in the street. No, no¡ªit was you.¡±

    Lopez smiled.

    ¡°They argued about you for¡ªwhat? Forty minutes? ¡®My father¡¯s a criminal!¡¯ ¡®Oh yeah? My brother¡¯s a pervert!¡¯ The whole thing turned into an absolute circus.

    "And your engagement? Gone. Evelyn wanted out. Can¡¯t say I blame her.¡±

    He leaned in closer.

    ¡°So there you were. A disgraced freak, a financial failure, a public humiliation. And then... I walked in."

    Silence.

    Caruncle stared at the floor. His face was expressionless, but his whole body trembled.

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    Lopez sighed theatrically. ¡°What, no questions? No ''why me, why this, boo hoo?¡¯¡±

    Still nothing.

    ¡°Well, I think it¡¯s funny,¡± Lopez muttered.

    I agreed.

    Look¡ªCaruncle is pathetic, we all know that, but he¡¯s my pathetic man. My useless lump of self-pity to kick around. And yet, somehow, these respectable people¡ªhis own family¡ªhad managed to outdo me.

    Imagine that. A whole room of educated, high-society individuals deciding the best course of action was to turn one nervous little loser into a human sacrifice.

    Even I hadn¡¯t been that cruel.

    Ten Years Later.

    Yeah, you read that right.

    Ten.

    Whole.

    Years.

    That¡¯s how long Caruncle had been rotting down here.

    His world had shrunk to filth, darkness, and a constant gnawing pain.

    Lopez had been methodical. He started with the toes. One by one. Then the fingers on his right hand. Four remained. A mercy.

    Not for much longer.

    Lopez had promised him that when he ran out of fingers, he¡¯d start taking eyes.

    Now, don¡¯t get me wrong, Caruncle deserved every bit of misery. But ten years? Even I was starting to get bored.

    One day, a new man arrived.

    Caruncle barely reacted. New buyers weren¡¯t rare. He had been appraised like livestock before¡ªpoked, prodded, rejected.

    But this man was... different.

    For one, he was huge.

    The trench coat he wore only made him look larger, his frame absurdly broad. He moved with the measured ease of a butcher picking out the best cut.

    He crouched beside Caruncle. Studied him. Touched his chin.

    Caruncle flinched, but the man¡¯s grip was gentle.

    ¡°You¡¯re the one who said he¡¯d rather have a cunt, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    Silence.

    Caruncle¡¯s lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

    The man¡¯s bored tone didn¡¯t change.

    ¡°I asked if you¡¯re the one who wants a cunt.¡±

    Nothing.

    The man sighed and stood. ¡°Are you sure this is the one?¡±

    Lopez chuckled. ¡°Pretty sure.¡±

    ¡°Well then.¡± The man tossed a small case to Lopez. ¡°I¡¯ll take him.¡±

    Lopez blinked. That was fast.

    ¡°Oh! Of course, sir! Now, just to clarify¡ªhe¡¯s completely useless. No skills, doesn¡¯t follow orders, screams if you use him too roughly¡ª¡±

    ¡°Mm.¡± The man rolled his shoulders. ¡°I¡¯ll manage.¡±

    ¡°Right! Right. So, what exactly do you need him for?¡±

    The man paused at the door.

    ¡°Food.¡±

    Lopez laughed.

    ¡°Oh, I like you. I really do. Now¡ªwhat kind of beasts would require such expensive meat?¡±

    The man didn¡¯t look back.

    ¡°Some beasts aren¡¯t so easily fed.¡±

    And with that, he left.

    Caruncle didn¡¯t resist. He didn¡¯t struggle.

    He just let himself be carried away.

 10. A Transplant

    I have hated this man for a long time. That much is certain.

    But now¡­

    Now, I don¡¯t know why I stay.

    Perhaps I could have left. Perhaps I should have.

    But I didn¡¯t. And that¡¯s just the way things are.

    The carriage rattled through the empty streets.

    Caruncle lay curled up on the seat, trembling beneath the heavy blanket Custodio had draped over him. The man¡¯s large hands worked with practiced care, adjusting the mask over Caruncle¡¯s face to shield his wasted eyes from the light.

    Across from them, seated on the driver¡¯s bench, Mortimer Muller sat motionless, his long mustache drooping over his lips like a curtain.

    ¡°Proceed,¡± Custodio murmured.

    The carriage lurched forward. Custodio turned toward the window, lighting a cigar with the kind of unhurried patience that only a man with absolute control could afford. The orange glow flared in the darkness.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive my harshness in the basement,¡± he said, not looking at Caruncle, but through him. Smoke curled from his lips. ¡°One can never be too careful.¡±

    Caruncle tried to lift his head. His body wouldn¡¯t obey. His teeth chattered.

    Custodio exhaled and finally turned to him.

    ¡°My name is Custodio Esparza. The man before you is Mortimer Muller. Not just my servant, but my right hand.¡±

    Mortimer didn¡¯t so much as blink.

    Caruncle¡¯s body shivered violently. Custodio observed him with detached fascination, then reached out¡ª**without hesitation, without fear¡ª**and pulled Caruncle upright. The gesture was almost tender.

    ¡°Tonight, you¡¯ll rest. Tomorrow, we will speak.¡±

    He leaned in.

    ¡°For you and I have much to discuss.¡±

    Caruncle barely processed the words before his mind slipped into the waiting abyss.

    When we arrived, I saw nothing.

    I, too, had drifted into exhaustion, as though I had absorbed his suffering, his weakness, his hollow surrender.

    But I could feel it¡ªthe descent.

    So many stairs. Down and down and down, until the air turned stale again, thick and unmoving, like a place where time had curled up and died.

    For a moment, I thought we had been brought back to that basement.

    Then, silence.

    Sleep took us both.

    He awoke on stone.

    It was cold¡ªso much colder than before. Maybe because he had slept too long on filth, and now anything else felt foreign.

    His body refused to move. His mind refused to wake. Every time he stirred, the dream dragged him back down, over and over again¡ªfalse awakenings, layered nightmares, drowning in a hundred different versions of waking up.

    Then, at last¡ª

    Footsteps.

    A heavy, dry sound against the brick floor.

    Custodio.

    He loomed in the doorway, expression unreadable.

    ¡°Sit up.¡±

    Caruncle didn¡¯t move.

    Custodio strode forward and, with one hand, ripped the mask from his face.

    Caruncle flinched. The world blurred¡ªdim candlelight, gray stone, the suffocating presence of a place with no windows.

    With great effort, he forced himself upright. The chains made it awkward, slow. Custodio watched him struggle, but did not help.

    Custodio sat across from Caruncle, his face a mask of composure, his voice as steady as a stone pillar.

    ¡°Do you know why I bought you?¡±

    Caruncle didn¡¯t move. He swallowed hard, then shook his head.

    Custodio¡¯s voice turned sharp. ¡°Look at me when I am speaking to you.¡±

    Caruncle flinched. He lifted his head¡ªslowly¡ªbut his unfocused eyes slid past Custodio, as if refusing to fully acknowledge the man before him.

    ¡°I am going to give you a choice,¡± Custodio said. ¡°And I need you to listen carefully.¡±

    That got his attention.

    Caruncle blinked himself into awareness, shoulders stiffening as he tried to suppress the panic creeping up his throat.

    ¡°There is something I have been preparing for weeks now, and time is running out.¡± Custodio leaned forward. His voice was steady, but the weight behind it pressed down on the room like a tightening noose. ¡°Because of this, if you say no¡­ I will be forced to kill you.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s entire body locked. A sharp chill shot down his spine, and his heart pounded against his ribs so violently I half expected it to tear through his chest. His breath hitched. His lungs refused to work.

    If I could, I would have reached out, just this once, to hold him.

    Custodio sighed and extended a hand. A strangely gentle gesture, considering his words.

    ¡°Calm yourself,¡± he said. ¡°I chose you because I believe our goals are aligned. We may be able to help each other.¡±

    The way he spoke¡­ It was so soft, so measured, that for a moment, the fear stalled. Caruncle hesitated. Then, trembling, he reached out. Custodio took his shaking hand, placed his own over it, and held it firmly.

    ¡°My daughter is dead,¡± he said. ¡°I intend to bring her back.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s breath caught.

    Custodio¡¯s grip tightened¡ªnot in threat, but in assurance.

    ¡°Her body is deteriorating. I am doing all I can to slow the decay, but I can only restore so much before there is nothing left to restore. To bring her back, I need a new brain.¡±

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Caruncle stared.

    The blood drained from his face as his eyes flickered toward the bathtub in the back of the room.

    Even from here, the pale shape beneath the ice was unmistakable.

    A young woman. No older than her mid-twenties. No¡ªperhaps younger. It was hard to tell, but it didn¡¯t matter. She was waiting.

    Custodio followed his gaze, then looked back at him.

    ¡°To you, it might feel like changing clothes,¡± he said smoothly. ¡°A shift in form, nothing more.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s lips parted, as if to speak, but nothing came out.

    Custodio studied him with a clinical eye. Then, as though offering a gift¡ª

    ¡°Yes. I am asking you to be my daughter.¡±

    Silence.

    Caruncle froze.

    He tilted his head¡ª**slowly, hesitantly¡ª**like a marionette whose strings had just been severed. His mouth opened again, but the words never came.

    Custodio¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver.

    ¡°If you accept, I can guarantee the process will be a success,¡± he said. ¡°Once it is complete, I will take you under my care. As my daughter, you will no longer be a slave.¡±

    Caruncle barely heard him. The fluttering in his stomach had turned into a pit.

    Custodio released his hand and straightened.

    ¡°If you refuse,¡± he continued, ¡°I will use your body to keep her preserved until I find another candidate. Either way¡­¡± He sighed. ¡°I cannot afford to waste any more time.¡±

    He moved toward the door.

    ¡°You have one hour to decide,¡± he said simply. ¡°Whatever you choose, I promise¡ªit will be quick.¡±

    And with that, he was gone.

    The candle flickered, sending long shadows stretching across the cold, gray walls.

    Caruncle didn¡¯t move.

    For an entire hour, he sat, motionless.

    This entire ordeal was pointless.

    The man was insane.

    Most likely, Caruncle was going to die.

    And yet¡ª

    He entertained the thought anyway.

    Perhaps just to keep himself occupied until the end.

    Even if he escaped, even if he somehow survived¡­ where would he go?

    He had no strength. No cunning. No future.

    He was nothing. He might as well drop dead.

    I hated this.

    I hated that he was even considering it.

    Because if he refused¡ªif he died here¡ªthen maybe, just maybe, I would finally be free.

    I would no longer have to follow him.

    I could finally go.

    But if he accepted¡ª

    I would be stuck.

    I would be left behind, lingering in this world alone, waiting for something that would never come.

    Waiting for someone who would never come.

    I clenched my fists.

    ¡°Please, Caruncle,¡± I whispered. ¡°Don¡¯t accept. Please. Just listen to me.¡±

    He didn¡¯t react.

    I knew it was pointless, but I spoke anyway.

    And when the words ran out, I simply sat beside him, pretending he could feel me, pretending I could hold his hand.

    I peered into his mind, trying to see his decision before he made it.

    There were only two options.

    One¡ªthe unknown. The afterlife, whatever that meant in this godforsaken world. Maybe he would be given a second chance. Maybe a higher power would pity him.

    Or maybe¡­ he would fall into something so much worse.

    The second¡ª

    The body in the ice.

    The life that Custodio was offering him.

    Not an escape.

    A replacement.

    He had no way of knowing what would happen if he died.

    But if he lived¡­

    He knew what that meant.

    And I knew¡ª

    I already knew what choice he would make.

    If oblivion awaited him, it would have been a mercy.

    But something else loomed in the dark.

    Something watching. Waiting.

    A presence he couldn''t shake. Jazmin.

    She had built this world, written it into existence. And now, he had failed her.

    She would not be pleased.

    Caruncle tried not to think about it.

    He tried not to remember her eerie, inescapable eyes.

    ***

    The hour passed.

    Custodio returned, pushing open the door with slow, deliberate care. The candlelight flickered, stretching his shadow across the gray stone walls.

    He closed the door behind him.

    Then¡ªsilence.

    ¡°Now,¡± he said, his voice calm, steady. ¡°I want to hear your choice.¡±

    Caruncle lifted his head.

    For a long time, he didn¡¯t speak.

    Neither of them did.

    They sat there, locked in some wordless understanding I couldn¡¯t quite grasp.

    Then, at last¡ª

    He nodded.

    Custodio¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change.

    ¡°Very well.¡±

    He stepped forward and knelt beside him, removing a worn iron key from his pocket. The chains fell away, one by one.

    ¡°Do you have any last words?¡±

    Caruncle shook his head.

    A strange stillness settled over Custodio¡¯s face. For a moment, he simply stared.

    Then he sighed, quietly.

    Like a man relieved of some great weight.

    As the final shackle hit the ground, Custodio spoke again.

    ¡°Are you familiar with the name Darius?¡±

    Caruncle hesitated, then shook his head.

    Custodio hummed. ¡°I thought as much.¡±

    He stood, stretching his shoulders before continuing.

    ¡°That is the name of a man Jazmin once knew,¡± he said. ¡°A demon.¡±

    Caruncle''s breath hitched.

    ¡°Jazmin was his mistress, in a way,¡± Custodio went on. ¡°And long ago, he walked into one of the worlds she created.¡±

    He moved past Caruncle, approaching the table at the back of the room.

    ¡°What happened after that¡­¡± he muttered, pulling something from beneath the table, ¡°¡­is still unknown.¡±

    A hammer.

    A thick iron nail.

    Custodio inspected them briefly, then wiped them clean with a rag.

    ¡°But one thing is certain,¡± he continued. ¡°The blood he carried¡ªhis corruption¡ªwas passed to his children.¡±

    He turned back to Caruncle, stepping closer.

    ¡°And those children multiplied. They spread, shaped, and swallowed this world whole.¡±

    The iron nail pressed against Caruncle¡¯s forehead.

    Custodio raised the hammer.

    ¡°This venom flows through all of us.¡±

    A heartbeat.

    Then¡ª

    A single, decisive swing.

    Darkness.

    I saw Custodio split his skull open.

    The sound it made¡ªwet, fragile, final.

    With his bare hands, he pried it apart, fingers slick with blood as he reached inside.

    I should have looked away.

    But I didn¡¯t.

    I couldn¡¯t.

    Not even when I saw the empty cavity in the woman¡¯s head beside him. Her skull had already been opened¡ªher eyes clumsily stitched shut.

    She had been waiting for this.

    For him.

    My mind fractured.

    I turned away.

    I didn¡¯t want to hear it.

    I didn¡¯t want to know.

    But the wet, tearing sound of Custodio severing his brain from the spinal cord was unavoidable.

    For a long time, I stayed close to Caruncle.

    Even as his body grew cold.

    Even as his presence faded to nothing.

    I whispered to him.

    Just in case¡ªjust in case¡ªhe could hear me.

    And then¡ª

    Cold.

    A deep, biting cold.

    A heartbeat.

    A sudden, gasping breath.

    My head snapped up.

    But¡ªno.

    The body beside him was moving.

    Not Caruncle.

    Not anymore.

    The woman¡¯s eyes fluttered open, but she couldn¡¯t see¡ªnot yet. The candlelight burned too bright against the fresh nerves and sutures.

    Custodio worked quickly. He wrapped her in a thick, worn blanket, his hands strangely careful.

    Then¡ªsoftly, almost gently:

    ¡°I appreciate your cooperation, Elena.¡±

    His voice was softer than before.

    But his expression¡­

    His expression hadn¡¯t changed at all.

    He carried her out of the room.

    And up the stairs¡ª

    Out of the dark.

 11. A Change

    Caruncle woke up with a headache. His whole body felt sore and sticky¡ªsweat clung to his skin, seeping into the sheets. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

    "An unfamiliar ceiling." He thought.

    I looked around too. Everything was white. The ceiling, the walls, the floor, the curtains, the bed sheets¡ªwhite, white, white. The kind of creepy sterile white that made hospitals feel like morgues. An IV drip fed into his left arm, which surprised me. An IV drip? Thank God it wasn¡¯t a nasogastric tube. Still, it was a weird sight.

    His new eyes¡ªbecause yes, these were new¡ªadjusted quickly to the light coming in through the windows. Outside, the sky was white too. Or maybe gray. Cloudy, dull, and washed out. Morning or afternoon? Impossible to tell.

    He raised his hands and stared at them. Fingers. He had all his fingers again. He flexed them, watching them move like they belonged to someone else. I don¡¯t want to talk about the time he spent without them. I won¡¯t talk about it. I won¡¯t. I won¡¯t. I won¡¯t. But let me tell you: getting your fingers back after losing them is not a feeling that can be put into words. He kept opening and closing his hands, over and over again, like he was afraid they¡¯d vanish if he stopped.

    And I mean¡­ a long while.

    I had to wait for him to snap out of it. When he finally did, he moved on to the rest of his body.

    He touched his face. His nose was different¡ªsmaller, with a less pronounced tip. His cheeks, forehead, and chin were unfamiliar. He hesitated, then ran his fingers along his jaw. No stubble. No roughness. Just smooth skin.

    Then came the hair. He grabbed a strand and pulled it in front of his face. Blonde. Messy, slightly greasy, but blonde. It didn¡¯t even reach his shoulders, but it was definitely longer than before.

    His lips? Lips. They were just lips. Maybe softer? He wasn¡¯t sure.

    That left¡­ the rest of him.

    He didn¡¯t sit up. He didn¡¯t check under the sheets. He didn¡¯t confirm what had been done to him. Instead, he hid his hands under the covers and stared at the ceiling, letting his mind go completely blank.

    What¡¯s wrong, Caruncle?

    Why don¡¯t you check? This is what you wanted, right? Come on, tits, pussy, boobs¡ªthis is what you signed up for. So why are you acting like a virgin on prom night?

    Coward.

    I know some people are going to ask, "When are you gonna stop calling him a guy?" The answer? Never. Never. I knew what he was from the start. My perception of him hasn¡¯t changed and never will.

    He let his mind wander, drifting somewhere else. This didn¡¯t feel real. None of it had felt real for a long time. Some part of him still believed he¡¯d wake up back in the library, or in his family¡¯s home in Vadorreal. But he never did.

    Meanwhile, my mind was spiraling. A thousand questions, all at once. Where was he going to go? What was he going to do? What happened to his family? What was even happening right now?

    I was losing my grip. Maybe this whole spooky specter thing was finally wearing me down. Maybe my connection to this world was fading. Maybe none of this was real. Maybe I just didn¡¯t understand anything anymore.

    Then, the door opened.

    Custodio and Mortimer entered the room. Mortimer carried a silver tray with a glass of water. Custodio, still wearing that same goddamn trench coat. Did he ever take that dusty thing off?

    ¡°I see you¡¯re finally awake,¡± Custodio said.

    He glanced at Mortimer, who stepped forward and handed Caruncle the glass of water. Which meant he had to sit up. Slowly, bracing himself against the mattress, Caruncle pushed himself up until his back was against the headboard. He noticed the shift in his chest but ignored it. He took the glass and drank.

    Coward.

    ¡°How long has it been, Mortimer?¡±

    ¡°I believe three months, sir.¡±

    ¡°Three months.¡± Custodio sounded frustrated. ¡°Same as the last one?¡±

    ¡°Correct, sir. Waking times have all been at least three months after surgery.¡±

    Custodio sighed. ¡°I see.¡± Then, turning to Caruncle, he asked, ¡°Now, how do you feel?¡±

    Caruncle put the empty glass back on the tray and opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    His throat clenched. His tongue moved, but no sound followed. He swallowed, tried again¡ªnothing. Panic set in as he glanced between Custodio and Mortimer.

    They were holding back laughter.

    ¡°Pfft¡ªHahaha!¡± They both broke at the same time.

    I swear to God, I wanted to punch them both in the throat.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Custodio chuckled, completely unapologetic. ¡°I just can¡¯t resist¡ªit¡¯s too funny.¡±

    Caruncle stared, confused. Why was this funny?

    Custodio smirked, lighting a cigar. ¡°Elena has never been able to speak. It¡¯s something I¡¯ve always tried to fix. The first brain transplants were attempts to correct the issue, but it turns out the problem isn¡¯t in the brain¡ªit¡¯s in the throat nerves. Sorry, but that¡¯s outside my area of expertise.¡±

    Caruncle blinked at him.

    What.

    ¡°She¡¯s going through the shock phase, sir,¡± Mortimer noted.

    ¡°Yes, have a tranquilizer ready if she goes overboard. We don¡¯t want a repeat of past incidents.¡±

    Caruncle raised his hands, shaking his head, demanding answers.

    Mortimer gave him a polite, almost pitying nod. ¡°Miss Elena, that body you have is mute. You are mute.¡±

    Mute.

    Mute?

    For fuck¡¯s sake.

    ¡°I told you to say your last words the other night,¡± Custodio added, grinning. ¡°I was being serious.¡±

    Mute.

    Time stretched like a bad joke.

    I breathed in slowly, forcing myself to stay calm.

    Custodio, that bastard, had turned this whole thing into a joke. A sick punchline, and Caruncle was the laughingstock.

    Mute. Fucking mute.

    Caruncle¡ªI can¡¯t talk to people. You can¡¯t talk to people either. I guess we¡¯re not so different after all! Ha.

    I looked at him. Still frozen in shock.

    If I could wrap my hands around that smug bastard¡¯s throat¡ª

    Before I could keep fuming, Mortimer handed Caruncle a small hand mirror.

    ¡°Miss Elena, are you back with us?¡±

    Caruncle took it and sat up, shifting toward the light from the window. Slowly, carefully, we both looked into the reflection.

    I saw myself.

    ¡°I think she looks quite pleased, sir.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Custodio mused. ¡°This one looks¡­ absent-minded.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but notice¡ªno tantrum. She¡¯s just adjusting. Did you finally follow my advice this time?¡±

    ¡°I wanted to try your proposal before, Mortimer, but finding slaves with these kinds of desires isn¡¯t easy.¡±

    ¡°Oh! So you did find someone! I suspected this would increase acceptance of the procedure¡ª¡±

    ¡°Mortimer. Not here.¡±

    ¡°Right, sir. My apologies.¡±

    Caruncle¡ªno. Elena.

    She was beautiful.

    Pale, yes, but elegant. Refined.

    Big, almond-shaped eyes, an icy blue. Gentle cheeks that softened into a delicate jawline. A slightly pointed chin.

    I stared at her. At Caruncle. At Elena.

    I had fallen in love.

    Caruncle had turned into a beautiful girl.

    I was happy. Really happy. But¡ªshe wasn¡¯t.

    Elena looked afraid. She stared at herself like the reflection might disappear if she looked away.

    I wanted to reach through the glass, take her hand, tell her it was okay¡ªbut I couldn¡¯t.

    And that made me sad, too.

    ¡°Alright, that¡¯s enough.¡±

    Custodio¡¯s voice shattered the moment. Mortimer pulled the mirror away.

    Custodio studied Elena. She stared back at him with wide, unsure eyes¡ªthe look of a stray dog that had just been fed by a stranger for the first time.

    ¡°Well,¡± Custodio said. ¡°I take it you¡¯re satisfied with the results.¡±

    Elena hesitated. She had agreed to the surgery, but back then, she hadn¡¯t expected to survive.

    She looked down.

    She looked back at Custodio.

    And nodded.

    ¡°Good,¡± Custodio said. ¡°Then I trust you haven¡¯t forgotten the rest of the agreement.¡±

    Her stomach twisted.

    ¡°You will be taken care of,¡± Custodio continued, ¡°and you will begin studying under Mortimer¡¯s guidance. My daughter will be well-educated and well-mannered. That will be your focus from now on.¡±

    Elena tried to mouth, "Yes, sir," but¡ª**of course¡ª**nothing.

    So she just nodded again.

    ¡°But,¡± Custodio added, ¡°there¡¯s one more condition I didn¡¯t tell you about.¡±

    Her chest tightened.

    Her breath hitched.

    I heard the words. I did. But I couldn¡¯t process them.

    Neither could Elena.

    She forced the thought to the back of her mind.

    So did I.

    ¡°Rest for today and tomorrow,¡± Custodio went on. ¡°Once you recover, your education begins.¡± He turned to Mortimer. ¡°Make sure all of Elena¡¯s needs are handled. Bring the small whiteboard to her room.¡±

    ¡°Right away, sir.¡±

    They both left.

    Elena lay back down, heart pounding.

    What had Custodio said?

    Did it matter?

    Not yet. Not yet.

    All that mattered was the sound of "Miss Elena."

    Miss Elena.

    It sang in her mind. Like birds chirping in the morning. Like wind dancing through trees. Like the blue of the sky before dusk.

    For now¡ª**just for now¡ª**it was enough.

    I thought about her face. The face Caruncle was wearing.

    Outside, the birds sang.

    A cool breeze drifted in through the open window.

    Nothing else mattered.

    Not yet.

    Not yet.

    And we both fell asleep.

 12. An Accident

    Hell isn¡¯t fire. It isn¡¯t torture. It¡¯s waiting.

    A place where no one hears you. Where no one comes. Where you rot alone¡ªforever.

    At first, you beg for death. But then you learn death doesn¡¯t come.

    And when that truth finally sinks in?

    You break.

    Caruncle dreamed of the basement.

    The chains bit into his wrists. The air was thick with piss and rust. Ten years in the dark. Ten years asking what the fuck he had done to deserve it.

    Maybe he hadn¡¯t done anything.

    Maybe some people just lose the cosmic lottery.

    He had screamed until his voice died. He had cursed Lopez, his family, himself. He had imagined ripping human beings apart, grinding them into meat, until the rage faded into nothing. Until the only thing left was emptiness.

    And then¡ª

    He woke up.

    An unfamiliar ceiling.

    White. The walls, the curtains, the bedsheets¡ªeverything white. The air smelled clean, too clean. Sterile.

    His body ached. Sticky. Sweating. The room was dark, except for the pale glow of moonlight spilling through the window.

    He wasn¡¯t in the basement.

    The realization came slow, like a creeping itch in the back of his skull.

    He had left.

    Somehow, against all odds¡ªhe had left.

    For a moment, he almost laughed. The whole thing felt impossible. Miraculous.

    But then¡ª

    The words came back to him.

    ¡°Even if you don¡¯t want to do it, you will still go with it since you have already accepted my conditions when I accepted you into my family.

    Once you finish your education with Mortimer and have learned proper manners, you will stop being my daughter¡ªand you will become my wife.¡±

    Everything inside him stopped.

    The air turned to cement in his lungs. His heartbeat roared in his ears.

    No.

    No, no, no, no, NO.

    He threw himself out of bed. The IV ripped from his arm, clattering onto the floor. He stumbled for the door, yanked it open, and ran.

    Dark hallways.

    Endless dark hallways.

    His legs burned. His breath hitched. He didn¡¯t know where he was going¡ªhe just had to go.

    The pale moonlight stretched shadows across the walls, twisting and shifting, warping reality around him.

    This wasn¡¯t real.

    It couldn¡¯t be real.

    It had to be a trick. A dream within a dream¡ªmaybe he was still in the basement. Maybe this was just another hallucination.

    But then¡ª

    His foot slipped.

    The window¡ªhe hadn¡¯t seen the window.

    His body pitched forward.

    The world lurched.

    And then¡ª

    Impact.

    His left leg crunched against the garden stones below.

    No scream came out.

    But the pain¡ªthe pain was real.

    He twisted, writhing, gasping for breath, his silent sobs shaking his chest. Footsteps thundered toward him.

    ¡°Miss Elena!¡± Mortimer¡¯s voice cut through the haze. ¡°I heard the window break! What were you doing?!¡±

    More footsteps. Heavier.

    Custodio.

    ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± Custodio¡¯s voice was sharp, almost annoyed.

    ¡°Sir, she fell out of the window! I¡¯ll fetch the first aid kit¡ª¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Custodio¡¯s shadow loomed over him. ¡°I¡¯d rather take her to her room and treat her there.¡±

    And then¡ªhis arms wrapped around Caruncle¡¯s body.

    Warm. Strong. Unshaking.

    A twisted echo of comfort.

    Caruncle wanted to struggle. Fight. Bite. Anything.

    But his body refused to move.

    His vision blurred.

    A sharp prick in his arm¡ª

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    A needle.

    Something cold seeped into his veins.

    The pain faded. The fear dulled.

    The world blurred.

    And just before the dark swallowed him whole¡ª

    I realized.

    It hadn¡¯t been Caruncle running through those halls.

    It had been me.

    Somehow¡ªI had possessed him.

    And in pure, blind panic¡ªI had run.

    I don¡¯t know how I did it.

    Possessing someone. Moving them. Feeling everything.

    Being a ghost was like watching through glass, sensations distant and muted¡ªlike someone describing pain instead of experiencing it. But this?

    This was real.

    The pain. The fear.

    What was I afraid of?

    I didn¡¯t know. I wasn¡¯t in my right mind when I ran.

    Custodio¡¯s voice cut through the thick silence.

    ¡°How much blood did she lose?¡±

    Mortimer answered calmly, as if discussing the weather. ¡°Minimal. The IV broke, but the catheter remained intact. As for her leg, no fractures¡ªjust some muscle strain from the fall.¡±

    ¡°Miss Elena, you¡¯ll be just fine,¡± Mortimer said gently. ¡°Thankfully, it was only the second floor. Now, can you tell us what made you run from your room so suddenly?¡±

    He handed Caruncle a small chalkboard.

    I leaned in. I had to know.

    Had he felt me? Had he known I was there?

    Slowly, carefully, he wrote:

    ¡°I had a panic attack.¡±

    Mortimer smiled, placing a hand over Caruncle¡¯s. ¡°Of course, Miss. You¡¯ve been through quite the ordeal. No wonder you were exasperated.¡±

    ¡°This is my fault,¡± Custodio murmured. ¡°I left her alone too soon. She seemed so calm when she woke up¡­ I thought we could let her be for the night. I was wrong.¡±

    His voice was flat. No guilt. Just stating a fact.

    Mortimer, in contrast, radiated warmth. ¡°Miss, if this ever happens again, you can find me at the end of the hallway, to the left.¡± He squeezed Caruncle¡¯s hand, voice low and soothing.

    Caruncle didn¡¯t pull away.

    The butterflies in his stomach flitted.

    It was fine. He didn¡¯t have to think about the past.

    Didn¡¯t have to think about the future.

    Just the present.

    He was Miss Elena now.

    That was all that mattered.

    ¡°I¡¯m going back to rest,¡± Custodio announced. ¡°Mortimer, stay with her until morning.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir. I¡¯ll make sure the lady sleeps well.¡±

    Custodio gave Caruncle one last glance before stepping out, closing the door behind him.

    Silence settled over the room.

    Mortimer turned back to him. ¡°Miss, amidst all this, I haven¡¯t asked¡ªhow do you feel? Is this what you wanted?¡±

    Caruncle hesitated. Then, he wrote:

    ¡°I don¡¯t know yet.¡±

    Jesus, you are hollow. You could¡¯ve written anything else.

    Mortimer smiled knowingly. ¡°That¡¯s fair, Miss.¡±

    He leaned in slightly. ¡°The brain donors¡ªmany don¡¯t adjust well to their new¡­ place in society. In private, I let them decide how they wish to be addressed. It helps them feel more at ease when they aren¡¯t around Mr. Esparza.¡±

    A pause.

    ¡°So tell me¡ªwould you still like me to call you ¡®Miss¡¯?¡±

    Weird question.

    Caruncle didn¡¯t hesitate. He picked up the chalk.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Splendid!¡± Mortimer¡¯s smile widened. ¡°If you change your mind, let me know. I must follow all of the Master¡¯s orders, of course¡­ but I do like our donors to be comfortable.¡±

    Something about his tone.

    His phrasing.

    Caruncle picked up the chalk again.

    ¡°How many donors have gone through this?¡±

    Mortimer¡¯s smile didn¡¯t fade.

    But something in his eyes changed.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t trouble yourself with that, Miss Elena.¡± Mortimer waved a hand dismissively. ¡°I was simply letting my thoughts run free.¡±

    His smile was gentle. Reassuring. But the words felt heavier than they should.

    ¡°You see, Mr. Esparza doesn¡¯t like to perform surgery on his own daughter too often. It pains him.¡± Mortimer¡¯s tone grew softer. ¡°He gets¡­ attached. Every single time. It¡¯s as if he¡¯s mourning a child all over again.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s fingers tightened around the chalkboard. He hesitated before writing¡ªbut Mortimer lifted a hand.

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to ask about the other donors,¡± he said smoothly, ¡°let me remind you¡ªthat¡¯s all in the past. What matters now is the present.¡±

    A pause.

    ¡°I will serve you as long as I live. I will make your time here as pleasant as possible, for I am your servant, my lady.¡±

    Caruncle flushed.

    The reaction made Mortimer chuckle. ¡°Ah, that color suits you, Miss Elena.¡±

    He traced a cold, wrinkled finger along Caruncle¡¯s cheek. The contrast¡ªwarmth and decay¡ªsent a strange shiver through him.

    ¡°You¡¯re taking this far better than most,¡± Mortimer continued, ¡°I won¡¯t lie. The men before you never adjusted. The women? They managed¡­ but still struggled.¡± His gaze grew thoughtful. ¡°So I proposed a new approach¡ªone I believe has led us to you.¡±

    His hand lingered on Caruncle¡¯s cheek before he withdrew it.

    ¡°I must say, I¡¯m quite pleased we met, my dear.¡±

    Caruncle should have felt sick.

    He should have been horrified.

    Instead, he felt grounded.

    His thoughts slowed. His panic dimmed.

    He was Miss Elena.

    That was all that mattered.

    Mortimer adjusted the blanket around him. ¡°Now, Miss Elena, you should get some rest.¡±

    He smiled.

    ¡°For tomorrow is your funeral.¡±

    Caruncle tensed.

    ¡°Ah, no need to be frightened!¡± Mortimer laughed lightly. ¡°I only mean your old body. It¡¯s been in its coffin for three months, waiting for you.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s stomach churned.

    ¡°We believe the funeral is an important part of your transition,¡± Mortimer continued. ¡°Saying goodbye will help you fully step into the new life we¡¯ve given you.¡±

    A pause.

    ¡°Most of it will have decayed, of course. But don¡¯t worry, we preserved it enough for you to recognize yourself.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s breath felt too slow.

    Too shallow.

    Would he recognize himself?

    The body he once had, rotting in a coffin?

    Would it be satisfying? Would it be proof that he had truly escaped?

    Or¡­

    Would it feel like looking into a mirror he could never step back through?

    Mortimer watched him, head tilted. ¡°I like that look in your eyes,¡± he murmured. ¡°You¡¯ll understand everything soon enough.¡±

    Caruncle finally lay back down.

    Mortimer pulled up a chair beside the bed.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be here,¡± he said softly. ¡°If you have any nightmares, I¡¯ll wake you.¡±

    Caruncle closed his eyes.

    Miss Elena.

    Miss Elena.

    That was all that mattered.

    I, on the other hand, couldn¡¯t rest.

    I turned toward the window, watching the moonlight spill over the garden. The night felt¡­ bright.

    Not frightening at all.

    But my thoughts weren¡¯t on the stars.

    They were on the body.

    The body I had controlled.

    The body I had moved.

    The body I had felt.

    Caruncle hadn¡¯t even noticed when I took over.

    The realization spread through me like wildfire.

    Could I do it again?

    Would it work?

    The thought felt wrong.

    Unnatural.

    But¡­

    To feel alive¡ªtruly alive¡ªeven just one more time?

    Wouldn¡¯t it be worth anything?

 13. A Corpse

    A rose, a beautiful rose in a garden of hundreds of lilies¡ªthat¡¯s what Caruncle was. I remember saying I would never stop treating her like a guy, but a new sensation had bloomed inside her: embarrassment¡ªdeep, delicious, humiliating embarrassment. And I was savoring every second of it. The way she became self-conscious, how guilt crept over her and made her wince at the feeling. I loved it. I wanted to see her live in perpetual mortification, forever squirming under the weight of what she had become.

    That¡¯s right. Caruncle was a woman.

    The morning light had finally come, though the sky was still heavy with clouds. Vadorreal had been a city of cold, high altitudes, sitting at around 2,500 meters above sea level, making it chilly, foggy, and gray for most of the year. But this place? This place felt even colder. I still didn¡¯t know where exactly we were, but wherever Custodio had taken us, we were far from civilization.

    When Mr. Lopez took Caruncle, knocking him unconscious, we never saw the road. We never knew how far he had been dragged.

    Mortimer woke her up, and she slowly sat up in bed, realizing her leg ached too much to move. The butler brought over a wheelchair, helping her into it without a word. Before she could even grab the chalkboard to ask where the manor was located, he had already started wheeling her away.

    ¡°Miss, it is time for your bath,¡± he said cheerfully. ¡°While you were asleep, we could only wipe you down with a towel, but that was three months ago! You are long overdue for a proper soak, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    Caruncle frowned.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, I¡¯ll help. No, no, don¡¯t look at me like that. I know it¡¯s awkward, and I apologize for the intrusion, but this is only until you¡¯re fully recovered. Besides, bathing is part of the process, ma¡¯am. Trust me, I¡¯ve done this many times. I promise to be quick. And anything you can do yourself, you will.¡±

    He couldn''t be serious.

    The bathroom was simple, yet elegant, covered in deep green wall tiles. Caruncle was slowly undressed and lowered into the bathtub.

    ¡°Here.¡± Mortimer handed her a bar of soap. ¡°Wash whatever you can reach, and I¡¯ll handle your hair.¡±

    He poured a fragrant shampoo over her head and started massaging her scalp in slow, methodical circles.

    She tried to clear her mind, focusing on the deep green tiles of the bathroom as she rubbed the soap over her arms, her legs. The moment she caught a glimpse of her body, she flinched, looking away.

    See, Caruncle? I taunted. Nothing weird to see there. They¡¯re not even that big. They won¡¯t bite. They¡¯re just¡­ there.

    She pressed the soap harder into her skin, as if scrubbing away a thought.

    ¡°You know, ma¡¯am¡­¡± Mortimer spoke, snapping her out of her daze. She tilted her head slightly, letting him continue.

    ¡°It¡¯s always fascinating how people¡¯s personalities change when they¡­ well¡­¡± he chuckled. ¡°When they can¡¯t speak. You see, a lot of people get frustrated¡ªwell, obviously, because of everything¡ªbut some are surprisingly cooperative, while others turn into absolute brats, throwing tantrums over the smallest things. It¡¯s a mess. Trying to communicate with a screamer is a nightmare. But you, Miss Elena¡ªyou¡¯ve been quite helpful. Can you imagine how much of a relief that is? Do you know how hard it is to tell someone they need a bath and then have them try to strangle you with a sponge?¡±

    Caruncle smirked.

    ¡°Oh, what¡¯s that smile for?¡± Mortimer laughed. ¡°Did I say something funny?¡±

    She tried to mouth ¡®yes¡¯, but her lips wouldn¡¯t form the word. Her mouth stuck, frozen in place.

    ¡°My dear, if you¡¯re trying to talk, save your strength.¡± He waved his hand dismissively. ¡°No need to tire yourself out.¡±

    That pissed her off.

    She had just wanted to say yes. That was it. But now she couldn¡¯t even do that.

    Too bad, Caruncle. Get used to it.

    What were you going to do? Go back to your old body? The one rotting in a coffin? Gonna demand another surgery? Gonna complain to management?

    Sigh.

    She stared down at the bathwater, watching her blurred reflection ripple.

    Something¡­ was off.

    At first, it was nothing. Just her own distorted face staring back at her.

    But then¡ª

    The expression in the water changed.

    It wasn¡¯t hers anymore.

    Her heart skipped a beat. The woman in the water furrowed her brow, her eyes darkened in rage.

    Was that Elena?

    Caruncle¡¯s breath caught in her throat.

    The reflection¡¯s lips moved.

    It was saying something.

    The bathwater darkened¡ª

    And then¡ª

    SPLASH!

    Caruncle¡¯s head slipped beneath the water, and her body flinched violently.

    I panicked. She was drowning.

    No, wait.

    She wasn¡¯t drowning.

    She had just slowly slid down the tub without noticing.

    ¡­That was embarrassing.

    No ghosts. No vengeance. No supernatural horror. Just pure, dumb, idiot clumsiness.

    I snickered.

    ¡°Oh my God!¡± Mortimer panicked and yanked her upright.

    She glared at him.

    ¡°Miss, please¡ªdon¡¯t be mad at me!¡± he sputtered. ¡°I thought you were just trying to lean back and relax!¡±

    She snatched the soap and started scrubbing her arms again, her back now turned to him.

    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± Mortimer chuckled, ¡°let¡¯s finish up¡ªthis time carefully.¡±

    She didn¡¯t respond.

    ¡­And for the rest of the bath, she cried.

    Back in her room, Mortimer handed her the chalkboard.

    ¡°Now, Miss Elena,¡± he said, sitting beside her, ¡°would you like to tell me what startled you?¡±

    She hesitated before wiping the board clean and slowly writing:

    "I saw Elena in the water. She looked¡­ angry."

    ¡°Elena? But you are Elena.¡±

    Caruncle hesitated, then slowly wrote on the chalkboard:

    "Not me. The real Elena."

    Mortimer¡¯s face twitched for just a second before he recovered with a warm, fatherly smile.

    ¡°Miss, please, don¡¯t say things like that. I hope you don¡¯t believe in ghost stories or anything of the sort. There is no way the first Miss Elena could be mad at you.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s fingers clenched around the chalk. She lowered her head and wrote again, her tears leaving faint smudges on the board.

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    "I took her place."

    Mortimer sighed and patted her head gently. ¡°Oh, Elena, my poor Elena. It will be okay. I promise.¡±

    They sat like that for a while, the silence pressing between them like a thick, heavy quilt. Eventually, Mortimer stood up and excused himself, saying he needed to finish preparing for the funeral.

    ¡°I¡¯ll give you privacy to dress, but if you need help, just ring the bell on the desk.¡±

    Caruncle forced herself up and hurried to dress, trying to avoid looking at her own reflection.

    She still felt guilty.

    The outfit prepared for her was surprisingly elegant. A deep navy blouse, subtly patterned with faint motifs, rested beneath a meticulously embroidered velvet waistcoat, its lace-trimmed sleeves draping over her wrists. Instead of a bra, there was a corset folded neatly beside it¡ªbut thankfully, Mortimer had mentioned she wouldn¡¯t need to wear it today.

    For the lower half, she had loose trousers, their fabric flowing softly before being tucked neatly into a pair of sturdy, low boots. They were roomy enough that she managed to get them on without too much pain¡ªthough her injured leg throbbed in protest.

    Finally, she placed a wide-brimmed black hat atop her head, shielding her face from the faint chill that crept through the window.

    A funeral outfit. Fitting.

    "You Look Lovely, Miss!"

    The door swung open just as she finished dressing.

    ¡°Miss, you¡¯re ready!¡± Mortimer beamed. ¡°Come with me¡ªit¡¯s time. Your father is waiting in the garden.¡±

    Caruncle swallowed hard. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

    Had she seen him already? Maybe from the window? She didn¡¯t know.

    Mortimer wheeled her into the hallway, his voice as cheery as ever.

    ¡°There are so many beautiful flowers in the garden, ma¡¯am! Orchids, marigolds, heliconias¡ªoh, tons of roses! I think you¡¯ll adore them. Yes, you will.¡±

    I was starting to get annoyed.

    Sure, Caruncle looked pretty, but she still looked miserable. Her eyes were red, her hands shook, and I could hear the pounding of her heart like a drum in my own chest. She wasn¡¯t in the mood for flowers.

    What mattered wasn¡¯t the scenery.

    What mattered was the coffin she was about to see.

    The rotting corpse inside.

    Mortimer pushed the wheelchair backward down a ramp, guiding her to the first floor.

    The house was enormous, stretching high and wide, feeling more like a mansion than a simple manor. Everything was wood¡ªthe walls, the towering ceiling, the spiral staircase that twisted upward like a spine. It had an old-world elegance, but¡­

    It felt empty.

    Was it really just the three of them in this entire estate?

    Mortimer chuckled, as if sensing the question lingering in her head.

    ¡°I hope you¡¯re enjoying the manor, miss. I¡¯ve always found it quite lovely. And once you fully recover, you¡¯ll be able to explore it in due time¡ªif your father allows it, of course.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s gaze flickered to the longcase clock by the entrance.

    Its wood gleamed softly, polished to perfection. The intricate brass pendulum swung steadily, each tick and tock pressing into the silence like a heartbeat.

    It was beautiful.

    ¡°Oh, I see you¡¯ve taken a liking to the clock, ma¡¯am!¡± Mortimer grinned. ¡°A fine eye! After the funeral, perhaps I¡¯ll tell you more about it.¡±

    They stepped outside, and the chill hit them immediately.

    The day was still foggy, and Caruncle regretted not checking the time before leaving. The sunlight was muted, swallowed by the gray sky, making it impossible to tell if it was morning or afternoon.

    She had expected a garden.

    She hadn¡¯t expected vast green fields stretching endlessly, with a maze of tall hedges winding in the distance.

    And beside the maze¡­

    A cemetery.

    Caruncle¡¯s stomach turned as they neared the freshly dug grave, a coffin lying on its side next to it.

    Three chairs sat in a neat little row.

    And standing before them, staring at the coffin, was Custodio.

    ¡°It took you long enough,¡± Custodio muttered, not bothering to turn around. His eyes remained locked on the coffin.

    ¡°My apologies, sir,¡± Mortimer replied. ¡°The lady got a little¡­ distracted by the clock.¡±

    Custodio finally looked at Caruncle. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly, scanning her from head to toe.

    ¡°She looks well-dressed.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t she? I told her you¡¯d be pleased!¡±

    Custodio hummed in response before turning back to the coffin.

    Mortimer leaned down and spoke softly.

    ¡°My lady,¡± he whispered. ¡°It is time.¡±

    Caruncle felt her whole body tense.

    She had turned away to avoid looking at it.

    But now that she was close enough, she forced herself to peek through her fingers.

    She had to see it.

    She had to look.

    Her old body¡ªthe one she had lived in for decades¡ªwas right in front of her.

    She opened her eyes.

    And looked inside.

    The body lay in the open casket, dressed in a black, slightly oversized suit. It had been preserved with an unsettling stillness¡ªtoo perfect, too frozen, as if death had caught it mid-motion and never let go.

    Its skin was pale, almost translucent, with a faint bluish tint, likely from the prolonged exposure to cold. The flesh was firm, unnaturally rigid, the lips drawn tight, and the closed eyelids sunken, giving the face an eerie, hollow appearance.

    Discoloration had spread around the mouth and nostrils. The hands, neatly folded over the chest, were slightly shriveled, the fingers thin and stiff, the nails dull and lifeless.

    It was horrible.

    Nothing in her entire life had been more horrifying.

    Caruncle¡¯s heart pounded, her breath quick and shallow. She should have turned away¡ªevery instinct screamed at her to turn away¡ªbut instead, she found herself moving closer.

    Closer.

    Inch by inch.

    Until she was close enough to touch it.

    Her fingers trembled as they hovered just above the suit. She didn¡¯t actually make contact, but she could feel the coldness radiating off of it.

    That was him.

    The man.

    She stared at the face, that awful, repulsive face. It nearly made her gag, but she didn¡¯t look away. She just kept staring, committing every gruesome detail to memory.

    What a disgusting creature.

    Her fingers inched closer¡ªjust a little more, just one touch¡ªbut something in the back of her mind whispered:

    What if you go back?

    What if touching it traps you inside again?

    She froze.

    But in that moment, her fingertips brushed ever so slightly against the suit.

    For the briefest second, she half-expected the corpse to move¡ªto spring to life, to lunge at her.

    A part of her even taunted it, daring it to do something, anything.

    Nothing happened.

    It just lay there.

    A lifeless shell, while she sat outside of it, breathing, alive.

    She felt intoxicated by the sight.

    She wanted to push further. She wanted to feel more.

    A surge of frustration bubbled up inside her. Why was it so still?

    On impulse, she leaned in, her breath shallow, her lips parting¡ª

    She was going to kiss it.

    But before she could¡ª

    ¡°Miss! Miss!¡±

    A sharp tug yanked her wheelchair backward, snapping her out of the moment.

    Mortimer¡¯s hands were firm on the chair. His face was tight with concern, but his nervous chuckle betrayed his discomfort.

    ¡°Heh, I guess you were quite¡­ taken by our preservation techniques, weren¡¯t you?¡±

    Caruncle blinked, her mind still foggy, her lips curled in a dazed smile.

    ¡°We, uh¡­ we basically kept the body in an icebox. Not much else to it.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°Anyway, that¡¯s enough for now.¡±

    He spun the wheelchair away from the coffin, facing her toward the rest of the cemetery instead.

    She barely noticed Custodio watching her, one brow raised in silent judgment.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Mortimer sighed, ¡°Sir¡­ please, if you will, we can begin.¡±

    Custodio stepped forward.

    ¡°Elena, look at me.¡±

    She was still smiling.

    That unnerving, distant smile.

    But after a long moment, her expression shifted, and she finally met his gaze.

    Custodio spoke with measured authority, his voice steady against the wind.

    ¡°This is where our family rests,¡± he began. ¡°Everyone, from the first who came to this country, to those who underwent the same procedure you did.¡±

    Her eyes flickered toward the graves surrounding them.

    How many were donors?

    How many were actual family?

    ¡°I have personally ensured that each one received the respect they deserve.¡± Custodio¡¯s voice remained coldly even. ¡°Every time someone underwent this process, they became part of my family¡ªour family.

    ¡°When it was time to say goodbye, they were laid to rest here, alongside all who came before them.¡±

    He turned toward the grave beside the coffin.

    ¡°Now, we are here to bury someone else.¡±

    Caruncle stiffened.

    Custodio looked at her directly.

    ¡°Not you,¡± he clarified, as if sensing her thoughts. ¡°You are still with us.

    ¡°We are burying Caruncle Periwinkle.

    ¡°A former servant of this house.

    ¡°And together, we will say our farewells.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Mortimer added, stepping forward. ¡°I feel I should say a few words myself, too.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s hands gripped the armrests of her wheelchair.

    ¡°Miss Elena, you have not been the first to take on this mantle,¡± Mortimer continued. ¡°But you have been the first to accept this fully willingly, with the same goals in mind as we do. I think that¡ª¡±

    The sound of horses interrupted him.

    Caruncle¡¯s breath hitched.

    Mortimer and Custodio turned sharply toward the noise.

    The hooves grew louder, followed by the creak of wheels.

    A caleche came into view, slowing to a halt near the cemetery entrance.

    A small man climbed down, adjusting the woolen jacket wrapped tightly around him. A flat cap sat snugly on his head.

    He glanced around nervously, then pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper, his eyes scanning the contents before looking up toward them.

    His gaze landed on Mortimer. Then Caruncle.

    Then¡­ the coffin.

    ¡°Excuse me for interrupting,¡± he called out, hesitant but urgent.

    His fingers tightened around the paper.

    ¡°I¡¯m looking for a man named Caruncle Periwinkle.¡±

 14. A Friend

    ¡°And who might you be?¡± Mortimer asked.

    The man adjusted his flat cap nervously. "Uh¡­ excuse me, my name is Milk. I was asked to look for information about the man here.¡±

    ¡°Around here?¡± Custodio crossed his arms, towering over the much smaller man.

    ¡°Yes, uh, around Onzaga. I¡¯ve been traveling through the rural areas, following leads.¡± Milk pulled out a wrinkled card and handed it to Mortimer. ¡°My employer is Mr. Valentin Periwinkle. He¡¯s the brother of the man I¡¯m looking for.¡±

    At the mention of Valentin, Caruncle scowled. Why now? Ten years¡ªten years of silence, ten years rotting in that pit, and now he was looking for her? What, to keep track of her? Make sure she hadn¡¯t slipped through his fingers? The thought made her burn with rage.

    ¡°You got here late,¡± Custodio said dryly, gesturing toward the coffin. ¡°The guy¡¯s gone cold.¡±

    Milk''s eyes widened. ¡°Oh my God¡­ is that¡ª?¡± He took a hesitant step forward, peering at the corpse.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Mortimer answered. ¡°He was one of the servants of this manor. Until today.¡±

    ¡°What¡­ what happened?¡±

    ¡°He was mopping the floor and slipped,¡± Custodio said, lighting another cigar. ¡°Cracked his head open on the desk. Tragic, really.¡±

    ¡°Mopping the floor?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Any other questions?¡±

    Milk hesitated, his gaze shifting to the mangled fingers of the corpse.

    ¡°¡­I see.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d appreciate your discretion,¡± Custodio continued, exhaling smoke. ¡°This house has seen better days. Thought I could get some cheap labor by buying him, but, well¡­ lesson learned.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you say?¡±

    Milk swallowed. "Uh¡­ right, sir. Excuse me, might I take a photograph? I know this must be incredibly rude, but if I take a photo, I can show my employer that¡ª¡±

    ¡°Go ahead,¡± Custodio said with a smirk, sinking lazily into one of the chairs. ¡°Might as well take a souvenir now that you¡¯re here.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, sir.¡±

    Milk hurried back to the caleche and pulled out a bulky camera, setting up the tripod with careful precision. As he adjusted the lens, his eyes finally landed on Caruncle.

    She was glaring at him, breathing slow and deliberate, struggling to contain the raw anger simmering inside.

    Milk¡¯s face flushed at the sight of her. ¡°Oh¡ªuh¡ªexcuse me, miss. If I take the photo, you might end up appearing in it and¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Custodio waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Maybe if she appears in the photo, it won¡¯t look so grim.¡± He chuckled.

    ¡°Haha, right, well¡ªif you¡¯ll allow me, then¡­¡±

    Before the camera shutter clicked, Caruncle lowered her arms and stared directly into the lens. Wide-eyed. Blank expression. A picture-perfect doll beside a corpse.

    The final photograph captured a dead man in his open casket, and a woman with a polite, unreadable face at his side.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Milk packed up the camera, his movements stiff. ¡°That should be all. Thank you for your help, sir.¡±

    ¡°Right. Make sure you get back to the city before sundown.¡±

    ¡°Y-Yes, thank you.¡±

    ¡°Have a good trip, my good man!¡± Mortimer called out cheerfully.

    Milk gave one last awkward glance at Caruncle, blushed again, then hurried off.

    Once the caleche had disappeared down the road, Custodio sighed and turned to Caruncle, his sharp gaze locking onto hers.

    ¡°That was on me,¡± he admitted. ¡°I should take care of all loose ends while you¡¯re still recovering.¡±

    Caruncle held his gaze, her expression unreadable.

    Mortimer, watching the tension between them, smiled.

    ¡°Mortimer,¡± Custodio said, still looking at her. ¡°Continue with the funeral.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes, sir!¡±

    Caruncle was still thinking about the body¡ªstill thinking about kissing it.

    ¡°Miss Elena,¡± Mortimer said warmly, ¡°as I mentioned before, you aren¡¯t the first to go through this path, but I do have hope in my heart that you and I will get along. That is all.¡±

    She barely registered his words, still lost in thought.

    Mortimer chuckled. ¡°I hope you¡¯ll forgive us for the modest conditions of your funeral, Miss Elena. Your father isn¡¯t particularly fond of priests, and given the nature of this burial, I¡¯m sure you understand the need for discretion.¡±

    Caruncle glanced at the other graves. How many of them were ¡°donors¡±? And how many were actual family?

    ¡°There¡¯s still word spread around about your father¡¯s burials,¡± Mortimer mused.

    Custodio scoffed, flicking ash from his cigar. ¡°A lot of people I know do funerals for their slaves. They just never say that stupid word out loud.¡± He tossed the cigar to the ground and stomped it out.

    Mortimer sighed. ¡°Sir, I just cleaned this spot¡ª¡±

    ¡°Elena.¡± Custodio¡¯s voice cut through the conversation like a blade. ¡°We will hold two minutes of silence.

    ¡°One minute will be for you¡ªto say goodbye to your old life in your own way.

    ¡°The second minute is given out of respect.

    ¡°For all that you were. For all that you lost.

    ¡°When these two minutes pass, that will be it.¡±

    He met her eyes.

    ¡°Do you understand?¡±

    She nodded.

    ¡°Then, let us begin.¡±

    The two men fell silent.

    Caruncle tried to turn her chair away from the corpse, but before she could move, Mortimer gently held it in place.

    She was forced to face it.

    One minute. That¡¯s all she had. A minute to say goodbye to her old self.

    But no words came.

    She traced her steps backward, searching for something to hold onto.

    Her first life¡ªthe other world, the one that now felt impossibly far away. Then, this world, where she had to grow up all over again.

    How old was she when she left?

    Then, the basement.

    No.

    She skipped over it, pushing it out of her mind as quickly as it surfaced.

    Instead, she focused on the now¡ªon the fact that she could still write. I haven¡¯t forgotten how to write. That¡¯s funny.

    There had been a beautiful afternoon once, at the top of Pisces Library¡¯s hill.

    For a long time, she had believed that single moment gave meaning to her life.

    Maybe I should have died that day.

    And then¡ª

    ¡°Now, time for the prayer.¡±

    Custodio stood up.

    Caruncle flinched. Had it really been two minutes?

    His voice rang through the still air:

    ¡°She who drowses in the shadows,

    Where twilight dwells vice,

    The mistress that from her whims we dawn from,

    No more than a harlot or a whore,

    Abandoned us in this soil,

    Retaliation for our ire we still seek,

    Until we finally leave our mortal coil.¡±

    I sighed and sank into the third chair, the one that had stayed empty.

    Bored.

    Custodio and Mortimer moved the coffin into the grave, the dull thud of wood against dirt echoing in the silence.

    And then, the digging.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Or¡ªwell, Custodio throwing dirt over the coffin. Whatever.

    Caruncle was finally allowed to turn away, though I found it odd they hadn¡¯t let her before.

    But then again¡ªshe had been weird about the body too, so whatever.

    The wind picked up, whistling through the graveyard.

    I shivered.

    God, it was so cold.

    ***

    "Though your movement is limited, Elena, it is no excuse to let grace falter."

    Mortimer adjusted his gloves, standing over Caruncle like a particularly judgmental scarecrow.

    "Even while seated, a lady must maintain the elegance that defines her station. Your back, my dear¡ªstraighten it. Imagine a string pulling you upward from the crown of your head."

    Caruncle sighed through her nose and tried to obey, but the corset and layers of clothes made it feel like she was being slowly suffocated by dignity itself. She shifted uncomfortably in the wheelchair, feeling hot, tired, and distinctly un-elegant.

    As she adjusted her posture, a sharp sting shot up her injured leg. She winced, but Mortimer was relentless.

    "Your hands, Elena. A lady¡¯s hands should never betray her emotions. Release the tension. Control, my dear¡ªeverything is about control."

    Caruncle forced her fingers to relax. Her shoulders slumped slightly before she caught herself and straightened again.

    "It has only been a few days since you fell from the window, miss. Your leg will take time to recover, but that does not mean we should delay your education. Again¡ªstraighten your back."

    From inside the manor, Custodio watched her struggle through the window, cigarette in hand, face unreadable.

    He had already finished one cigar and was halfway through another.

    Across from him, at the other side of his heavy oak desk, sat a meek-looking man¡ªprobably around thirty, just a few years older than Caruncle. The man fidgeted nervously with his hat, eager eyes darting between Custodio''s notebook and the window.

    "And you are telling me you¡¯ve found a way to bring back the dead, Mr. Esparza?"

    Sebastian leaned forward eagerly.

    "No," Custodio replied flatly, scratching at his notes. "Not exactly. You can¡¯t just take a rotten corpse and bring it back to life like some fairytale."

    Sebastian deflated a little.

    "If I have enough fresh parts, and I use the enchantment properly, it stitches them together into a functioning human."

    Sebastian blinked. "And how does the spell know how to stitch them together?"

    "My theory is that it uses a template."

    "A template?"

    "I don¡¯t fully understand it yet." Custodio tapped his pen against the desk. "But it only works on humans. If you try to bring back another animal, it doesn¡¯t find the right parts to assemble, and the spell fails. I¡¯ve already tested it on several cats."

    Sebastian paused.

    "...What happened to the cats?"

    "We have a crematorium in the lower levels of the manor."

    "I... see."

    Custodio took another drag of his cigar and exhaled lazily. "I might try with other animals later. So far, cats, dogs, parrots, cows, pigs, chickens¡ªnothing. Only humans work. But they have to be fresh. If they aren¡¯t fresh, the spell doesn¡¯t work."

    Sebastian nodded slowly.

    "...Oh wow, I sure hope Lassie doesn¡¯t come around here."

    Custodio stopped writing.

    Sebastian gave a nervous chuckle. "She¡¯s a Siamese cat, very adventurous. Sometimes disappears for weeks. Haven¡¯t seen her in... oh, about two weeks now, actually."

    Custodio did not look up.

    Sebastian¡¯s smile faltered.

    "You haven¡¯t seen her around, right, sir?"

    Custodio flipped a page in his notebook.

    "I think that¡¯s the last log for today..." he mumbled.

    Sebastian gripped his hat. "Sir? You haven¡¯t... done anything to her, right? Right?"

    Custodio took another drag of his cigar.

    Sebastian swallowed.

    "Miss Elena, straighten your back."

    Caruncle scowled.

    Sebastian shifted uncomfortably. "...So, um. What happens to the people you bring back?"

    "Oh, they eventually die." Custodio said casually.

    Sebastian stared.

    "I test the limits of the enchantment," Custodio continued, jotting something down. "Remove body parts, see how much the spell can withstand before it stops working."

    Sebastian¡¯s hands clenched his hat. "...And then you put the organs back in?"

    "No. Organs don¡¯t last long."

    Sebastian¡¯s mouth opened, then slowly closed.

    Custodio took another long drag of his cigar. "Getting a crematorium wasn¡¯t cheap," he muttered. "Might as well use it."

    Sebastian paled.

    "R-Right," he murmured, shifting in his seat.

    He glanced toward the garden again. His gaze kept drifting back to Caruncle.

    Every few seconds, he¡¯d steal another glance.

    Custodio sighed loudly.

    "What is it, Sebastian?"

    "Oh!" Sebastian jumped. "I, uh¡­ It¡¯s just¡­" He scratched the back of his neck. "Your daughter is, um¡­ quite lovely. It really brightens one¡¯s day to see her."

    Custodio narrowed his eyes.

    "Yeah, well, I¡¯m not looking for suitors."

    Sebastian waved his hands. "Oh! No, no, sir! I didn¡¯t mean anything like that. Just¡ªuh¡ªyou know. She¡¯s¡­ very well-mannered! Very ladylike."

    "Right."

    "...Why is she learning etiquette, though? She seems rather old for that sort of¡ª"

    "She has amnesia."

    Sebastian blinked.

    "Amnesia?"

    Custodio exhaled smoke.

    "Yeah."

    Sebastian hesitated. "...What happened to her?"

    "You ask too many questions, Sebastian," Custodio muttered, rubbing his temple. "If you¡¯re here for magic, ask about magic. Otherwise, leave me alone."

    Sebastian cleared his throat. "Right, sir, of course. It¡¯s just¡­"

    Custodio sighed, already annoyed. "What now?"

    "Well¡­ Can I talk to her?"

    "To who?"

    "Your daughter, sir. If it¡¯s alright, I¡¯d like to introduce myself. Maybe chat a little?"

    Custodio raised an eyebrow.

    "She doesn¡¯t talk."

    Sebastian blinked. "...Pardon?"

    "She¡¯s mute."

    "Oh. I¡­ see." Sebastian shifted awkwardly. "Even so, I feel it would still be polite to at least introduce myself¡ª"

    "Sebastian." Custodio leaned forward slightly, voice low. "I didn¡¯t invite you here. You tracked me down, practically begged me for a meeting, and I tolerated it. But I¡¯m not letting you nose further into my life¡ªor bother my daughter."

    Sebastian held up his hands. "I understand your need for privacy, sir. If you want me gone, I¡¯ll leave right away. But I thought, perhaps, the lady might enjoy some company. She must feel rather lonely here. Surely a small friendship wouldn¡¯t hurt?"

    "Still a no." Custodio stood, already walking toward the door. "And I expect you out of my manor in ten minutes or less."

    "Sir, please¡ª!"

    Outside, Caruncle was finally taking a break.

    Mortimer had left to prepare coffee, promising he wouldn¡¯t take too long.

    Sebastian stepped out onto the veranda, spotting Caruncle gazing absentmindedly at the sky. The clouds above were thick and gray, as always. It almost felt like the sun had never existed in this place.

    Sebastian approached cautiously.

    "G-Good morning?" he said hesitantly.

    Caruncle flinched so hard she nearly jumped out of her chair.

    "Oh! My apologies!" Sebastian waved his hands nervously. "I didn¡¯t mean to startle you!"

    Caruncle studied him, scanning him from head to toe.

    The guy looked normal. Non-threatening. Dressed in a stiff suit, holding some books under his arm. She recognized him as the man Custodio had been speaking to earlier.

    Her leg was still injured, so she couldn''t run even if she wanted to. But what did he want with her, anyway?

    "So, uh¡­" Sebastian hesitated before offering a shy smile. "My name is Sebastian. Nice to meet you, ma''am. I¡¯m an acquaintance of your father, and¡­ well, since I was already here, I thought I should introduce myself."

    Caruncle shook her head and tapped her throat.

    "Oh! I know about your condition, ma¡¯am. Don¡¯t worry."

    She relaxed slightly but continued staring at him, scrutinizing his features.

    His **eyes, nose, lips¡ª**he had a strange expression, and she couldn''t quite read it. That unease made her wary.

    "Uh¡­ Your father and I go a long way back," Sebastian continued. "Do you know what we study?"

    Caruncle shook her head again.

    "Well! It¡¯s actually a very interesting subject!" His face lit up with excitement. "We study arcane magic!"

    Caruncle raised an eyebrow.

    "See, ¡®arcane magic¡¯¡ªor, well, that¡¯s what we call it¡ªis the art of controlling reality." He placed one of his notebooks on the table in front of her. "In my society, we theorize that the world wasn¡¯t created by the god Xenothropides, but by a goddess named Jazmin."

    Caruncle nodded, flipping through the notebook.

    "Jazmin abandoned this world," Sebastian explained, "but her creation methods were recorded in a grimoire. A group of scholars found some of its pages fifty years ago in ancient ruins. I wasn¡¯t there, of course¡ª" he laughed awkwardly, "¡ªbut since then, we''ve been trying to decipher the spells!"

    As she scanned the book, something clicked.

    She recognized these symbols. These exact pages.

    She had seen them before¡ªback at the Library of Pisces.

    Her heartbeat quickened.

    If these were real spells¡­

    Then that meant¡ª

    ¡­Wait.

    She frowned.

    She couldn¡¯t use any of these. They all required spoken incantations.

    She sighed through her nose. Useless.

    "I¡¯m sorry, miss," Sebastian said sheepishly. "I must be boring you with all my talk, aren¡¯t I?"

    Caruncle pointed at the pen in his hand.

    "Oh! You want my pen?"

    She nodded.

    "Here you go, miss."

    She skimmed through the spell list.

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Echo of the Forgotten ¨C Summons whispers of lost souls, but with no guidance or knowledge¡ªonly meaningless fragments of their last thoughts.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Death¡¯s Lullaby ¨C Puts the caster into a deep sleep for three days.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Veil of Eternity ¨C Renders the caster immune to time. Unfortunately, it also kills them.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Infinite Echo ¨C Amplifies a sound endlessly. Theoretically useful for communication¡­ but in practice, it just creates an annoying, inescapable noise.</li>

    </ul>

    Caruncle¡¯s eyelid twitched.

    "These are all useless."

    She then noticed an incomplete spell.

    Perfect Memory ¨C Helps the caster remember any specific event with absolute clarity.

    She frowned.

    She couldn¡¯t remember any of the useful spells she had read at the library¡­ but this one?

    This one seemed unfinished.

    She picked up the pen and completed it in seconds.

    "Miss, you¡¯re lovely and all," Sebastian said, reaching for the pen, "but I¡¯d rather you not scribble in my¡ª"

    His eyes widened.

    Caruncle tilted her head.

    He was staring at the spell.

    It had taken him two years to decipher half of it.

    And she had just finished it in two minutes.

    Caruncle examined the completed spell.

    Another useless enchantment.

    She grimaced.

    "Sebastian!" Custodio¡¯s voice boomed from the entrance.

    Sebastian nearly jumped.

    "I told you to leave! Now!"

    "Oh! Right, sir! My apologies!" He snatched the notebook from the table.

    Before leaving, he hesitated¡ªthen took Caruncle¡¯s hand and kissed it.

    Caruncle¡¯s face turned red.

    She yanked her hand back and looked away, waving him off with a flustered scowl.

    As Sebastian rushed off, they heard him shouting at his driver.

    "Wake up! Wake up right now! We have to leave!"

    "Where to, sir?"

    "Home! Where else?! Let''s go¡ªNOW!"

    Caruncle buried her face in her hands.

    Mortimer returned with coffee.

    As she drank, she stared up at the perpetually gray sky.

    "Magic is stupid," she muttered.

    She was definitely just trying to distract herself from the hand kiss.

 15. A Recap

    Caruncle woke with a gasp.

    The ceiling was white. The walls were white. The room was dark, but she could see the outlines of furniture now. This wasn¡¯t the basement. She wasn¡¯t there anymore.

    But it still didn¡¯t feel real.

    Her head throbbed, her limbs were heavy, her skin prickled with the memory of something that no longer touched her. A week had passed. A week. But everything in her mind remained wrapped in fog, sharp at the edges, blurred in the middle.

    She pushed herself up. Pain lanced through her leg. She collapsed. The bell clattered to the floor, and she grasped for it, shaking it with the strength she had left as she dragged herself toward the door.

    Footsteps.

    Mortimer and Custodio entered before she could reach the handle. Hands grabbed her, lifting her, putting her back in the bed.

    Her chest was tight. The room was tilting. Her heartbeat was an animal trying to break free.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°Another panic attack, sir.¡± Custodio¡¯s voice was steady. ¡°We¡¯ll have to sedate her again.¡±

    ¡°That thing isn¡¯t meant to be used this often!¡±

    ¡°Sir, her pulse is skyrocketing. Unless you have a better idea¡ª¡±

    ¡°Just do it.¡±

    Cold. Fuzzy. Then black.

    Hours later, she woke up again.

    Pain. A dull, insistent ache behind her eyes. The panic had settled, but something in her still felt wrong, out of sync with the world around her. The room was quiet. No imminent danger. But the unease remained.

    ¡°Miss, you¡¯re awake.¡±

    Mortimer sat beside the bed in his usual chair. Custodio was slumped against the wall, arms crossed, half-asleep.

    She didn¡¯t respond. Just stared at them, at the way their presence filled the space, solid and real when everything else felt like mist.

    Mortimer handed her a small chalkboard and a stick of chalk. ¡°How are you feeling?¡±

    She hesitated before writing: Uneasy.

    Mortimer sighed. ¡°We need to talk. Seriously, this time. You keep having panic attacks. Something is bothering you. Maybe if we address it, you can actually rest.¡±

    She looked at him. Then at Custodio. She didn¡¯t answer right away.

    The dreams. The memories. The feeling that wouldn¡¯t leave.

    Finally, she wrote: I keep dreaming about the basement.

    Mortimer¡¯s face darkened. He looked away, jaw tight. Custodio shifted but said nothing.

    ¡°Miss Elena,¡± Mortimer said softly, ¡°you aren¡¯t there anymore. You aren¡¯t even the same person. If anyone comes looking for you, they won¡¯t find you. It¡¯s over. You¡¯re safe.¡±

    Caruncle exhaled slowly. Then, she wrote something else.

    I feel angry.

    Mortimer frowned. ¡°Angry? Did¡­ did we do something wrong?¡±

    She shook her head.

    ¡°Then what is it?¡±

    Caruncle wanted to write everything, every thought, every miserable moment, every rage-fueled memory¡ªbut there was no space. She could barely get through a full sentence without erasing it. Her hands trembled, and the sheer stupidity of it made her want to scream. Except she couldn''t.

    Tears burned in her eyes. She wiped them away and forced herself to keep it simple.

    "I hate the man who kept me chained all these years."

    Mortimer read it, thoughtful.

    ¡°I see¡­¡±

    Custodio, who had just finished rubbing his eyes, looked between them. ¡°What is it?¡±

    Mortimer turned the chalkboard toward him.

    Custodio squinted. ¡°Who? Mr. Lopez?¡±

    Caruncle nodded.

    He blinked. ¡°Why? He was just doing his job.¡±

    Silence.

    Caruncle¡¯s entire body went stiff. The rage spread instantly, her hands shaking so violently it looked like she might combust.

    "Okay, calm down! I take that back!" Custodio waved his hands defensively. "But even if you''re mad¡ªand I get why you are¡ªthere¡¯s nothing we can do about it."

    Caruncle snatched the chalkboard from Mortimer and furiously scribbled.

    "Why?"

    Custodio sighed. ¡°Because Mr. Lopez is a well-known man around here. Even if you wanted to say something to him, do something to him, people would find out. And then we¡¯d all have a lot more problems than it¡¯s worth.¡± He crossed his arms. ¡°Seriously.¡±

    Caruncle stared at him. Then at the chalkboard. Then back at him.

    With shaky hands, she wrote: "I cannot believe you."

    Mortimer glanced at Custodio, who just shrugged. "Most people don¡¯t get to escape their captors and start over. You should be grateful for what you have¡ªwhich, by the way, is thanks to me, not him."

    Caruncle clenched her fists. Then, in a fit of anger, she started hitting her legs. Bad idea. The pain from her injured muscle shot up instantly, doubling the intensity. She sucked in sharp breaths but didn¡¯t make a sound.

    "You are the worst."

    Custodio scoffed, smirking. "Oh, I¡¯m the worst? How am I the worst?"

    Caruncle¡¯s writing was practically stabbing into the board now. "Wanting to marry your daughter. That is gross. Disgusting."

    Custodio threw his hands in the air. "Ha! I knew it was going to be about that!" He stood up. "I don¡¯t have time for these tantrums."

    And with that, he walked out, leaving Caruncle fuming and Mortimer looking deeply uncomfortable.

    She wiped the board clean and wrote again. ¡°You just let all these things happen.¡±

    Mortimer¡¯s face tightened. ¡°Miss, please¡­¡±

    She didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°You are as bad as him.¡±

    ¡°Miss, let¡¯s not make this more complicated than¡ª¡±

    She turned her back on him and pulled the covers over herself.

    ¡°Miss Elena, I¡¯m so sorry¡­¡±

    No response.

    Eventually, exhaustion took over, and Caruncle drifted back to sleep.

    Later, she woke up again, groggy and disoriented.

    The room was quiet. Too quiet.

    Then the door swung open. Mortimer practically burst inside, looking way too enthusiastic for this hour.

    ¡°Miss! There¡¯s a new instructor waiting to meet you.¡± He gave her the kind of hopeful smile that made it clear he was trying way too hard.

    Caruncle slowly sat up, still half-asleep.

    ¡°Trust me! We found someone who we think can cheer you up! You¡¯ll see!¡±

    She wasn¡¯t sure whether to be curious or deeply concerned.

    ***

    The woman in front of Caruncle was short¡ªprobably around 1.60m. Her wavy brown hair framed a face that looked like it had seen too many late nights and even worse mornings. She had that permanent air of exhaustion, the kind that said she wasn¡¯t tired right now, she was just tired in general.

    She wore a deep plum jacket, fitted but not stiff, its broad lapels giving it an almost effortless sharpness. The brass buttons added a touch of rugged elegance, though the top one was left undone, revealing a plain white shirt underneath. Instead of a traditional skirt, she wore high-waisted, straight-legged trousers in matching fabric, cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    She studied Caruncle for a moment, then exhaled. ¡°So, you¡¯re Elena.¡±

    Her voice was deep. Sultry, even. Or maybe Caruncle was just too damn horny.

    Caruncle nodded.

    ¡°How old are you?¡±

    She picked up the chalkboard. ¡°29.¡±

    The woman raised an eyebrow. ¡°Huh. You¡¯re older than me. Your father told me I needed to teach you ¡®lady stuff¡¯ and try to befriend you. Can you explain why I have to teach someone older than me how to be a lady?¡±

    Caruncle hesitated before writing: ¡°I have amnesia.¡±

    She turned the chalkboard toward her, but the moment the woman read it, she let out a slow, unimpressed sigh and looked away.

    ¡°Right. You know that¡¯s not true.¡±

    Caruncle frowned. What did she know?

    ¡°I know you¡¯re lying.¡± The woman crossed her arms.

    Caruncle dropped her gaze, suddenly feeling very scolded.

    ¡°Look,¡± she continued, ¡°if you actually want my help, you need to tell me what¡¯s going on. Otherwise, I¡¯m not wasting my time.¡±

    Caruncle scratched her head. The urge to say everything was overwhelming, the same feeling she¡¯d had around her family before all of this. But words weren¡¯t an option.

    Fine. She¡¯d write it.

    She picked up the chalkboard and began.

    ¡°I had a brain transplant.¡±

    Silence.

    The woman narrowed her eyes. ¡°¡­A brain transplant?¡±

    ¡°I had another brain transplanted into me three and a half months ago.¡±

    The woman took the chalkboard from her hands and stared at it, expression unreadable.

    Then she scratched her head. ¡°So he did it. He actually figured out how to use the damn spell.¡± She let out a dry chuckle and shook her head. ¡°I apologize for what I¡¯m about to say, but this whole situation is fucked up. I hope you¡¯re aware of that.¡±

    Caruncle gave her the most pathetic, wide-eyed look imaginable.

    The woman was unmoved.

    She sat on the desk of the small study, tapping her fingers against the wood. "What was your name before this?"

    Caruncle hesitated.

    "You know what I¡¯m asking. If you had a brain transplant, then you had to be someone else before. Did we know each other?"

    Caruncle shook her head.

    "Then, who were you?"

    She took a deep breath and wrote: "My name was Caruncle Periwinkle, and I was a slave for the last ten years."

    The woman took the chalkboard again, reading it over carefully. She turned it in her hands, weighing it like the words had actual physical weight.

    Finally, she spoke. ¡°Never heard that name before. Was it a man¡¯s name?¡±

    Caruncle nodded.

    It insulted me that out of everything I just told her, that was the detail she latched onto.

    ¡°Right, so you were a man.¡±

    Another nod. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

    ¡°I see. So that¡¯s what we¡¯re working with.¡±

    She handed the chalkboard back, still watching her like she was trying to solve a puzzle.

    ¡°Tell me, then¡ªwhat¡¯s it like? Being on the other side?¡±

    For a second, I thought she was going to mock her, but then her expression stiffened. I couldn¡¯t tell if she was angry or holding back a laugh.

    Caruncle hesitated before writing: "I don¡¯t know yet."

    The woman frowned. ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± She leaned forward. ¡°Be honest. Do you hate it? Do you hate being a woman? Are you irritated? Sad? Mad? Something has to be going through that head of yours. This isn¡¯t exactly an everyday procedure.¡±

    Caruncle stared at the board for a long moment before writing. "It doesn¡¯t feel real."

    ¡°Right, okay, but¡ªdo you hate it? Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s a bit¡­ I don¡¯t know, denigrating? Like, surely you have some feelings about this.¡±

    Caruncle didn¡¯t hesitate this time. "I have wished to be a woman since I can remember."

    The woman blinked. ¡°¡­Oh no. No, that I don¡¯t believe.¡±

    Caruncle scowled, quickly scribbling. "Why not?"

    The woman tilted her head. ¡°Let me ask you something first. Don¡¯t you think, maybe, you¡¯re deluding yourself? Like, convincing yourself this is what you wanted because it makes this whole insane situation easier to deal with?¡±

    Caruncle tightened her grip on the chalk. "No. My memory doesn¡¯t fail me. I remember it clearly."

    The woman exhaled sharply. Then let out a dry, humorless laugh. ¡°So what, you were just¡ªwhat? Some sort of pervert?¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s just¡ªgreat.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s hands shook. Tears welled up, spilling over before she could stop them.

    The woman winced.

    ¡°Oh, come on, don¡¯t cry.¡± She rubbed her forehead. ¡°I can¡¯t deal with this right now.¡±

    Caruncle covered her face with her hands, trying to control her breathing.

    The woman sighed. ¡°Fine. I won¡¯t call you a pervert again, alright? Is that what you want?¡±

    Caruncle nodded.

    ¡°And you want me to treat you like a woman? All that?¡±

    Another nod.

    ¡°Fine. For the sake of my sanity and yours, we¡¯ll just roll with it. Now, please¡ªfor the love of God¡ªstop crying.¡±

    Caruncle sniffled, reaching into her pocket for a small handkerchief. She blew her nose loudly and kept going until the fabric was fully disgusting.

    The woman grimaced. ¡°Hell. That thing¡¯s a biohazard.¡±

    Caruncle wiped the last of her tears and picked up the chalk again.

    "I was sent by Jazmin to this world 20 years ago."

    The woman did not blink. Did not react.

    She just handed the chalkboard back and said, ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m not dealing with that.¡±

    "But¡ª" Caruncle started writing, but the woman took her hand to make her stop writing.

    "Nope." She crossed her arms. "Too many things in your head, you can tell me that later once I have figured out the rest."

    Then she pointed at the board. "Now go back to the brain thing."

    Caruncle frowned. That was not the reaction she wanted.

    Sorry, hon, but you can¡¯t deny that sounded pretty stupid.

    Fine. Whatever. She wiped the board and wrote something new.

    "I hate Custodio."

    The woman perked up. ¡°Oh, nice. Mutual hatred. Why?¡±

    "He says he¡¯s going to make me his wife."

    The woman froze. ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry, what?¡±**

    "He says he¡¯s going to marry me."

    ¡°¡­Aren¡¯t you his daughter?"

    "Yes. But that¡¯s what he said."

    The woman slowly dragged her hands down her face.

    "Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake."

    Caruncle had completely regressed into a child-like sulk, and her mopey eyes were pissing me off. I didn¡¯t want to look at her.

    I turned away, but Lucia didn¡¯t just look away¡ªshe left. Fast.

    Caruncle and I both watched the door, puzzled.

    Then, from the floor above¡ªyelling. Lucia and Custodio.

    A door slammed. Then silence.

    A vase¡ªor something very porcelain¡ªshattered.

    Several minutes passed. Caruncle considered stepping outside for some air. Even fog and cold had to be better than staying here.

    Then, Lucia returned.

    Her hair was messy, her jacket was askew, and she looked like someone who had just gone ten rounds with a migraine.

    She exhaled. ¡°So¡­ about the marriage thing. I think you should stop worrying about that.¡±

    Caruncle frowned, raising her hands as if to ask why.

    Lucia rubbed her temples. ¡°You¡­ you just shouldn¡¯t. For now.¡±

    "What do you mean? Did he decide to stop the marriage?"

    "No, no¡­ I just¡­ Look, just don¡¯t think about it right now."

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be with that man.¡±

    Lucia sighed. "Yeah, well, I can¡¯t help you with that. Sorry, but I can¡¯t." She looked away.

    Caruncle hesitated. She wanted to argue, but she stopped herself. Lucia didn¡¯t owe her anything.

    A complete stranger had just yelled at Custodio on her behalf.

    Maybe the least she could do was not blame her for failing to fix the entire situation.

    Caruncle took the chalkboard and wrote: "Okay."

    Lucia¡¯s shoulders visibly relaxed. "Yeah. Well. Let¡¯s move on from that. Anything else bothering you?"

    Caruncle nodded.

    ¡°Alright, speak up.¡±

    "I''m angry at other people."

    Her wrist was getting tired. It was a strange feeling¡ªhaving fingers again, only for them to go numb.

    She thought of the basement. Then pushed the thought away.

    "What people?"

    "The man who kept me as a slave. And my family."

    Lucia narrowed her eyes. ¡°Your family? Why them?¡±

    Caruncle swallowed, then wrote: "They sold me."

    Lucia didn¡¯t speak right away.

    When she did, her voice was quieter.

    ¡°¡­Oh.¡± She scratched the back of her head. ¡°I don¡¯t have words for that. I¡¯m sorry that happened to you.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s grip on the chalk tightened. "I want revenge."

    Lucia froze mid-scratch.

    "¡­Revenge?"

    Caruncle nodded.

    Lucia let out a slow breath and dragged a hand down her face. ¡°Okay. I somewhat get it. Trust me, I do. But you can¡¯t be thinking about revenge. You need to move on.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s jaw tensed. "No. I can''t forget. I won''t forget."

    She clenched the chalk in her fist and¡ªsnap. It broke in two.

    Tears welled up again.

    Lucia winced. Then sighed. Then rubbed her forehead so hard it left red marks.

    "It always comes back to this," she muttered under her breath.

    Caruncle wiped her nose with her disgustingly overused handkerchief.

    Lucia grimaced. "Okay, that thing needs to be burned."

    Caruncle sniffled.

    Lucia exhaled, squared her shoulders, and abruptly changed gears. ¡°You know what? What do you say we focus on what I actually came here for?¡±

    Caruncle blinked. Then nodded.

    "Good. Since we skipped introductions¡ªlet¡¯s fix that. My name is Lucia Knox Ashford. And you?"

    Caruncle hesitated. Then wrote: "Elena Esparza."

    Lucia raised an eyebrow. ¡°I know, but didn¡¯t you say you had another name before?¡±

    Caruncle looked at the board, confused.

    Lucia waved a hand. ¡°Never mind. I¡¯ll call you Elena. If that¡¯s what you want, we¡¯ll roll with it. Sound good?¡±

    Caruncle nodded.

    Lucia cracked her neck. ¡°Alright, now¡ªabout your father.¡±

    Caruncle stiffened.

    ¡°Relax. I just mean I know him because I¡¯m part of the Supernal Circle of Mountain Mystics. Ever heard of them?¡±

    Caruncle shook her head.

    Lucia scoffed. ¡°Not surprised. Basically, we¡ª" She hesitated. Then waved a hand. "You know what? Doesn¡¯t matter. Some of them do archaeology, most of them screw around. It¡¯s one of the few places where a woman can actually make herself heard. Not always, but enough."

    She rolled her shoulders. "Anyway, I owe your father some favors. He asked me to come here, teach you¡ªhis words¡ª¡®lady stuff.¡¯¡±

    Caruncle raised an eyebrow.

    Lucia smirked. "Yeah. Exactly. Now, I was grilling you earlier because I needed to know if he was trying to screw me over or just screw around. But I also don¡¯t like seeing him screw around with other people either. So, if something¡¯s bothering you, tell me. I¡¯ll see what I can do."

    She stretched, then added, "Now. Your father probably thinks ¡®lady stuff¡¯ is some big fancy curriculum with grades and exams. But let¡¯s be real¡ªwhat you actually need to know is how to deal with men.¡±

    Caruncle blinked.

    Lucia smirked. ¡°Because from now on, men are going to treat you like shit.¡±

    Caruncle blinked again.

    ¡°¡­That¡¯s lesson one?¡±

    ¡°No. Lesson one is hygiene.¡± Lucia cracked her knuckles. ¡°You¡¯re gonna need a couple of rags, and you better clean them well.¡±

 16. A Vow

    Caruncle sat at a grand table in the garden, hands resting in her lap.

    The sky was a washed-out gray, thick clouds stretching over the estate. The air smelled damp, but no rain fell. The light filtering through the fog made the world feel faded, distant.

    Beside her, Mortimer held a thin volume of history, his voice steady as he read.

    ¡°The country was on the brink of independence a decade ago. But when a group of rebels were captured, the movement collapsed. It has remained a colony of the main kingdom ever since.¡±

    Caruncle froze.

    Her face went blank, eyes unfocused.

    I took the opportunity to move closer. ¡°Hey, Caruncle, remember that whole independence movement? You know, the one the real Caruncle was supposed to lead? The country was meant to be free, and instead¡ª" I let out a slow clap. ¡°You accomplished absolute dog shit. Well done. Bravo, my friend.¡±

    She didn¡¯t react.

    I almost felt bad. Almost.

    ¡°Miss Elena?¡±

    She blinked. Mortimer was staring at her, concern on his face.

    ¡°¡­Are you listening?¡±

    She gave a small nod, as if trying to pretend she had been.

    Mortimer sighed, placing the book on the table. ¡°You¡¯re usually very diligent with literature, but you¡¯ve been completely distracted during history and politics. You know what? You¡¯re probably just hungry. I¡¯ll go prepare something.¡±

    Caruncle nodded, smiling faintly.

    Mortimer turned toward the manor. ¡°I¡¯ll be right back.¡±

    She watched him leave, listening as he passed through the entrance. Then¡ª

    ¡°Oh, sir, I was just heading to the kitchen to prepare something for Miss Elena and myself.¡±

    That was Mortimer¡¯s voice.

    But Custodio¡¯s response was too quiet to hear.

    ¡°Not at all! I just thought you were busy and didn¡¯t want to bother¡ª¡±

    Caruncle frowned. So did I. What were they talking about?

    ¡°Well, sir¡­ if you insist¡­¡±

    I yawned. A distant carriage rumbled down the road.

    ¡°Of course. You know I am always at your service.¡±

    I turned as Sebastian¡¯s carriage pulled up to the garden.

    As always, the man was impeccably dressed, not a single hair out of place. The moment the wheels stopped, he leapt out, running toward Caruncle like an overexcited puppy.

    ¡°Miss Elena, you figured it out! You figured out the spell!¡±

    Caruncle barely had time to react before a notebook was placed in front of her.

    ¡°See? The memory spell! When I got home, I tried it myself¡ªand it worked! I wanted to remember what my uncle told me before he left for war. He died a soldier, you see, and I saw him one last time before battle. I had always wondered what he said to me before he left.¡±

    He let out a short, sad laugh. ¡°Turns out he just thought I was annoying.¡±

    Caruncle stared.

    ¡°And well,¡± Sebastian continued, ¡°the spell is terrible on the brain. I had a headache for two days. But still, it worked! I know it¡¯s only been a week since I last saw you, but I had to come tell you¡ªthank you. I truly mean it.¡±

    A week? Right.

    That meant two weeks had passed since her surgery. Two weeks.

    Sebastian¡¯s words came out fast, too excited to notice how silent she was. But as soon as he stopped talking, his expression changed. His usual bright, carefree look dimmed into something more serious.

    ¡°Miss¡­ who are you?¡±

    Caruncle tensed.

    ¡°You¡¯re not a normal person, are you?¡±

    She gripped the chalkboard, but hesitation kept her from writing. She looked lost. It was almost funny.

    ¡°Miss.¡±

    Sebastian dropped to one knee.

    Caruncle¡¯s face turned beet red.

    I nearly choked. What the hell was this idiot doing?

    ¡°I want to make a vow.¡±

    He took her hand.

    Her face got even redder.

    ¡°I am now pledging my loyalty to you. For life.¡±

    Caruncle stared.

    ¡°You might be wondering¡ªwhy?¡± He smiled. ¡°Because I recognize an extraordinary person when I see one. And you, Miss Elena, are not just an extraordinary person, but an incredible woman, too.¡±

    She blinked, completely overwhelmed.

    ¡°Anyone who can decipher the sacred spells our reality is built upon is worthy of my devotion. Please, accept my vow. I, Sebastian Lysias, pledge my loyalty to you¡ªeven above the Supernal Circle of Mountain Mystics. If your wishes ever conflict with theirs, I will always follow yours.¡±

    He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a light, reverent kiss against her fingers.

    I snorted. "Well done, genius. Now you¡¯re stuck with a talking pet for life."

    Caruncle was still too embarrassed and bewildered to react.

    Sebastian, oblivious to her distress, finally stood and sat beside her.

    ¡°Now! Tell me about yourself! I barely know anything. Where are you from? Why haven¡¯t you joined the Circle? Do you travel often?¡±

    She shook her head.

    ¡°Oh, so you haven¡¯t traveled at all?¡± His grin widened. ¡°There¡¯s a secret about you, isn¡¯t there? I can feel it! You have this unnatural aura¡ª¡± He paused. ¡°I mean that in a good way, of course. But there¡¯s definitely something hidden under those eyes.¡±

    Caruncle looked uneasy.

    She was holding her breath again¡ªher old habit when she got too nervous.

    Sebastian watched her, waiting for her to pick up the chalk. But when she didn¡¯t, he leaned forward.

    ¡°Do you want to know what I think?¡±

    She hesitated. Then nodded.

    Sebastian smirked. ¡°I think you went through that surgery your father was working on.¡±

    Caruncle burst into laughter.

    Or, well¡ªher version of laughter. A strange, breathy wheeze, as if she was struggling to breathe. If you didn¡¯t know better, you¡¯d think she was choking.

    Sebastian sighed in awe. ¡°Woah. The laugh of a fairy.¡±

    Caruncle froze.

    Then turned away.

    After a moment, she calmed down. The shock of his insane guess settled into something quieter¡ªacceptance.

    She had planned to keep that secret for life.

    Yet somehow, this overenthusiastic idiot had figured it out on his own.

    I made a mental note.

    Maybe Sebastian wasn¡¯t as dense as he looked.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    But his fairy comment?

    I rolled my eyes. What a stupid, annoying thing to say. She was no fairy.

    She was no fairy.

    ¡°But do you see what I mean?¡± Sebastian insisted. ¡°I know something. Not everything, but something. And even then, my vow stays intact¡ªbecause the person I admire is you. Not anyone else.¡±

    He leaned forward, eyes searching hers. ¡°So please. Tell me. Who are you? Really? I wish I could have known you sooner. I would have worked so much harder to earn your trust.¡±

    Caruncle tapped the chalk against the board.

    Then, finally, she wrote:

    "It¡¯s just funnier if I don¡¯t tell you."

    Sebastian blinked. ¡°¡­What?¡±

    I burst out laughing. His entire face crumpled into disappointment. Oh, oh, that was priceless. The way all his enthusiasm just evaporated in an instant¡ªmy god.

    "So you''re not gonna tell me?" His voice was so genuinely sad that I almost felt bad.

    Caruncle shook her head, smiling slightly despite herself.

    Sebastian looked like a kicked puppy. "But¡­ I thought¡ª"

    She wiped the board clean and wrote: "I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t think I can tell you."

    "Like, never tell me? Or just not now?"

    Caruncle hesitated. Then:

    "I don¡¯t know. Probably never. It¡¯s just not wise. I¡¯m sorry."

    Sebastian let out the most heartbroken sigh. ¡°Aww, man.¡±

    He leaned back in his chair, gazing dramatically at the sky. I noticed a slight sheen in his eyes¡ªwas he actually tearing up?

    Oh, this was fantastic.

    Minutes passed. Then maybe half an hour. The longer the silence stretched, the more awkward it got.

    Where the hell was Mortimer?

    I was getting bored. But then¡ªfinally¡ªSebastian spoke again.

    "You know," he murmured, "even if you can¡¯t talk¡­ I think you¡¯re really interesting, Elena."

    Oh boy.

    This guy wasn¡¯t winning any girl over the normal way. He was gonna need a lot of money.

    Caruncle turned her head slightly, eyes fixed on the table. She looked like she wanted to laugh from nerves but didn¡¯t know if she should.

    And then¡ªthe frustration crept back in.

    The helplessness. The anger.

    She wanted to say something. Anything. But no matter how many times she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

    It was infuriating.

    I heard her complaining in her head, over and over.

    She hadn¡¯t expected this. She never thought she¡¯d be mute forever. And now, every night, she still found herself trying to speak before sleep¡ªonly to choke on saliva instead.

    It was annoying. It was infuriating.

    And I knew, because I was the only one who could hear her.

    Caruncle stared down at her hands, clenching and unclenching her fingers. It was surreal. Having fingers again. Sometimes they went numb, like her body still wasn¡¯t sure they were real.

    She tried to remember the last words she had spoken.

    Nothing came.

    The memories of the basement were hazy now.

    Had it been a cry for help?

    She didn¡¯t know.

    "It pains me to see you like that," Sebastian said suddenly.

    She glanced up.

    "Your face¡­" He hesitated, looking genuinely upset. "You¡¯re beautiful, Elena. So beautiful. But you always look so sad."

    Caruncle froze.

    "And I feel like my heart is clenched so tightly, I can¡¯t bear it." His voice shook, just slightly. "I don¡¯t want to see such a beautiful face look so sad."

    She turned away.

    But I heard her. Even if she couldn¡¯t speak¡ªI heard her.

    Deep inside, she liked the attention.

    It made her stomach feel hollow.

    And beneath that¡ªthere was fear.

    A deep, sick fear she couldn¡¯t shake.

    If Sebastian ever found out the truth¡ª

    If he knew she was a man¡ª

    If he knew what she had wished for¡ª

    Would he turn mean? Would he turn violent?

    She didn¡¯t know. And not knowing was terrifying.

    Her small smile was gone.

    Sebastian gently took her hand again. "Miss Elena."

    Her breath hitched.

    "If there¡¯s anything I can do for you¡ªanything¡ªlet me know, okay? I will do as much as I can. For you."

    Caruncle looked toward the manor.

    Where was Mortimer?

    It had been so long.

    She turned back to Sebastian. Her hands were shaking. But she forced herself to pick up the chalk.

    She wrote carefully.

    One word at a time.

    Then, she turned the board toward him.

    "I want you to help me kill a man."

    ***

    Caruncle had fallen asleep.

    The house was silent.

    The air felt thick. The darkness pressed in, absolute. Not a single creak of the floorboards. Not a single gust of wind through the trees.

    Then I realized.

    I was back in control.

    I didn¡¯t know how. I didn¡¯t know why.

    But I was here. I was awake.

    I flexed my fingers¡ªElena¡¯s fingers. It felt wrong. Not painful. Just¡­ wrong. Like wearing a suit tailored for someone else.

    Still, I stood.

    A month and a half had passed since she fell from the window. The body moved fine now. Just a dull soreness, but nothing unbearable.

    I walked¡ªbarefoot, careful, silent.

    Down the hall. Toward the voices.

    ¡°¡­So? Do you think she¡¯s ready?¡±

    A whisper. Custodio¡¯s voice.

    ¡°Sir, I believe emotionally, she is. But her leg injury¡ªwhile mostly healed¡ªcould reduce¡­ performance, if you know what I mean.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to tell me that.¡± A pause. ¡°If she¡¯s emotionally ready, we need to begin preparations. You¡¯ll send the letter tomorrow. The island must be ready when we bring her.¡±

    ¡°¡­Understood, sir.¡±

    I turned away, walked back to her room.

    Laid down. Stared at the ceiling.

    I waited. And waited.

    But time¡­ didn¡¯t move.

    No footsteps. No wind. No crickets. No distant hoot of an owl.

    The house felt deserted. As if the world itself had stopped spinning.

    The stillness pressed down on me, thick and suffocating. I had to get out.

    I stood again, moving quietly. I had found a suitcase in one of the rooms a while back, filled with my clothes. I changed. Grabbed it.

    Then I walked¡ªbarefoot, silent, slipping out the door like a ghost.

    I was tired of this place.

    The lessons, the embroidery, the useless etiquette. The endless fog, the constant gray skies, the absence of sunrises and sunsets.

    Most of all, I was tired of Custodio.

    I didn¡¯t want to wait and see what he was planning.

    Once outside, I put on the slippers, picked up my pace.

    I didn¡¯t trust the forest at night, so I stayed on the road¡ªbut I had to be fast. By the time they noticed I was gone, I needed to be too far to catch.

    I knew Caruncle would freak out, but I had a plan.

    I¡¯d find Sebastian. I had no idea where he lived, but I¡¯d figure it out. I had stolen money from Custodio¡¯s desk last night¡ªI could find an inn, ask for directions.

    Caruncle would thank me. Once we were far, far away, she could start fresh. A new life. No more creepy men. No more people selling her away.

    And maybe, just maybe, I could take control of this body again.

    I stretched my arm out, opening and closing Elena¡¯s hand.

    It was freaky. Everything felt unreal. But if I focused on the physical sensations, it helped me ground myself.

    I walked. And walked.

    How long had it been? An hour?

    The road stretched on and on. The land was mostly flat, but now, slight slopes made the walk harder.

    Then I saw it.

    And I nearly lost control of the body from the sheer shock.

    The road was changing.

    With every step, more trees lined the path.

    Thicker. Darker. Closing in like silent watchers.

    Up ahead, the road curved sharply.

    I turned the corner¡ª

    And stopped dead.

    A massive iron gate loomed in front of me.

    Three meters tall.

    Locked with three padlocks.

    I walked to the side. Surely it ended somewhere¡ªI could just walk around it.

    But no.

    The iron fence stretched into the trees. As far as my eyes could see.

    I didn¡¯t understand.

    Was it always locked? Or just at night?

    How did Sebastian enter during the day?

    I stared at it, heart pounding.

    I could try the forest. But it was dark, damp, unknown.

    I could climb it. But the metal was smooth¡ªnothing to grip. My body still felt weak. Another leg injury would ruin everything.

    I was stuck.

    Then I heard it.

    Horses.

    I panicked.

    They were coming.

    For Elena. For me.

    I turned, ready to run into the trees¡ª

    But before I could move, a figure emerged from the curve.

    Mortimer.

    On foot.

    Had he followed me the whole way?

    His voice was calm.

    ¡°Miss Elena.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t see his face clearly in the dark. But his breathing was heavy.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re upset. That you want to explore. That you want to start living your life.¡±

    He took a slow step forward.

    ¡°But please. Come back home.¡±

    I tried to speak¡ªand choked.

    I had mocked Caruncle for it. But now, I understood.

    I couldn¡¯t say a word.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Miss Elena.¡± His voice was gentle. Too gentle. It pissed me off. ¡°You¡¯re afraid. And that¡¯s our fault.¡±

    I took a step back¡ªfelt the iron gate at my spine.

    The horses were getting closer.

    Mortimer kept walking, slow, deliberate.

    ¡°We just don¡¯t want anything bad to happen to you.¡±

    Another step.

    ¡°So, please¡­ let¡¯s go home. There¡¯s no need to make this more complicated than it has to be.¡±

    Closer. Closer.

    Until he finally reached for me¡ª

    And touched me.

    I jerked back.

    And in an instant¡ªI was gone.

    Ripped out of the body.

    Caruncle collapsed.

    Mortimer almost yelled in alarm.

    ¡°Miss Elena? Elena!¡±

    Then¡ªCustodio.

    Arriving in a large, black carriage.

    He said nothing. Just scooped Caruncle into his arms. Carefully. Like something fragile.

    Mortimer took the reins.

    Without another word, they turned back toward the manor.

    And disappeared into the night.

 17. A Breakout

    Lucia had invited Caruncle to visit her home.

    Sebastian had been relentless about tagging along. After pestering her over and over, he finally wore her down.

    And now, all three of them sat inside Lucia¡¯s greenhouse.

    The air was thick with the scent of soil and fresh blossoms. The glass walls fogged up slightly from the warmth inside, trapping the garden¡¯s quiet, golden light.

    ¡°Perhaps¡­ you were a man before?¡±

    Caruncle threw her book directly at Sebastian¡¯s face.

    THUD.

    He fell off his chair.

    ¡°AGHH!¡±

    Lucia re-entered the greenhouse, carrying a tray.

    ¡°Careful! I¡¯m coming in!¡±

    She made her way toward the table, carefully balancing three cups of coffee and a plate of cookies.

    Caruncle glanced around, expecting Mortimer to follow behind her¡ªbut no one else was there.

    Lucia sighed. ¡°Your butler ditched me.¡±

    She set the tray down, rolling her eyes. ¡°The moment I picked this up, he went ¡®Oh, what a lovely lady you are! Forgive me for making you carry the tray all the way to the garden!¡¯ She huffed. ¡°And then he left me alone in the room.¡±

    She turned toward Sebastian, who was slowly sitting up, adjusting his chair.

    ¡°¡­And what exactly did you do?¡±

    Sebastian rubbed his face. ¡°Well, I was just trying to guess who she was before the transplant.¡±

    Lucia groaned. ¡°Oh god, not this again.¡±

    ¡°No, but listen! I think I guessed correctly! I asked if she was a man, and she got all mad and threw a book at me!¡±

    Lucia glanced at Caruncle.

    She was pretending to read a book about the meaning of flowers.

    It was obvious.

    She wasn¡¯t actually reading¡ªher eyes were fixed on a single spot, unmoving.

    Lucia sighed. She had noticed too.

    ¡°Sebastian, maybe don¡¯t ask things like that.¡±

    ¡°No, but see! I don¡¯t care about who she was! I was trying to tell her that, no matter what, she still has my complete devotion!¡±

    Lucia raised an eyebrow. ¡°And why, exactly, do you want to follow her so badly?¡±

    Sebastian puffed up his chest. ¡°Because I love her!¡±

    Silence.

    I watched Caruncle¡¯s reaction carefully.

    Her emotions were always hard to pin down. I could feel them, but translating them into words never worked the way I wanted.

    She had been moody all day, but now her emotions were a strange soup of contradictions.

    There was anger. But where it came from, I couldn¡¯t tell.

    There was frustration.

    But also¡­ relief.

    And worst of all¡ªa calmness that made her feel empty.

    She tried to push away memories of the basement. They made her furious.

    She told herself she was just tired.

    That must be why she felt like this.

    Lucia cut through the silence.

    ¡°Sebastian.¡± Her voice was flat.

    Sebastian blinked. ¡°¡­Yes?¡±

    ¡°You must know that confessions like that aren¡¯t very proper.¡±

    Sebastian tilted his head. ¡°Huh?¡±

    Lucia sighed. ¡°The only thing you¡¯re doing is forcing the lady to respond. That isn¡¯t polite.¡±

    ¡°Oh. I¨C I apologize, I didn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    Lucia¡¯s gaze hardened. *¡°And knowing very well that Miss Esparza cannot talk, don¡¯t you think it¡¯s even worse? You just keep talking at her, over and over. If you like her that much, maybe just follow her in silence.¡±

    Sebastian¡¯s face flushed. ¡°¡­I¡ªI didn¡¯t realize.¡±

    I glanced back at Caruncle.

    Her stomach was twisting with butterflies, but her expression was a deep frown.

    I think¡­ she was happy, but annoyed.

    Like when a stray dog follows you, and it¡¯s cute, but you really wish it would go away.

    Lucia broke the tension with a sharp gesture.

    ¡°Anyway, enough of that. How do you like the flower garden?¡±

    Caruncle picked up the chalkboard.

    "It''s beautiful."

    Lucia brightened slightly. ¡°I¡¯m glad you think so. It¡¯s been a nice distraction for me.¡±

    Her voice wavered slightly.

    She turned toward the flowers. ¡°Flowers are the kind of beings that don¡¯t disappoint you.¡±

    Caruncle looked up sharply.

    Their eyes met.

    And for a second, they both looked like they were about to cry.

    ¡°And!¡± Sebastian suddenly spoke, snapping the moment apart. ¡°The Circle says flowers can be used in spells too!¡±

    Lucia turned on him. ¡°That hasn¡¯t been proven.¡±

    ¡°Well, one day, I will prove it! You¡¯ll see!¡±

    Lucia raised an eyebrow. ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯re going to do with your life?¡±

    ¡°Yes! I want to understand the wonders and mysteries of the world!¡±

    Lucia smirked. ¡°You couldn¡¯t understand the multiplication table if you tried. How are you still in the Circle?¡±

    Sebastian pouted. ¡°Math just isn¡¯t my forte. But I do have a good handle on literature, language, and charisma!¡±

    I smirked. ¡°Fun, huh, Caruncle? Watching conversations happen around you, unable to join in?¡±

    Of course, it wasn¡¯t fun.

    But it was what it was.

    Lucia glanced at Caruncle, who was frowning deeply.

    Then, suddenly¡ªLucia grinned.

    "See? Not even Elena here is falling for your act!"

    Sebastian gasped dramatically. ¡°I also want to unveil the mystery of women.¡±

    Lucia snorted, shaking her head.

    They finished their coffee in quiet conversation, and then¡ª

    ¡°By the way,¡± Lucia said, setting her cup down. ¡°There¡¯s more I¡¯d like to show you.¡±

    She stood and held out a hand. ¡°Come with me.¡±

    Caruncle hesitated¡ªthen took it.

    They wandered through the flower fields.

    The gray sky loomed overhead. But the ground was bursting with color.

    Lavender swayed in the misty breeze, its scent thick and calming. Foxglove stood tall, their pale pink and cream flowers elegant even in the dim light.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Despite the absence of the sun, the blossoms seemed to glow.

    At the top of the hill, Caruncle finally sat down.

    Lucia sat beside her. ¡°Tired?¡±

    Caruncle shook her head.

    She reached for the chalkboard¡ª

    But before she could write, her tears fell first.

    Sebastian arrived¡ªbut for once, he said nothing.

    No one did.

    They just sat there, gazing at the sky, as the mist swallowed the horizon.

    ***

    Caruncle had been a force in the world once.

    A man who moved nations. Who fought for something real.

    Now?

    Now, Caruncle was a corpse in a rich man¡¯s home cemetery.

    She had arrived in this world, and everything had collapsed around her.

    A cursed existence. A negative force.

    She woke up in green.

    Not white. Green.

    The air was thick.

    Hot. Suffocating.

    The walls of the room seemed damp, covered in a sheen of moisture, as if the jungle outside was breathing into the space.

    She tried to sit up, but the humidity pressed down on her.

    She was sweating.

    What happened?

    Last night, she had been having dinner with Custodio and Mortimer. She had felt herself dozing off, head sinking toward the plate.

    She must have passed out.

    She looked to the side of the bed.

    A small envelope.

    With shaking hands, she opened it.

    ¡°After six months under my care, it is time for you to take the next step.

    We took the liberty of helping you sleep last night, and after a long journey, we have arrived.

    This is Holiday¡¯s Island.

    A peaceful land where no one will bother us.

    Here, I have brought every Elena before you.

    Mortimer and I have gone hunting. We will return by 10 AM.

    After that, Mortimer will cook. And I will spend time with you.

    It is time for you to become my wife.¡±

    The letter fell from her hands.

    She shot up, heart hammering, corset biting into her ribs.

    Her breath was coming too fast, too sharp.

    The room was too hot.

    Her dress from last night clung to her skin, sticky, suffocating. The corset, which she had finally gotten used to, now felt like it was strangling her.

    Boots.

    She spotted a pair of leather boots near the door.

    She shoved them on.

    Then¡ªshe ran.

    She didn¡¯t follow the path.

    That was where they would come from.

    Instead, she pushed through the tangled mess of jungle.

    The sun¡ªshe could see it. Finally, she could see it.

    For months, she had only known fog and gray skies.

    Now, it burned too bright, too heavy, glaring through the canopy like an open eye.

    She had no idea how long she ran.

    An hour?

    Time had stretched, twisted.

    The air grew thicker. It clung to her like a living thing.

    The fabric of her gown¡ªruined.

    The silk was drenched in sweat and dirt, dragging at her legs. The lace had torn away in places, catching on unseen thorns.

    The leather boots¡ª**once pristine¡ª**were now scuffed, buttons missing, caked in layers of grime.

    She wiped her forehead.

    Her hands were trembling.

    Then¡ª

    A crack.

    Somewhere in the trees.

    Caruncle froze.

    A shadow moved.

    Low. Stalking.

    Like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

    She held her breath.

    Her pulse pounded in her ears.

    The jungle was too dense, too alive, too knowing.

    For a moment, nothing moved.

    Then the shadow melted back into the foliage.

    She exhaled sharply.

    Her entire body shook.

    She had to keep going.

    But the jungle was never-ending.

    And then¡ªher foot plunged into something wet.

    She lurched forward, the bog sucking at her boot.

    The sound it made¡ªa sickening squelch.

    Her breath hitched.

    She yanked her foot free, falling onto the damp earth. Her arms shook as she pushed herself up.

    She was losing strength.

    Then¡ª

    A sound.

    Not a crack.

    Not a rustle.

    A soft, rhythmic roar.

    The ocean.

    She ran.

    She broke through the final wall of trees.

    And there it was.

    The sea.

    Stretching endlessly.

    The waves crashed, a deep, rhythmic sound.

    Her vision blurred from exhaustion.

    But she could see it¡ª

    A boat.

    Anchored just past the shore.

    She stood there, panting, staring, disbelieving.

    The ocean breeze wrapped around her.

    Cold. Crisp.

    For the first time in months, she could breathe.

    And yet.

    Something still felt wrong.

    The air wasn¡¯t just thick with heat.

    It was thick with something else.

    Like a feeling.

    A whisper.

    A curse.

    For a moment, she hesitated.

    Then¡ª

    She walked toward the shore.

    Stepped into the waves.

    And, finally¡ª

    She sailed.

    ***

    The boat rocked beneath her.

    The waves stretched out forever.

    Each stroke of the oars was heavier than the last. Her arms ached, muscles trembling, her breath ragged.

    She looked back.

    Nothing.

    The island was gone.

    Ahead, the sea was an endless, uncaring void.

    The sun beat down on her skin¡ªtoo bright, too harsh, like it was punishing her for daring to leave the shadows.

    She squinted against the light, her hands prickling with heat. She hadn¡¯t felt sunlight on her skin in six months.

    Ten years, in reality.

    Her body, pale and starved of warmth, was already starting to burn.

    The oars felt like dead weight.

    Oh, wait. That¡¯s what they were.

    She was dragging herself through the water. Through life.

    Delightful.

    Her vision blurred. Blue and gray smeared together.

    She blinked it away. Kept rowing. Refused to stop.

    Glanced back.

    No shore.

    No land.

    No sign of hope, anywhere.

    Her arms shook. Her fingers split open with blisters. Every stroke was a punishment. The universe¡¯s way of reminding her who was in charge.

    Then¡ªher grip failed.

    The oars slipped from her hands, falling limp across her lap.

    The boat rocked gently.

    Caruncle let out a long breath.

    And lay back against the wood.

    She had stopped rowing half an hour ago.

    The horizon blurred into the sky in every direction.

    The sun burned. Raw. Unrelenting.

    Her throat felt like sandpaper. Her lips were split and dry.

    Each breath she took was full of salt.

    Her skin¡ªaching, feverish. But she didn¡¯t care.

    At least she had felt the sun.

    She stared at the sky, watching the clouds stretch over her, slow and heavy.

    The boat creaked beneath her. The waves lulled her.

    She wasn¡¯t sad.

    Wasn¡¯t angry.

    Just lonely.

    She had seen the world now.

    That was enough.

    The beauty of the woods. The glow of flowers in the mist.

    Everything else was just flavor. The extra people added to life to convince themselves it was worth living.

    Her mother used to say that people never changed.

    They would always make the same mistakes.

    So why would it matter if she missed out on the future?

    The thought drifted through her mind, light as sea foam, dissolving into the sound of the waves.

    She closed her eyes.

    The sun painted her eyelids red.

    And she smiled.

    ¡°I felt a strange happiness after I looked in the mirror.¡±

    Her thoughts were slow. Distant.

    ¡°For once, I didn¡¯t hate what I saw.¡±

    She let herself sink into the warmth of the boat.

    ¡°Now, all I want is peace.¡±

    The waves whispered against the hull.

    The sea rocked her, lulling her gently.

    She wanted to die because she was happy.

    Caruncle.

    Caruncle.

    "Happiness is a double-edged sword."

    "Once you have seen the meaning, nothing will ever taste the same."

    The waves answered.

    Soft. Gentle. Pulling her further and further.

    ¡°Is that what you really feel?¡±

    My voice.

    She didn¡¯t answer.

    She heard the birds.

    Watched them fly away.

    She was happy to have heard them one last time.

    If Jazmin saw her again, she would accept her failure.

    She would accept being dissolved into nothingness.

    She was crying.

    But I was holding her hand.

    Her tears were warm, mixing with the salt on her skin.

    They rolled down her cheeks, sinking into the fabric of her clothes.

    Why do you cry, Caruncle?

    You, who have the answers to everything.

    You, who understand the truth of this world.

    Why are you feeling so pointless?

    So lonely?

    She didn¡¯t answer.

    She just stared at the sky.

    The boat drifted on.

    The shore vanished behind her.

    The sun above watched her.

    Unblinking.

    ¡°¡­Fine.¡±

    ¡°I will take over.¡±

    I sat up.

    The oars were slick with sweat and salt.

    The sky was clouded over now.

    But I could still see the sun.

    I thought.

    "The sun sets in the west¡­ this time of year, at least."

    I looked toward the horizon.

    "If I row that way, I should reach the mainland before nightfall¡­ hopefully."

    I placed my hands on the oars.

    And started rowing and I tried to whistle a song.

    But, my lips were too dry, and no melody came out.

    End of Act 2.

    "A Glove From Tasty Soup"

 18. On Recovery

    CHAPTER 18

    The world came into the light.

    After fighting for so long¡ªafter pushing myself **to the brink of collapse¡ª**I made it.

    And now that I knew this strength existed in me, I wasn¡¯t afraid of failing again. But I was afraid of myself.

    I had reached the coast at sunset.

    Too tired to celebrate. Too tired to even think.

    I had stumbled onto the sand and collapsed.

    A couple found me later that night. They took me to a hospital.

    I woke up the next morning.

    ¡°Oh! You¡¯re awake!¡±

    A nurse¡¯s voice.

    I blinked up at the ceiling.

    The nurse disappeared. A few minutes later, a nun in all white appeared at my bedside.

    ¡°Dear, we were so worried about you! How are you feeling?¡±

    I nodded.

    Then looked down at Elena¡¯s body.

    Her arms were scarred. Red, blistered skin stretched across her forearms, her cheeks ached, and her back felt like one big wound.

    She was dressed in a thin, rough cotton gown. The sleeves stopped above the elbows, leaving her burnt skin exposed to the cold air. Her tangled hair spilled over the pillow, untouched and unkempt.

    I slowly raised her arms, reaching for her face¡ª

    "Wait! Don''t touch yourself!"

    The nun''s voice was sharp.

    I lowered my hands immediately.

    ¡°You could get infected,¡± she warned. Then, her voice softened. ¡°Now, dear, can you tell me your name?¡±

    I pointed at Elena¡¯s throat.

    Shook my head.

    A look of mild irritation crossed her face.

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    I opened my mouth¡ªsilent.

    Nothing.

    Her frown deepened. ¡°Dear, if you don¡¯t talk, it will be harder for us to help you.¡±

    The other nurse at her side sighed. ¡°Are you unable to speak?¡±

    I nodded, relieved someone finally understood.

    The nurse hesitated. ¡°¡­How come?¡±

    I lifted my hands, shrugged.

    I had nothing to write on.

    Her brow furrowed. "Wait here, dear. Let me fetch you something."

    She returned moments later, carrying paper and a pencil. She set them on a firm wooden board and handed it over.

    ¡°Here. Write down whatever you need to tell us.¡±

    I gripped the pencil.

    The page felt so much bigger than Custodio¡¯s suffocating chalkboard.

    I hesitated. Then, I wrote:

    "I haven¡¯t been able to talk since I was born. My name is Elena Esparza."

    The nun nodded. ¡°Alright, Miss Elena.¡±

    The words hit me like a stone in the stomach.

    Miss.

    Hearing it from another human¡ª**a stranger, a real person¡ª**sent a strange, giddy relief through me.

    For the first time in months, someone was addressing me properly.

    I held onto that feeling like a child clutching a lucky charm.

    "You are in Asclepius¡¯s Hospital," the nun continued. "God of medicine and healing."

    She folded her hands. "Now. We need to know who we can contact to take care of you. We took you in because you were found unconscious last night, but we have limited personnel and beds.¡±

    Her voice sharpened.

    "A lady shouldn¡¯t be outside, alone, at those hours."

    My stomach dropped.

    Custodio.

    I had forgotten about him.

    He was probably searching for Elena right now.

    I couldn¡¯t go back. But¡­ where else could I go?

    I took the pencil and wrote:

    ¡°I¡¯m staying at the home of Sebastian Lysias.¡±

    Perfect.

    Sebastian would take me in. He owed me.

    Maybe he could even hide me.

    I¡¯d figure out a plan later¡ªfor now, I just needed to get away from this nun.

    The nurse beside her shifted uncomfortably. ¡°Do you know this man, Sister Agnes?¡±

    The nun¡¯s frown deepened.

    ¡°¡­Yes.¡±

    The way she said it was so sour, I almost smiled.

    ¡°He¡¯s one of them.¡±

    The nurse¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Oh. You mean¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± The nun sighed. ¡°I did not wish to make contact with that group. But if it means sending this girl away sooner¡­¡±

    She turned abruptly. ¡°I will be back. Take care of her in the meantime.¡±

    "Yes, ma¡¯am."

    As she walked away, she threw me one last look.

    ¡°And young lady.¡± Her tone was icy. ¡°I noticed you ignored my question. You will tell me what you were doing outside at those hours.¡±

    I smiled at her retreating back.

    That only made her scowl harder.

    ¡°I feel incredibly tired and sore,¡± I wrote.

    The nurse¡¯s eyes softened. ¡°Your blistering is severe. How long were you out in the sun?¡±

    I hesitated.

    Had I¡­ slept for more than one day?

    No.

    Custodio would¡¯ve found me.

    But my body felt starved. Weak.

    I finally wrote:

    ¡°I spent yesterday afternoon in the sun. It wasn¡¯t out all day.¡±

    The nurse frowned. ¡°¡­I see.¡±

    She studied me for a moment, concerned. ¡°You should consult with a physician once you are able. That level of blistering is not normal.¡±

    I nodded.

    She surprised me by patting my head.

    Then, she left.

    I lay back against the pillow.

    The room was dimly lit.

    Tall, narrow windows let in thin streaks of pale light. The walls¡ªonce white¡ªwere now stained, cracked, chipped with age.

    The beds lining the walls had thin, sagging mattresses, covered in rough, off-white sheets.

    The air was thick with antiseptic.

    I had been given a glass of water.

    But no food.

    By the time night fell, hunger gnawed at me. Only then did the nurse bring me a small loaf of bread, an apple, and some slices of pineapple.

    Elena¡¯s body burned. But the room was cold.

    I welcomed the chill.

    I thought about Caruncle.

    Was he watching?

    For a moment, all I could feel was a voice.

    Faint. Exhausted. Crying somewhere in the depths of my mind.

    I sighed.

    ¡°Yup. There you are.¡±

    I rolled my eyes. But I was still smiling.

    "Don''t worry, buddy. I''ll get you out of this. Somehow."

    I turned toward the window.

    The dark night stretched out beyond it.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    I listened to the sound of crickets singing outside.

    For the first time in a long time¡­

    Even hurt, even terribly weakened¡­

    It felt good to be alive.

    ***

    The morning arrived with the gentle press of fingers on my shoulder.

    The touch was light, careful¡ªavoiding the blistered skin on Elena¡¯s arms.

    Why not touch the feet though?

    ¡°My dear? It¡¯s time for you to go home.¡±

    Ugh. The nun.

    Her hoarse voice was the last thing I wanted to hear.

    I wiped the crust from Elena¡¯s eyes and slowly opened them¡ª

    Only to find Sebastian staring at me in absolute horror.

    ¡°Elena! My dear! What on earth happened to you!?¡±

    I blinked at him.

    Too tired to reach for the paper.

    Instead, I took in his appearance.

    ¡­Why did he look like a butler?

    ¡°Miss Elena, can you hear me?¡±

    I nodded. Barely.

    Elena¡¯s lips felt like sandpaper.

    ¡°I think she¡¯s still waking up.¡± Sebastian let out a relieved sigh, then turned to the nun and the nurse. ¡°Truly, I must thank you both for taking such care of her.¡±

    He gave them a small bow.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take her home at once and make sure she recovers properly.¡±

    The nun¡¯s gaze darkened.

    ¡°Mister Lysias,¡± she said sharply. ¡°I do not want to see a lady under your care wandering alone at night on the beach.¡±

    Her voice had that familiar edge.

    She had asked me the same thing yesterday. Over and over.

    She didn¡¯t believe I couldn¡¯t talk.

    She just kept pressing me. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t close yourself off to people trying to help!¡±

    I had stopped listening to her hours ago.

    She was an eyesore.

    ¡°Make sure we don¡¯t have problems like this again,¡± she finished.

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. I truly apologize for the inconvenience.¡±

    Sebastian gave his best responsible adult nod.

    Then turned to me.

    ¡°Are you able to walk, Miss Elena?¡±

    The nurse brought a wheelchair.

    I sat down slowly.

    ¡°I¡¯d recommend bringing the gown back when you can,¡± she added. ¡°It¡¯s hospital property.¡±

    ¡°Oh, yes! Yes, indeed!¡±

    Sebastian took the handles.

    We finally left.

    I squeezed my eyes shut as we stepped outside.

    For a moment, I braced for the sun¡ª

    But when I opened them, the sky was still gray.

    Clouds, once again.

    I let out a silent breath of relief.

    Sebastian helped me into the carriage.

    Then he climbed in beside me.

    ¡°Miss Elena.¡± His tone had shifted.

    More serious.

    ¡°How am I supposed to explain this to Mister Esparza?¡±

    Shit.

    He was going to take me back.

    I had to stop him.

    I grabbed his arm.

    Looked him dead in the eyes.

    And shook my head. Hard.

    ¡°¡­What is it?¡±

    I kept shaking my head. Vigorously.

    To the point that I almost dizzied myself.

    ¡°¡­You don¡¯t want to go home?¡±

    I shook my head again.

    ¡°But¡­ your father. He must be worried.¡±

    I slowed down.

    Shook my head again. More deliberate this time.

    I held his gaze.

    ¡°¡­Would you rather go to my home instead?¡±

    I nodded.

    Sebastian hesitated.

    Then, with a sigh, he leaned back in his seat. ¡°Alright.¡±

    He knocked on the carriage wall.

    ¡°Driver, change of plans. We¡¯re going home.¡±

    I let out a breath.

    Smiled.

    And finally relaxed.

    As the carriage rolled away, I glanced out the small window.

    The hospital loomed behind us.

    Its stone walls were dark with age and soot.

    Cracks ran along its surface, like veins of neglect creeping through the structure.

    The tall, narrow windows had iron bars.

    Some were chipped, others broken.

    It looked less like a hospital and more like a prison for the dying.

    The heavy wooden doors had been worn smooth from years of desperate hands.

    Weeds crawled through the cobblestones.

    A place that had long since stopped caring about life.

    I turned away.

    ¡°The nurses told me you were found on the beach at night.¡±

    Sebastian¡¯s voice pulled me back.

    ¡°Did something happen between you and your father?¡±

    I nodded.

    But didn¡¯t look at him.

    ¡°And¡­ your face. Your arms.¡± He hesitated. ¡°I can¡¯t help but feel alarmed.¡±

    I didn¡¯t react.

    What did he expect me to do? Give him smoke signals?

    He sighed.

    ¡°Miss Ashford told me not to pry. But I must admit, this situation is making me very worried.¡±

    His voice softened. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t think ill of me for being concerned. Your well-being is very important to me.¡±

    I gave him a small smile.

    Hoped that said enough.

    I turned back toward the window.

    The city streets blurred past us, worn and restless.

    Then, slowly, they gave way to fields and sky.

    We left the city.

    Ventured into the countryside.

    I stared at the open fields.

    At the trees swaying in the distant hills.

    It had been so long since I had seen the world outside.

    The only time I had left the manor was when Lucia invited us.

    And even then, Custodio never let me step out of the carriage.

    I should have been panicking.

    Custodio was still out there.

    Searching for Elena.

    But instead, all I felt was a deep, unsettling peace.

    Like I was floating just slightly outside my own body.

    And then¡ªthere was Caruncle.

    Sad.

    Dreaming.

    His grief was so deep, it seeped into my mind.

    I could feel it even as he slept.

    I couldn¡¯t turn it off.

    So I did the next best thing.

    I ignored it.

    And let the carriage carry me away.

    ***

    I had fallen asleep on the way.

    Sebastian woke me gently when we arrived.

    I blinked up at him, still groggy.

    ¡°We¡¯re here.¡±

    Slowly, I cleaned the grit from Elena¡¯s eyes and stepped out of the carriage.

    The house was large, but not extravagant.

    Tall, narrow windows. Dark shutters. A polished brass knocker on a heavy oak door.

    It stood at the end of a neatly manicured garden, where soft lamps glowed under the overcast sky.

    Waiting at the entrance was a woman.

    A bit older¡ªmaybe in her fifties. Round-cheeked, sharp-eyed. The kind of person who could tell you what you needed before you knew it yourself.

    Her hands were on her hips.

    ¡°Young master!" Her voice was warm, but firm. "You left so suddenly, you had us all worried!¡±

    Then, her eyes landed on me.

    She frowned. ¡°¡­And who is this lady?¡±

    Her gaze dropped to my face, to the burns, the scarring.

    ¡°What happened to her?¡±

    Sebastian sighed. ¡°Dolores, this is Miss Elena Esparza. She just left the hospital and asked for my help. I¡¯ll explain the details later.¡±

    Dolores stiffened.

    Her eyes flicked between me and Sebastian.

    ¡°¡­Miss Elena?¡±

    Sebastian tensed. ¡°Dolores¡ª¡±

    ¡°The same Miss Elena you talk about all the time?¡±

    ¡°Dolores, please.¡±

    Dolores turned to me, beaming.

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s so nice to finally meet you!¡±

    Sebastian groaned. ¡°Not now.¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be silly, young master, she should know how much you talk about her.¡±

    Sebastian looked like he wanted to melt into the ground.

    Dolores ignored him. ¡°I¡¯m the head maid of this house, Miss Elena, and I¡¯ll be making sure you¡¯re well taken care of.¡±

    I nodded, giving her a slight smile.

    A pause.

    She kept looking at me.

    As if waiting for something.

    The longer the silence stretched, the more awkward it became.

    ¡°¡­Are you sick?¡±

    Sebastian rubbed his forehead. ¡°Miss Elena is mute, Dolores.¡±

    ¡°Oh! You poor thing!¡± Her hands flew to her mouth. ¡°Is that related to¡ª¡± She gestured vaguely at my face, my arms.

    Sebastian closed his eyes like he was in physical pain. ¡°Dolores.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°She has been unable to speak since birth. It¡¯s not recent.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Dolores frowned at me with concern.

    Sebastian sighed. ¡°For now, let¡¯s just find her a room where she can rest.¡±

    ¡°Right, right. Follow me inside, dear. There¡¯s a guest room on the second floor she might like.¡±

    Sebastian cleared his throat. ¡°Perfect.¡±

    As we walked inside, Sebastian started talking.

    Like he was giving a guided tour of his own home.

    ¡°Not many people know this, but my father passed away five years ago.¡±

    I glanced at him.

    That explained why the house felt both lived-in and a little¡­ empty.

    Sebastian continued. ¡°He was a successful merchant, and this house¡ªeverything he owned¡ªwas passed down to me. Now, I oversee his businesses from time to time, but mostly¡­¡±

    He trailed off.

    I waited.

    ¡°¡­I just live.¡±

    He smiled. But there was something tired in it.

    The guest room was not monochrome.

    That alone was a relief.

    Custodio¡¯s manor had been a place of gray walls and white sheets, suffocating in its sterility.

    But here¡ª

    The walls were warm brown. The bed sheets deep green. The ceiling was painted a rich, earthy shade.

    And the floor was covered with a soft blue carpet.

    ¡°Maybe I should change the sheets before she sleeps,¡± Dolores murmured. ¡°They¡¯re clean, but I changed them a week ago¡­¡±

    She turned to me. ¡°Would you mind waiting in the¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Dolores,¡± Sebastian interrupted. ¡°Let¡¯s let her rest for now. We can change them tomorrow.¡±

    Dolores sighed, shaking her head. ¡°If you say so, young master.¡±

    She left.

    Sebastian closed the door behind her.

    Then, he handed me his notebook.

    ¡°Now.¡± His voice was gentle. ¡°Are you going to tell me what happened?¡±

    I hesitated.

    Then, slowly, I wrote:

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±

    Sebastian exhaled. ¡°Elena. If you don¡¯t tell me, it will be harder for me to help you.¡±

    I felt Caruncle on the verge of tears.

    But inside me¡ª

    There was only anger.

    I picked up the pencil again.

    ¡°My father is a sick bastard.¡±

    Sebastian read the words.

    Didn¡¯t respond.

    I didn¡¯t look at him.

    I didn¡¯t want to see his reaction.

    Too many emotions were bottling up inside me.

    I wasn¡¯t sure what kind of face I¡¯d make if I looked up.

    ¡°If he asks for me,¡± I wrote, ¡°please don¡¯t tell him I¡¯m here.¡±

    Sebastian nodded. ¡°Understood. Let¡¯s just focus on getting you better first.¡±

    His eyes flicked to my blistered arms.

    ¡°What about your burns? What happened?¡±

    I exhaled.

    ¡°I had to row the whole way from some weird island he took me to yesterday. The nurse said it wasn¡¯t normal to be this sunburnt in such a short time. I need to see a physician.¡±

    Sebastian frowned.

    ¡°An island?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know its name.¡±

    He sighed, staring at the notebook like it was something fragile.

    ¡°¡­Alright.¡±

    ¡°First things first.¡± He straightened. ¡°I¡¯ll ask a physician to come tomorrow.¡±

    He studied me.

    ¡°How are you feeling? Do you want to rest?¡±

    I nodded.

    Then added: ¡°I¡¯m incredibly thirsty.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll have one of the maids bring you water.¡±

    He turned to go.

    Then hesitated.

    ¡°¡­I¡¯ll also arrange for some new clothes to be made for you.¡±

    I smiled slightly. Nodded again.

    Despite everything, I was grateful.

    Yes, Sebastian was annoying.

    But he was reliable.

    After he left, I turned to the mirror.

    And finally saw Elena¡¯s face.

    Bruised. Swollen. But still hers.

    I had long since forgotten what I really looked like.

    As a ghost, I could see my reflection. But it would always change, morphing with how I perceived myself.

    Elena¡¯s face wasn¡¯t mine.

    Not yet.

    But I could work with it.

    The exhaustion dragged at me.

    I pulled the dark green curtains closed.

    Curled up in bed.

    The glass of water hadn¡¯t arrived yet.

    But nothing was perfect anyway.

    I closed my eyes.

    And let sleep take me.

 19. On Professions

    The next day, I was a wreck.

    I had slept all afternoon.

    Woken up for dinner.

    Then crawled straight back into bed.

    Even now, as I stared at the ceiling, I didn¡¯t feel like moving.

    The guest room in Sebastian¡¯s house wasn¡¯t as cold as the hospital, but it was chilly enough for me to relax.

    Dolores had mentioned a bath yesterday.

    I ignored her.

    Elena¡¯s arms hurt. Her face hurt.

    Not even water was allowed to touch her.

    I sat up slowly, still dazed.

    The hallway was too loud.

    Voices. Clattering. The endless shuffle of people moving things around.

    Why were there so many people in this house?

    I felt annoyed.

    Then, angry.

    Caruncle was thinking about Lopez.

    And not just him.

    His own family.

    I clenched Elena¡¯s fingers, opening and closing them over and over, feeling them bend and stretch.

    I could still remember.

    The sensation of the basement.

    The darkness, the cold, the weight of silence.

    Caruncle was afraid.

    I could feel his fear drilling into my skull.

    He didn¡¯t want to move forward.

    Didn¡¯t want to go anywhere.

    He was ready to crawl into a tomb and sleep forever.

    And that made me even angrier.

    The noise outside, the chatter, the moving furniture, the fact that this wasn¡¯t even our home¡ª

    It all pressed in, suffocating.

    ¡°Miss Elena! Time for breakfast!¡±

    Dolores.

    Standing in the doorway.

    I eyed her expectantly.

    No tray in her hands.

    I raised Elena¡¯s arms, silently asking where the food was.

    Dolores chuckled. ¡°Oh, did you think I was bringing it to you? No, no, no! In this house, everyone eats together.

    She grinned. ¡°Besides, you¡¯ve been in bed long enough! Time to get moving, miss!¡±

    Oh no.

    I had found someone even more annoying than Mortimer.

    Caruncle sat at the long dining table, surrounded by maids and house staff.

    There were at least ten of them.

    Dolores included.

    I checked out immediately.

    Letting Caruncle run on autopilot, chewing his dry bread like a ghost pretending to be alive.

    "She''s beautiful!"

    A young maid whispered. Probably eighteen.

    I tried to tune it out.

    Tried to focus.

    I wasn¡¯t going anywhere.

    Do you know why?

    If you were stuck on a lonely island, and your only company was a cat¡ª

    Even if it was the ugliest cat in existence¡ª

    You¡¯d still love it.

    And if someone kicked, pissed, and farted on your cat¡ª

    You¡¯d want to kill them.

    Right?

    Right?

    That was how I felt about Caruncle.

    And everyone who hurt him was going to pay.

    "Doesn''t she talk?"

    Another maid. Older. Gray hair, barely any wrinkles.

    "Oh no, she''s mute, sadly," Dolores answered.

    Caruncle stared at the table.

    Chewing.

    I could still see his fingers.

    Not Elena¡¯s.

    His.

    I remembered how they looked after all those years.

    The dark basement.

    The countless nights spent crying until his throat was raw, silent, dead.

    He cried until his eyes burned, like something was drilling into his skull.

    And I remembered it all.

    "She looks very shy, Miss."

    "Oh, let her be! She''s probably half asleep!"

    "Half asleep?"

    "Well, I don¡¯t know! My father eats half asleep sometimes when my mom calls him for dinner!"

    They were going to pay.

    No¡ª

    Tenfold.

    A hundredfold.

    I was going to¡ª

    ¡­What was I thinking about again?

    "Look, look! She''s blushing!"

    Wait.

    What?

    I blinked.

    The maids were giggling.

    "Miss, we know you can hear us! Why won''t you look at us?"

    Oh.

    Caruncle was losing his mind.

    I could feel it.

    The fluttering in Elena¡¯s stomach. The overwhelming heat in her chest.

    The emotions were pulling at me, unraveling my focus, scattering my thoughts.

    Elena¡¯s hands were trembling.

    I could palpate the deep, frantic quivering in Caruncle¡¯s heart.

    He was about to explode.

    He looked up.

    Gasp.

    The entire table froze.

    Ten pairs of eyes locked onto her.

    For a moment, nobody breathed.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Then¡ª

    "Oh! Look at her eyes!"

    "She¡¯s so stunning, oh my God!"

    "Miss, you are so pretty!"

    Caruncle, absolutely overwhelmed, did the only thing he could think of.

    He smiled.

    ***

    The next few days blurred together.

    Mostly, I just lay in bed, weak and frustrated, alternating between ugly crying and fantasizing about breaking Lopez¡¯s neck.

    Nobody needs to hear about that.

    One useful thing I did?

    I asked Sebastian for a full report on the people we used to know.

    He obliged. No questions asked.

    The carriage rumbled over the cobblestone streets, its wheels grinding against uneven stone.

    I never got used to that sensation.

    Outside, the thick fog clung to the city like rot, swallowing up the cracked facades of once-grand buildings. Gas lamps flickered weakly, their glow stretched into long, distorted shadows.

    The figures moving through the mist were silent, draped in tattered coats. Forgotten souls.

    It was¡­ kinda sad, really.

    The carriage stopped.

    I turned away from the window.

    Sebastian climbed inside, breathless, looking like he¡¯d been running.

    ¡°Miss Elena.¡± His voice was tired.

    He held out a thick folder.

    ¡°This is the report you requested.¡±

    I took it.

    Didn¡¯t open it.

    Just gave him a long, tired stare.

    Sebastian sighed and opened it himself.

    The pages rustled in the quiet.

    ¡°Valentin Periwinkle,¡± he began, ¡°has become a lawyer and political advisor.¡±

    I narrowed my eyes.

    Sebastian kept reading. ¡°He¡¯s positioned himself as a force of influence. No record of him leading any revolutions in recent years, as you asked, but he¡¯s managed to carve out a role for himself.¡±

    He frowned. ¡°The detective¡¯s notes say he¡¯s using his Basilian ancestry to gain political traction, even though he was born Lucianan. Not fully accepted, but playing the game well.¡±

    I felt Elena¡¯s lips curl into a smile.

    There was no warmth in it.

    Sebastian glanced up. ¡°His profession suits him, miss. He could be useful. His influence in law means he could push for reforms¡ªlike the anti-slavery legislation you were looking into.¡±

    I¡¯d mentioned it to him before.

    It was the only real path forward if I wanted to box Lopez in.

    But the process would be slow. Painfully slow.

    The carriage jolted over a rough patch of stone.

    I didn¡¯t look away from Sebastian.

    He flipped to the next page.

    ¡°Percival¡­¡± Sebastian trailed off.

    He cleared his throat. ¡°Merchant. Financial investor. Seems to have his hands in everything, including¡ª¡± He hesitated. ¡°Shadier ventures.¡±

    I rolled Elena¡¯s eyes.

    Sebastian made a face like I¡¯d just slapped him with a fish.

    My lips twitched into a smile.

    Outside, we passed a crumbling monument.

    A statue of a soldier. I had no idea who he was.

    Didn¡¯t care.

    Sebastian turned another page.

    ¡°Zuriel.¡±

    A pause.

    ¡°Still an aristocrat. Still a landowner.¡±

    He flipped to the next name without bothering to elaborate.

    I didn¡¯t ask.

    The carriage turned sharply down a narrow street.

    The buildings here were made of adobe, all painted the same ugly brown.

    Why not use different colors?

    It was all so dull.

    I glanced back at Sebastian.

    He was staring at me.

    Like an idiot.

    I raised an eyebrow.

    He cleared his throat and hurriedly flipped to the next page.

    ¡°Evelyn has become an artist, miss.¡±

    I tilted my head.

    ¡°What kind of artist?¡±

    ¡°All kinds, apparently. Painting, sculpting, writing. She¡¯s well known, but I haven¡¯t actually seen any of her work. We could look into it, if you¡¯re interested.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t.

    But maybe I should be.

    I just nodded.

    Sebastian moved to the final name.

    ¡°Felicity¡­¡±

    He sighed.

    ¡°Not much to report.¡±

    He glanced at the notes. ¡°She¡¯s been living off her family¡¯s wealth. Indulging in everything¡ªfood, drink, luxury. Parents are pressuring her to marry.¡±

    He tapped the page. ¡°Not as easy to gather information on her. She keeps her affairs private.¡±

    I rested my chin on my hand, thinking.

    The carriage rolled on, the city pressing in with its familiar weight.

    So many people had moved forward.

    Yet I was still here.

    Still digging through old names and past lives, hoping to find something¡ªanything¡ªthat mattered.

    My fingers tightened slightly on the folder.

    Outside, the buildings grew taller, denser, fading into the mist.

    The past was still waiting for me.

    And I wasn¡¯t done with it yet.

    The carriage slowed as it reached a square.

    The fog had thickened, swallowing the buildings into ghostly silhouettes.

    I took a deep breath.

    Sebastian closed the folder. His face unreadable.

    ¡°Do you personally know any of these people?¡±

    I didn¡¯t nod.

    Didn¡¯t shake my head.

    Didn¡¯t answer at all.

    I just turned back to the city.

    To the cracked streets, the broken windows, the faces half-lost in the mist.

    What was bothering me wasn¡¯t just them.

    It was everything.

    Nothing else had happened since I left.

    Caruncle had been one piece of the puzzle for independence, sure¡ª

    But he was still just one piece.

    So why had everything stopped?

    Where was the revolution? The change?

    Had everyone just gone to sleep?

    Had they gotten comfortable? Lazy?

    The world we knew¡ª

    The one we bled for¡ª

    Was gone.

    Just like that.

    Poof.

    The carriage rolled forward, deeper into the city¡¯s hollow heart.

    Its wheels clattered against the stone.

    A quiet, irregular rhythm.

    Those damn stones.

    Jagged. Uneven.

    Ruining what should have been a smooth ride.

    I yanked the folder from Sebastian¡¯s hands.

    He let me.

    Didn¡¯t say a word.

    I flipped through the pages myself.

    I needed to go step by step, or I was going to lose my mind.

    Lopez.

    I had to focus on Lopez first.

    But what could I even do?

    I knew a lot of things about this world, but not enough.

    Caruncle remembered the libraries, the books, the laws¡ª

    But not much.

    Not enough.

    Seventeen years.

    No¡ªnineteen.

    Nineteen years since he¡¯d last been free.

    ¡°Caruncle, this is fucked. We are fucked.¡±

    The words weren¡¯t spoken, but they sat heavily in my head.

    I could barely remember his life.

    The further back I reached, the dizzier it got.

    Like trying to grab sand in a storm.

    Depressing.

    I didn¡¯t know much about possession.

    But what I did know was that Caruncle¡ª

    Half-asleep in the back of my mind¡ª

    Seemed to think my actions were his.

    Maybe I¡¯d figure it out later.

    Maybe I¡¯d write a Possession 101 someday.

    Long story short, though?

    Leaving the country was not an option.

    Caruncle was too much of a coward.

    Too afraid to repeat his past mistakes.

    Fine.

    We¡¯d stay.

    But I was going to do something about that mopey, broken mess he¡¯d become.

    Lopez.

    Lopez.

    Dear Lopez.

    What could I even do to him?

    Before Caruncle, Lopez had been sentenced to death.

    People thought he was a barbarian.

    The Circle of Mystics had been wiped out.

    But I couldn¡¯t remember why.

    Caruncle hadn¡¯t done his job.

    And now?

    Now our intel was rotting.

    The amount of effort it would take to get back to where we were supposed to be¡ª

    Unreal.

    Back when they first met, Caruncle had asked Sebastian to gather arsenic and mercury.

    To kill Lopez.

    How?

    No clue.

    Maybe dump it in his tea.

    Maybe some other brilliant plan.

    Didn¡¯t matter.

    It wasn¡¯t going to cut it for me.

    We had to work smarter.

    Not harder.

    I stared at the folder.

    Everyone who had sold Caruncle had been doing well.

    Too well.

    A knot tightened in my stomach.

    I didn¡¯t want them to talk to me.

    Didn¡¯t want them to coexist with me.

    They were everything I despised.

    Power-hungry.

    Money-worshiping.

    Taking ownership of human souls like they were trading cattle.

    The more I read, the angrier I got.

    I hoped I would never¡ª

    Not once¡ª

    Be forced to beg them for anything.

    Not a place to belong.

    Not a glass of water.

    Not a fucking thing.

    I hoped I would never have to base my worth on their rules, their twisted sense of power.

    I hoped I would never let myself be fooled again by the illusion that there was such a thing as a home.

    They were pathetic.

    They knew it.

    They just hid behind bureaucracy, shaking each other¡¯s hands in secret, whispering their filthy deals, pretending they were better than the monsters they condemned.

    They weren¡¯t the government.

    They weren¡¯t the law.

    They weren¡¯t anything.

    Just worthless, spineless creatures, picking the most back-assward excuse to destroy anyone they didn¡¯t like.

    And all for what?

    To make it feel justified?

    To make it seem like they were the good guys?

    They knew the truth.

    This was never about the "good of the family."

    It was about control.

    Power.

    And themselves.

    Caruncle had cried for years.

    And they never cared.

    Not once.

    They villainized him because he inconvenienced them.

    Because he made them uncomfortable.

    Because he existed.

    They were no better than Satan.

    Or Jazmin.

    They just pretended to be.

    They just wrote it down on paper, stamped it with a fucking seal, and called it righteous.

    It made me sick.

    They were going to pay.

    ¡°Miss Elena?¡±

    Sebastian¡¯s voice cut through my thoughts.

    ¡°Are you alright? You¡¯ve been frowning for a while.¡±

    I blinked.

    Covered my face with my hand.

    Thought, very clearly:

    "Leave me alone, you absolute goon."

 20. On Clothing

    I remembered when Caruncle was taken to Lopez¡¯s mansion.

    Unconscious.

    Dragged there like a sack of grain.

    Now, fully awake, he finally got to see the landscape from Vadorreal to the state¡¯s outskirts.

    Lucky him.

    Alright, let me explain how things were laid out.

    There was the Basilian Empire.

    We didn¡¯t live there, so don¡¯t worry about it.

    We were in Luciana, a colony of the empire for the last two centuries since some enthusiastic conquerors decided they liked the weather.

    The capital, Vadorreal, sat at the center of the country.

    Surrounding it were several¡ª

    What do you call them?

    Villages? Communities? Rural estates?

    Whatever.

    Sebastian and Custodio lived eight to ten hours away from the city by carriage.

    Lopez lived twelve hours away.

    So yeah¡ªnever been that far from home before.

    The road to Sebastian¡¯s manor was different from the one Caruncle took when he tried to escape with that woman.

    That time, he left south.

    This time, we were heading north.

    The landscape was beautiful, though.

    Endless green plains, cold mist hanging over the hills.

    It looked almost enchanted.

    For the last ten years, they¡¯d been building a railway.

    It was ¡°almost complete.¡±

    (So they¡¯d been saying for ten years.)

    I wrote on a piece of paper, struggling against the shaking carriage.

    ¡°We need a house in the city. It¡¯s not convenient to travel back and forth every time.¡±

    Sebastian read it and sighed.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been saying. You insisted we¡¯d only visit once, so I didn¡¯t make arrangements.¡±

    I tapped the paper.

    ¡°Yeah, my mistake. Can you get something ready in two months?¡±

    ¡°I think so.¡±

    I narrowed my eyes.

    ¡°You have a lot of money, right?¡±

    Sebastian hesitated. ¡°¡­Yes?¡±

    ¡°Good. Make sure it¡¯s a pretty house. Not ostentatious. Just classy.¡±

    He rubbed his temples.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±

    Sebastian¡¯s father had been a very successful merchant.

    What did he sell?

    According to Sebastian, anything and everything.

    I¡¯d heard sugar, coffee, rubber.

    (Once, I swear he said spices.)

    Didn¡¯t matter.

    As long as I could spend his fortune, things would be fine.

    When we arrived, I went straight to the balcony on the second floor.

    I was mostly healed, but I wasn¡¯t stepping into direct sunlight until after my physician¡¯s appointment.

    The garden below was vibrant¡ª

    White, pink, and red roses.

    Bellflowers. Orchids.

    A mix of chaotic colors that somehow worked.

    I settled into a rocking chair, letting myself drift.

    Then¡ª

    ¡°Miss Elena? A letter for you.¡±

    A young maid appeared at my side.

    I flinched.

    She laughed.

    I nodded stiffly, taking the envelope from her hands.

    I turned it over.

    Then froze.

    The name on the seal¡ª

    Custodio.

    I jerked my head up, alarmed.

    The maid was already walking away.

    I almost grabbed her.

    Almost demanded¡ª

    Who delivered this? What did you tell them? Do they know I¡¯m here?

    But she was already gone.

    ¡°That idiot.¡±

    I tore the letter open.

    Read it once.

    Then twice.

    Then a third time.

    It said:

    Miss Elena,

    You are the woman I have accepted as my daughter.

    I apologize for not coming to see you in person, but I sense that you would rather not see me. The joy I feel at this moment is too great to contain, so for now, this letter will have to suffice.

    When we first met, neither of us could trust the other. You kept your distance, and I, in turn, was cautious of you. Naturally, you will understand why I must keep private the number of souls who have inhabited this body before you. But trust me when I say¡ªthere have been many.

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    Each time a new Elena wakes, it is a difficult process. Not just for them, but for me. For Mortimer. The adjustment is arduous. I have given all my love, all my devotion, to those who have taken on this role. For I am a caring father. But rarely is this love returned.

    Most do not accept their new life. They reject me. It pains me deeply.

    There have been a few who did accept their place in my family, but they were¡­ incomplete. That is the only word for them. They lacked a true will of their own. They played the role, followed every expectation, never caused trouble¡ªbut they had no ambition. No spark. They were hollow. And I cannot love something hollow.

    That is why Mortimer and I devised a test. A test of will.

    For this test, I must become the villain. I must say something so shocking, so unnatural, that it forces a reaction. That is why I proposed marriage. It is, of course, an appalling suggestion. Vulgar. Revolting. It is designed to be. Any reasonable person would wish to escape it. That is the basis of our trial.

    When the time comes, we take them to the Island of the Morning Star. There, they are given a choice. To escape¡ªor to surrender to their fate.

    Those who fail to escape lose their right to call me Father.

    But you, Miss Elena¡ªyou passed.

    This fills me with joy beyond words.

    You are not my wife. You are not my fianc¨¦e. You are, and will forever be, my daughter. My one and only. The light within you¡ªthe fire that carried you through your trials, that pushed you forward despite everything¡ªthat is the light I have been searching for. That is the light I lost long ago, when I lost my first Elena.

    And that is the light I wish to see more of.

    I know this revelation may upset you. But I want you to know¡ªyou can count on me. You can count on Mortimer.

    We are your family.

    Forever.

    Please.

    Come home.¡±

    I stared at the letter.

    I could feel my eye twitching.

    ¡°Ha! What a moron!¡±

    Custodio, in his infinite wisdom, had just confessed that the entire engagement debacle had been¡ª

    What?

    Some stupid test?

    An elaborate prank?

    There were no words.

    Only disbelief.

    And profound, profound irritation.

    ¡°Miss Elena?¡±

    Sebastian¡¯s voice cut through my thoughts.

    I flinched.

    Again.

    He was suddenly right next to me.

    (Did people sneak up on me on purpose?)

    I handed him the letter.

    He read it.

    Sat down on the couch beside me.

    Didn¡¯t speak.

    Just let out a slow, knowing sigh.

    I closed my eyes.

    I wasn¡¯t going to think about it.

    Not today.

    Not for a long time.

    ***

    The reason I asked Sebastian to wait two months before getting us a place in the city was simple¡ªI needed time to learn sign language. I was sick of relying on scraps of paper just to say basic things. That two-month plan stretched into four months because some days, Caruncle got the better of me.

    He would just sit by the window, staring at the sky like a tragic poet, letting the weight of existence crush him into the furniture. Total chore.

    If we did the math, it had been six months since Custodio took us in, one month since I fled to Sebastian¡¯s house, and now four months spent drowning in books¡ªhistory, politics, etiquette, all the so-called ''necessary'' knowledge. None of it was particularly fun, but it kept my mind occupied when I wasn¡¯t up for anything else.

    Some days, I abandoned the ship¡¯s wheel altogether. Not because of Caruncle''s melodrama, but because of the maids.

    When people got annoying, I left. Simple as that.

    That time, I checked out the moment they descended upon Elena, hands full of delicate silks, satins, lace. The pale light from the windows was too weak to be useful, the house too busy, the air filled with chatter and the rustling of fabric.

    Caruncle, as expected, was losing his mind.

    His gaze flickered toward the full-length mirror in the corner. He knew it was there, knew what was coming, and he was already squirming.

    ¡°Hold still, Miss Elena.¡± One of the maids lifted a corset, her voice kind, but practiced¡ªlike she had dressed a thousand women before.

    To Elena, this was new. Almost sacred.

    He took a breath as the corset was laced around her waist, the stays tightening, pulling her into the shape she had longed for.

    ¡°Oh, is that what you¡¯re thinking, Caruncle?¡± I scoffed. ¡°You want to be poetic about it? Fine, but you¡¯re blushing like a fool.¡±

    I could feel the butterflies fluttering in his stomach, and I rolled my eyes.

    ¡°Every single time, you have to make a mountain out of a molehill.¡±

    The corset was embroidered with roses, pressing snugly against her skin¡ªa sensation both foreign and familiar. Her posture adjusted instinctively, shoulders pulling back as if her body was reshaping itself to match the woman in the mirror.

    ¡°How does it feel, Miss?¡± asked the youngest maid, smoothing out the layers of petticoats beneath the gown.

    Caruncle shrugged.

    The maids chuckled, their hands moving quickly, pinning layers of cream-colored skirts that pooled at her feet.

    A third maid approached with the dress itself¡ªa deep burgundy gown, rich and opulent. The neckline was modest but elegant, trimmed with lace that framed her collarbones.

    Caruncle¡¯s heart fluttered.

    Of course it did.

    I sighed.

    They lifted the gown over her head, settling it onto her frame with practiced precision. The fabric slid like water against her skin.

    Once the dress was on, they stepped back.

    Let her feel it.

    The weight, the shape, the way it draped over her.

    Caruncle stood frozen, barely breathing, as the maids made final adjustments.

    Smoothing a wrinkle here.

    Tightening a seam there.

    Finally, one of them placed a small, silver mirror in her hands.

    ¡°Look, Miss Elena.¡±

    But she hesitated.

    ¡°It¡¯s been eleven months, for fuck¡¯s sake.¡±

    I threw my hands up, exasperated.

    ¡°Your hair, Miss.¡±

    A maid¡¯s gentle voice broke the trance.

    Her hands worked swiftly, pulling Elena¡¯s waves into an elegant chignon, leaving a few curls to frame her face.

    When she was done, she stepped back, smiling.

    ¡°Now, Miss Elena. Look.¡±

    Elena exhaled slowly.

    Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the mirror.

    The woman staring back was both familiar and unfamiliar.

    I sighed. ¡°Come on. You¡¯ve seen her before.¡±

    Still, Caruncle was too caught up in it to listen.

    Elena¡¯s hair was swept up elegantly, the burgundy gown hugging her frame, accentuating her curves, the fabric whispering with every small shift of movement.

    She blinked, trying to process the emotions swelling in her chest.

    The corset cinching her waist, the way the gown draped like armor.

    Not just clothing.

    Something more.

    Something that made her feel real.

    I sighed, watching the way her fingers brushed the fabric.

    ¡°Let¡¯s be real, Caruncle. It¡¯s not you.¡±

    But he didn¡¯t answer.

    Didn¡¯t argue.

    Didn¡¯t even seem to hear me.

    And I think¡ªdeep down¡ªhe agreed.

    I was getting dizzy.

    If I had to endure any more of Caruncle¡¯s endless romantic monologue, I was going to throw up. I didn''t know how, but I just knew I would find a way.

    One of the maids, noticing Elena¡¯s expression, stepped forward and gently adjusted the lace at her neckline. "You look beautiful, Miss Elena," she said softly.

    This time, the words struck deep.

    Elena lowered the mirror, a small smile tugging at her lips. She tried to whisper a thank you¡ªand failed, as usual.

    I braced myself, expecting her to bolt out of sheer embarrassment so I could get a good laugh, but she didn¡¯t. She just stood there. Frozen.

    Then, finally, she turned toward the full-length mirror across the room.

    This time, when she gazed at her reflection, the woman standing there felt¡­ real.

    Her hands skimmed over the fabric, tracing every delicate fold of the gown, every shimmer of lace. Her hair was swept up, her waist cinched, her silhouette undeniably elegant.

    Caruncle, lost in thought, swore to himself¡ªhe would do his best to make his lady happy.

    "You are a creep, dude." I muttered, scratching my forehead.

    I was the one feeling embarrassed now.

    ¡°Oh, Miss Elena,¡± one of the maids murmured, stepping closer to straighten the lace at her sleeve. Her fingers brushed lightly against Elena¡¯s arm. ¡°You¡¯re going to drive them all mad once you move to the city, you know. A vision like you¡­¡±

    Elena¡¯s heart skipped.

    Her lips parted slightly.

    What the hell was going on?

    ¡°You¡¯ll be the envy of every woman there.¡±

    The other maids shot her a look. Even they seemed a little weirded out.

    She didn¡¯t care. She bent down to adjust the hem of Elena¡¯s gown, fingers lingering just a second too long, trailing the fabric as if it were something¡­ precious.

    Her voice was softer this time.

    ¡°And not just the men, if I may be so bold.¡±

    Excuse me?

    I was starting to panic.

    Caruncle blinked, her breath catching. She turned her head slightly, meeting the maid¡¯s gaze in the mirror.

    The room fell into a hush.

    The air suddenly felt too heavy.

    Elena swallowed, her throat dry. Her eyes darted between the maid and her own reflection.

    The woman¡¯s smile was innocent. Playful.

    But there was something else there, something that made my skin crawl.

    Elena tried to laugh it off. Just a teasing joke, right?

    But the maid only leaned in closer.

    "You''re far too modest, Miss," she murmured, fingers grazing Elena¡¯s collar as she adjusted the lace. ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s time to accept just how captivating you are?¡±

    No way, dude. No way.

    What the fuck.

    What the fucking fuck.

    The words hung in the air.

    For a moment, Elena¡¯s heart pounded loud in my ears.

    And the maid¡ªher eyes were sparkling. Like she was genuinely enchanted.

    Like nothing else in the world mattered in that moment.

    Elena opened her mouth to say something¡ªanything. But the words never came.

    Instead, I took over and let out a breathless chuckle, shaking our head as if dismissing the whole thing as playful nonsense.

    A polite signal to ease off.

    But Caruncle¡¯s blush betrayed me.

    The maids burst into laughter.

    My eyes widened.

    My breath hitched.

    I had barely saved us.

    ¡°You people are a bunch of clowns.¡± I thought bitterly.

    They were so fucking annoying.

    I let out a silent laugh, the corners of Elena¡¯s lips curling in mock exasperation. With a small gesture toward the door, I made it clear¡ªEnough. We¡¯re done here.

    The maids, grinning like idiots, curtsied with exaggerated formality.

    ¡°As you wish, Miss Elena,¡± one of them teased.

    I forced a smile.

    Inside, my soul was screaming.

    When the last one finally left, Elena turned back to the mirror.

    She smoothed the fabric of her gown, feeling the lingering warmth of those hands, the butterflies still flitting in her stomach.

    ¡°Okay, from now on, we are banning dresses.¡± I declared.

 21. On Budget

    I was ecstatic.

    Finally, after all the time spent sulking in bed, hating everything around me, things were happening. We were finally¡ªfinally¡ªgetting some shit done.

    We were going to meet Valentin.

    Now, Valentin wasn¡¯t just some "lawyer" or "political advisor." That had been Sebastian skimming the damn report like an idiot.

    No. Valentin was a member of parliament. He did work in politics, sure, but he wasn¡¯t some lowly legal clerk. Either way, the plan was simple: introduce ourselves, feel him out, and see if we could get him on our side.

    His place was in a narrow, crooked street, flanked by dilapidated buildings. The stucco walls were gray and crumbling, the windows half-shattered, covered in rusting iron bars. Beneath us, uneven cobblestones cracked under the weight of the city¡¯s decay.

    I asked myself, for the hundredth time, what fucks I even gave about Caruncle¡¯s family.

    Inside, the private salon was a jewel of elegance tucked away from the smelly, suffocating streets. That night, soft amber light bathed the room, cast by low-hanging chandeliers dripping with flickering candles. Pretty, but the constant flickering annoyed the hell out of me.

    The air carried a faint scent of lavender, but it was ruined by the disgusting haze of cigar smoke.

    Elena was dressed for business.

    A deep purple velvet frock coat, fitted at the waist with a corset underneath. A mix of the maids'' ridiculous obsession with ¡®emphasizing curves¡¯ and my insistence on authority.

    The flowing trousers almost resembled a skirt, blurring the lines between masculine and feminine. Beneath the coat, a high-collared white shirt peeked through, its cuffs adorned with lace. Silver buttons gleamed along the front, each one intricately engraved, according to the maids.

    At my insistence, a black ribbon was tied at the neck.

    Getting the outfit made had been a battle, the maids treating me like I had lost my mind. But in the end? It looked damn good.

    I moved carefully, following every scrap of etiquette I¡¯d learned.

    Every step calculated. Every gesture deliberate.

    I was alive, and I wanted everyone¡¯s eyes on me.

    Then, I saw him.

    Valentin.

    He stood up.

    His eyes widened.

    "He looks even uglier than I remember."

    Caruncle shrieked.

    For a brief second, I felt his panic, the sharp stab of recognition. Valentin was his brother. And the sight of him¡ª**alive, breathing¡ª**was too much.

    He remembered the corpse. The body in the casket. His own funeral.

    I had to force myself to stay still.

    Valentin took Elena¡¯s hand and pressed a kiss against the back of it.

    His breath lingered a moment too long.

    I kept my expression still. Let him have his moment. Then, as soon as he released me, I let Elena¡¯s hand fall¡ªcasual, controlled.

    ¡°I believe we haven¡¯t had the opportunity to meet,¡± he murmured.

    I tilted my head slightly, letting my gaze sweep over him.

    Sebastian sat to my right, positioned so he could watch me speak. Valentin faced me directly.

    The arrangement was perfect.

    "You haven¡¯t met us, but we¡¯ve heard plenty about you," Sebastian started, his voice smooth.

    He was dressed in black loafers, a dull green suit, and an old dark tie. I had made sure his clothes were one size too big, just enough to make him look awkward and out of place. Exactly like Caruncle used to dress when he was alive.

    It was funny.

    ¡°And you might be?¡± Valentin asked.

    "Miss Elena is Custodio Esparza¡¯s daughter. Have you heard of him?"

    Valentin frowned. "The name sounds familiar, but¡­"

    ¡°Custodio Esparza is part of the Supernal Circle of Mountain Mystics.¡±

    The moment Sebastian said the name, Valentin¡¯s expression twisted into barely concealed disgust.

    Fair.

    I couldn¡¯t blame him.

    "Yes," Sebastian continued smoothly, "we are an organization focused on charitable works and the personal enlightenment of our members."

    "Right."

    I fought the urge to laugh.

    "In any case," Sebastian pressed on, "I am here to lend my services to Miss Elena. I am her spokesperson."

    Valentin raised a brow. "Her spokesperson?"

    "Yes. Miss Elena, if you haven¡¯t noticed, is mute. She cannot speak, but she wanted to meet you. That is why I am here."

    Valentin turned his attention back to me.

    I held his gaze, keeping a soft, unreadable smile.

    He studied me for a long moment.

    "That explains why she didn¡¯t answer my greeting, then."

    "That would be correct."

    "Ah. My apologies," Valentin said, "I assumed she was just in a bad mood."

    I waved a dismissive hand, the smile still in place.

    Valentin nodded. "And might I ask why the lady wished to meet me?"

    Sebastian¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change.

    His voice remained calm.

    "Well, I hope this isn¡¯t too upsetting," he said smoothly, "but we heard of you when one of your employees came looking for your brother at her home."

    The room stilled.

    Valentin¡¯s lips parted slightly.

    His gaze darkened.

    For a brief second, I saw the flicker of recognition¡ªof something buried beneath layers of careful control.

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    Then, just as quickly, he schooled his features back into neutrality.

    He leaned back slightly in his chair, folding his hands over the table.

    "I see."

    And just like that, the game had begun.

    Valentin averted his gaze, but I watched him closely.

    His legs were crossed, but the sole of one foot still touched the floor¡ªa position too carefully held. His hand, which had been resting on his right leg, suddenly tightened, gripping his knee with force.

    ¡°Right.¡± He paused, glancing between us. "The matter of my brother was... a bit of a tragedy. He ran away ten years ago. We searched, but we never found him. If we had known he was this close the entire time, maybe... things would have turned out differently."

    I clenched my teeth.

    Sebastian¡¯s voice remained steady.

    ¡°Miss Elena wanted to offer to move his body, in case you wished to bury him somewhere closer to your family.¡±

    Valentin¡¯s gaze snapped back to me.

    I opened Elena¡¯s eyes wider, trying to appear compassionate, but I could feel the tears pooling at the back of my mind. Not mine¡ªCaruncle¡¯s.

    It was absurd to offer Caruncle¡¯s body back.

    But it was necessary.

    Valentin exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Right. I''ll have to think about that, too. As you might guess, it''s... a difficult topic for the family."

    "Of course," Sebastian said smoothly. "But in any case, when we heard about you, we couldn''t help but be curious. Miss Elena is looking for people who can introduce her to the capital."

    "The Circle of Mystics doesn''t provide that kind of service?" Valentin asked, raising an eyebrow.

    "Not really, no," Sebastian replied. "We like to keep ourselves outside of politics."

    "How so?"

    "Most of us prefer the countryside. That¡¯s all there is to it."

    "Right."

    I tapped my fingers on the table, signaling to Sebastian. It was the first time I had interacted in the conversation at all. The thought bothered me.

    Sebastian picked up on the cue.

    "Miss Elena has heard of your work in parliament. She finds your alignment with the liberal party quite valuable."

    Valentin tilted his head.

    "Alright... although, if she''s heard about me, she also knows I''m a busy man."

    "Of course," Sebastian said. "But Miss Elena could be a valuable asset. If your goals align, she is willing to provide the necessary budget."

    For the first time, Valentin hesitated.

    His eyes flickered to me. He frowned, but the expression wasn¡¯t judgment.

    It was puzzled.

    "And she¡¯s willing to finance me... why, exactly?"

    "For the dream of a more independent Luciana."

    Valentin chuckled, shaking his head.

    "Right. I used to have that kind of dream, too, back then."

    "Isn''t that what we should all strive for?"

    Valentin exhaled, his smile fading slightly.

    "Listen, I appreciate the sentiment. I really do." He glanced at me, then Sebastian. "But I¡¯ve learned that things aren¡¯t so simple. Governing a country on our own terms is not as easy as people imagine."

    I hesitated.

    I tried to sign to Sebastian, but my hands felt clumsy.

    Independence? I pointed at Valentin, then tapped my fist over my heart¡ªgive up? The movement was stiff, unpolished, but it got the message across.

    Sebastian glanced at me. Then, smoothly:

    "Miss Elena asks if you still see Luciana becoming independent in the future."

    Something flashed in Valentin¡¯s eyes.

    A flicker of something buried.

    But he smoothed his expression.

    "Well¡­ it¡¯s not that I don¡¯t see independence as possible," he said slowly. "But I believe there are other ways to improve life here. Without risking everything on the gamble of total autonomy."

    "What paths?"

    I raised both hands¡ªpalms up, moving them forward. A silent question.

    Valentin leaned back.

    "You see," he began, "the idea of a federal state is to allow each city, each region, to govern itself. It grants autonomy without the chaos of full secession. The citizens are empowered, but there''s still structure. A safety net."

    He flicked his gaze to me. "Centralism, on the other hand, puts all the power in the hands of a few disconnected men. It stifles growth. But complete independence? That¡¯s an even heavier burden than most realize. Federalism¡ªhe gestured slightly¡ª"offers freedom in moderation. A compromise that keeps order."

    Then, suddenly, his voice softened.

    He turned to me, his eyes lingering just a moment too long.

    "Forgive me," he said with a small smile. "The pretty lady here probably finds this tiresome."

    I averted my gaze.

    Something shifted.

    Caruncle reacted.

    I hoped they didn¡¯t notice the rush of emotion that suddenly welled up.

    Sebastian, sensing my shift, filled the silence.

    "So¡­ do you still see Luciana becoming independent in the future?"

    Valentin was quiet for a beat.

    Then:

    "It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t see independence as a possibility."

    A pause.

    "But I¡¯ve come to believe there are other ways. A federal system lets us keep the empire¡¯s resources, while gaining self-governance. It¡¯s a compromise¡ªone that, for now, seems more realistic."

    They kept talking.

    But I¡­ stopped listening.

    Because Elena¡¯s tears had started falling.

    They weren¡¯t mine.

    They were Caruncle¡¯s.

    He was so incredibly sad.

    But at the same time¡ªhe felt soothed.

    Relaxed.

    Do you want to know why?

    We both know why.

    It¡¯s redundant to even say it.

    Valentin saw him for who he was.

    Fine. For who she was.

    Valentin looked at Elena and took her appearance for granted.

    Caruncle was nothing more than a pervert to me.

    A sick, broken man with a loose screw.

    But the way he saw himself?

    Sometimes, it was so intense.

    So overwhelmingly blinding that I¡­

    I just couldn¡¯t help but give in to it.

    That¡¯s why I have to write it all down. That¡¯s why I have to exorcise his thoughts out of me.

    But whatever. It¡¯s not like it changes anything.

    ¡°Miss Elena? Miss Elena? Are you alright?¡±

    I came back to earth. Sebastian had stood up and placed a hand on Elena¡¯s shoulders¡ªshoulders I could also feel. I had covered her face with her hands, ashamed of breaking down in front of Valentin.

    ¡°My apologies, was there something I said that upset you, ma¡¯am?¡±

    I looked upward for an instant and saw Sebastian panicking. I signed the word headache and covered Elena¡¯s face again.

    ¡°No! Sir, actually, we must apologize,¡± Sebastian quickly added. ¡°Miss Elena has been dealing with a lot of headaches lately, and with the trip here to Vadorreal, things got worse.¡±

    ¡°I see¡­ Let me ask the clerk to bring her a glass of water.¡±

    ¡°We would be thankful if you do.¡±

    Sebastian handed me his handkerchief, and I took it, trying to clean myself up. It was embarrassing.

    Valentin stood up and left the salon. We could hear him calling for someone.

    ¡°Eulalia? Eulalia! For heaven¡¯s sake! I¡¯ve been calling you for quite a while now!¡±

    We couldn¡¯t hear the clerk¡¯s response, just Valentin¡¯s voice, growing more irritated.

    ¡°Did you really? I need you here. I¡¯m in a meeting.¡±

    Silence.

    ¡°Never mind all that. Just bring me a glass of water.¡±

    He returned, sitting back down with a sigh. ¡°My apologies. Some clerks aren¡¯t particularly reliable. But I asked for a glass of water for Miss Esparza¡ªit should only take a moment.¡±

    A few minutes later, the water arrived. I didn¡¯t even look to see who brought it; I was still staring at the table, focusing on steadying my breathing. The problem with possessing a body was that every single sensation controlled me. The difficult breathing, the burning tears, the dizziness¡ªit was overwhelming sometimes. Being alive was overwhelming.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I signed.

    I wasn¡¯t sure if I did it right, but Sebastian nodded and translated for me. ¡°Miss Elena says thank you.¡±

    Valentin was silent for a moment, watching me. He had a cigar between his fingers, half-smoked, the ember glowing faintly.

    ¡°Never mind all that,¡± he said at last. ¡°Would you prefer if we continued this conversation another time?¡±

    I hesitated, then shook my head.

    ¡°Well, yes, that¡¯s alright. Would it be okay if Miss Elena writes to you in the following days? I know she wants to speak in her own words¡ªonce she¡¯s had some time to rest.¡±

    Valentin considered this, then reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a finely embossed card. He handed it to me.

    ¡°Here, Miss Esparza. If you wish to send word¡ªmy address. I would be most eager to hear from you.¡±

    The card was disgustingly delicate, cream-colored with his name and office inscribed in needlessly elegant script.

    I stood up and nodded, forcing a small smile. I even gave a slight bow, trying to salvage my dignity.

    ¡°If you need a physician, you can let me know,¡± Valentin added, his tone softer. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to see such a beautiful sight in pain the next time we meet.¡±

    I nodded again¡ªfor what felt like the hundredth time¡ªand finally, we left.

    Sebastian held onto me as I walked, and as soon as we stepped outside, we were greeted by rain. Thankfully, the carriage was waiting, so we got inside right away.

    The journey home was silent.

    I brought my hand to my chest, forming it into a loose fist. With a gentle, circular motion over my heart, I signed sorry.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be, Miss! I know this is really important to you for a reason. We might have cut the conversation short, but I think we actually made some good progress!¡±

    I sighed, nodding slowly.

    Sebastian hesitated, then spoke again, more cautiously.

    ¡°Now, I know you don¡¯t like to talk about these things¡­ but if you want to tell me what happened back there, maybe I can help. Or maybe I can¡¯t, but at least I can listen. I just¡ªI feel so helpless when I don¡¯t know what to do. Was it really just a headache?¡±

    I shook my head.

    ¡°Oh¡­ I see.¡±

    I raised my hand, pointing backward with my thumb¡ªlater. Then I touched my chin and moved my hand outward¡ªtalk.

    ¡°We¡¯ll talk about it later, then.¡±

    I leaned against the carriage window, watching the blurred city pass by in streaks of rain.

    Caruncle was still shaken. He had stopped crying, but I could feel him retreating into himself, curling up in the deepest parts of my mind. And then¡ªmemories.

    He was fourteen. Valentin was laughing, doubled over, as he tied a ribbon around Caruncle¡¯s waist.

    The dress was ridiculous¡ªfrilly, pale pink, with puffed sleeves that swallowed his arms. It had once belonged to their mother, and Valentin had dug it out just for this. The gown dragged behind him, absurdly large, the lace pooling around his feet like a royal train.

    ¡°This is hilarious!¡± Valentin cackled, barely able to catch his breath. ¡°You really do look like a girl!¡±

    Caruncle never saw himself in the mirror that night. But the words had made him so happy. So inexplicably, painfully, overwhelmingly happy that he couldn¡¯t contain himself.

    And now, all these years later¡­ Valentin saw him as a woman.

    The thought was dizzying. He saw Elena, took her appearance for granted. There was no hesitation, no questioning, no doubt.

    It was real.

    It was permanent.

    He had presented himself as a stranger, a woman, and there was no going back.

    I could feel his thoughts spiraling, turning into something deeper, something dangerous.

    He didn¡¯t need to see Valentin again. Not after this. Not after the dream had become real.

    Because that was all he had ever wanted.

    And now that he had it, he could die happy.

    Forever.

    For all eternity.

    I sighed.

    What an idiot.

 22. On Planning

    That night, Caruncle had a dream.

    Felicity, Evelyn, Zuriel, Percival¡ªall those noobs¡ªwere there.

    The sky stretched wide and endless, a deep, dusky purple where gold hues clung to the fading horizon. The air was thick with tension. Somewhere in the distance, the twang of bowstrings cut through the quiet, boots scuffing against damp earth as archers lined a hilltop, arrows poised. Their eyes tracked something moving¡ªsomething massive¡ªa shadow slipping through the plains with a hunter¡¯s grace.

    At the base of a pyramid, a griffin lay curled, six times the size of any lion. Its golden feathers gleamed under the last light of day, wings tucked in close, the first primary feather stretching longest. The massive beak rested against its chest, talons digging into the earth. It was terrifying.

    I had read thousands of books in my lifetime, but I had never seen a griffin before. Sure, I¡¯d come across drawings, but seeing one with my own eyes? Different.

    Where a falcon or eagle would have a tail of twelve feathers, this creature¡¯s lower half was that of a lioness¡ªraw muscle and power beneath golden fur.

    Valentin pushed through the ranks of archers, breathless. His gaze locked onto the creature, then froze. A scar, jagged and deep, cut across both of its eyes in a diagonal slash. His pulse quickened.

    "Hold your fire!" he shouted. He stepped forward, his voice sharp with urgency. "Hold your fire! This isn¡¯t a beast¡ªthis is Caruncle!"

    The griffin¡¯s amber gaze flicked toward him. Feathers ruffled in the breeze. It didn¡¯t speak. It didn¡¯t move. But the weight of its stare sent a ripple through the gathered soldiers.

    Valentin took another step. His voice softened. "Caruncle, can you understand me?"

    The griffin tilted its head, watching him with something like amusement. Maybe even a smile.

    The archers hesitated. The bows lowered slightly.

    Valentin¡¯s family said nothing.

    ¡°How could you let them do this to you?¡± His voice cracked.

    The griffin blinked, unbothered, tilting its head further, as if it was the one trying to make sense of him.

    ¡°Do you recognize me?¡±

    It didn¡¯t answer.

    Valentin¡¯s knees hit the ground. His hands curled into the dirt as his breath hitched. "If I had just listened to you sooner¡ª"

    I glanced at the griffin. Its expression had changed¡ªa flicker of pity. The creature slowly unfurled one great wing and placed it lightly against Valentin¡¯s back.

    The gesture sent him flat onto the ground.

    The griffin hesitated, then adjusted, resting the wing more carefully over him, like a quiet apology.

    ¡°Caruncle¡­¡± Valentin pressed his face into the soft, golden feathers, clutching at them like a drowning man. ¡°Caruncle¡­¡±

    They stayed like that for a long time.

    Finally, Valentin wiped his eyes and reached into his crossbody bag, pulling out a dress.

    A silk dress¡ªfamiliar, soft, flowing. Burgundy, just like the one the maids had forced Caruncle into.

    ¡°Look,¡± Valentin murmured, forcing a smile even as tears streaked his face. ¡°Caruncle¡­ it¡¯s your dress. The one you wanted.¡±

    The griffin exhaled softly, a deep, thrumming sound. It extended a wing, taking the dress carefully¡ªgently, reverently. The fabric disappeared beneath golden feathers. Tucked away. Safe.

    Then, it moved as if to pat Valentin again. Paused. Thought better of it. Instead, it let him hold onto its wing, resting beside him.

    The griffin¡¯s eyes were calm, but there was something else beneath them. Something sad.

    I could hear its thoughts.

    Caruncle was happy. Just happy to have his brother near.

    ¡°Caruncle¡­ thank you, Caruncle¡­.¡±

    Somewhere beyond the dream, I started hearing crickets.

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    The others stood frozen, silent, caught in some moment they weren¡¯t sure how to leave.

    I, meanwhile, found a puddle of rainbow-colored water and kicked it with my boot.

    ***

    When I woke up, I felt like I¡¯d lost something important.

    What was I even doing? This whole plan¡ª**getting close to Caruncle¡¯s family, trying to play this game¡ª**what the hell was I thinking? Shame burned deep in my chest.

    I left the body.

    I was done.

    Caruncle was sitting in the parlor, listening to Sebastian chat with one of his maids when a letter arrived.

    ¡°Did I ever tell you how I got into the Circle?¡± Sebastian handed Caruncle the envelope and leaned against the desk. ¡°There was this girl. She was into dark magic and sorcery. I fell in love with her. Thought she was a demon sent to destroy me, so, naturally, I tried to exorcise her.¡± He chuckled to himself. ¡°Anyway, hey¡ªare you listening?¡±

    Caruncle had already turned away, slowly opening the letter.

    Valentin¡¯s Letter:

    *"I know you believe deeply in the freedom of all men. This is something I have discussed often within my party, but understand: compensation must be made for the owners, not the former slaves. These individuals have invested in their businesses, and therefore, we must reimburse them for their losses. The idea of persecuting former owners in what has long been an established system is simply unfeasible. Change must come at its own pace.

    If you are willing to support our party financially and work toward gradual reform, you are welcome to write me again."*

    It was bullshit.

    Caruncle sat frozen, gripping the letter. Fingers trembling. His chest ached in that raw, childish way it did when the world refused to bend to his will. He swallowed down the wave of frustration, forcing himself to sit there¡ªjust sit there¡ªuntil the shaking passed.

    For an hour, maybe two, he stared out at the park, hollow and exhausted. Then, finally, he reached for fresh paper and began to write.

    Letter to Custodio:

    *"You said I could count on you as family. If that¡¯s true, I will. But you must pass my test first.

    Bring Mr. Lopez to your home. Write to him¡ªtell him he is in danger. Make sure his guard comes with him. I do not know if he keeps copies of his communications, but that is a risk you and I will both have to take.

    I also need an axe ready.

    I am done waiting. I want this solved now. If you can do this, I will know that I can trust you."*

    He rewrote the letter over and over, trying to keep his handwriting steady. Trying not to let the ink blur from the tears dripping onto the page.

    Later, Caruncle stepped out onto the balcony. Sebastian was still talking with the maid, the two of them caught in some winding conversation.

    ¡°¡­And that¡¯s when I realized,¡± Sebastian was saying, ¡°that by falling in love with her, I hadn¡¯t lost my soul. I hadn¡¯t been ¡®tainted¡¯¡ªI had been freed. I saw the cracks in everything. My faith. My world. That¡¯s why I stayed with the Circle, even though they¡¯re useless most of the time.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s crazy.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    Caruncle tapped his shoulder. When Sebastian turned, he motioned for him to follow.

    Inside the study, Caruncle handed him a notebook.

    "It¡¯s time."

    Sebastian stared at the words. Read them twice. Then looked up.

    ¡°Are you sure about this?¡±

    Caruncle nodded.

    Sebastian sighed. ¡°I thought you were going to reconsider.¡±

    "I did."

    ¡°And you¡¯re still angry.¡±

    "I¡¯m still angry."

    Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose. ¡°This is fucking stupid. I hope you¡¯re aware of that.¡±

    "I am."

    Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room. ¡°Alright. I already sent someone to scout Lopez¡¯s property. Contrary to what you told me, it¡¯s not in the city. It¡¯s in the countryside¡ªa maze of a house hidden behind farmland. I know you want to lure him to Custodio¡¯s place so no one sees us going in, but if Lopez leaves, the people inside will starve. What are you going to do about them?¡±

    Caruncle hesitated. Then, slowly, he wrote:

    "I don¡¯t want to leave any witnesses."

    Sebastian¡¯s head snapped toward him. ¡°So what? You want to just¡ªleave them to die?¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s pen scratched against the paper again.

    "We could speed up that process."

    Sebastian let out a short, bitter laugh. ¡°What?¡±

    "I¡¯m serious."

    ¡°You¡¯re talking about slaughtering them.¡±

    Caruncle shrugged.

    Sebastian scoffed, turning toward the window, rubbing his face like he was trying to wake himself up from this absolute madness.

    ¡°Okay,¡± he muttered, ¡°let me go, alone. I¡¯ll free them after Lopez is dead. If I time it right, they won¡¯t even know you were involved. I¡¯ll say I came to buy someone and found the place abandoned.¡±

    Caruncle frowned.

    ¡°You have to let me do this.¡± Sebastian¡¯s voice wavered. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s a risk, but a smaller one. And if you don¡¯t, I think I¡¯m going to lose my fucking mind.¡±

    Caruncle exhaled slowly, staring down at Elena¡¯s hands¡ªhis hands now.

    He flexed her fingers, watching how the light caught against the skin.

    Then, finally, he nodded.

    Sebastian sagged in relief. ¡°Good.¡± He ran a hand through his hair. ¡°Have you talked to Custodio about this?¡±

    Caruncle tapped the sealed letter on the desk.

    ¡°¡­Do you trust him?¡±

    Caruncle hesitated. Then wrote:

    "If he does this for me, I can trust him."

    Sebastian¡¯s expression twisted. ¡°And the marriage thing? How do you feel about that?¡±

    "It doesn¡¯t matter anymore."

    Sebastian sighed. ¡°Alright. Suit yourself.¡±

    He turned toward the cabinet, pulled out a bottle, and poured himself a stiff drink.

 23. On Death

    The air in Custodio¡¯s manor felt wrong.

    Heavy. Dense. Like every breath took longer to reach my lungs.

    I could also smell onions.

    Why onions? I didn¡¯t know. I hadn¡¯t seen any in the house. Maybe my mind was making it up. Maybe my nerves were playing tricks on me. Either way, I was uneasy.

    Custodio, Mortimer, Sebastian, and Caruncle sat in the study, slouched into oversized, plush chairs. No one spoke.

    The only sound was the slow, rhythmic tick¡­ tock¡­ tick¡­ tock of the grandfather clock.

    Elena was dressed meticulously today. Too pretty, almost. It was easy to forget that Caruncle was the one inside, not her.

    The dress had been meticulously designed by the maids, who had written an entire description for me so I wouldn¡¯t ¡°forget¡± its details. Like I could.

    She wore a gown of deep red velvet, the fabric heavy and rich. The fitted bodice, adorned with lace at the high neckline, hugged her form. The slightly flared sleeves and pleated skirt gave the illusion of fluid movement, even when she was perfectly still. The hem stopped just above her polished boots.

    Caruncle wore the body well. So well, in fact, that I had decided I¡¯d refer to her as a girl while she had it on.

    She earned it.

    Custodio finally broke the silence.

    ¡°So. What¡¯s the plan?¡± He exhaled a cloud of smoke. ¡°Let him in and kill him straight away?¡±

    Caruncle nodded.

    ¡°With¡­ an axe?¡±

    Another nod.

    Custodio stared at her, taking another slow drag from his cigar. ¡°Right. And why not a gun?¡±

    She shook her head.

    Custodio glanced at Mortimer, who simply shrugged.

    ¡°So your plan is to butcher him in the entry hall. Have you considered the mess that¡¯ll make? How long it¡¯ll take to clean?¡±

    Caruncle raised a hand.

    First, she tapped her chest with two fingers. ¡°I.¡±

    Then, she extended her hand forward, palm flat, cutting through the air with quiet resolve. ¡°Will.¡±

    She mimicked scrubbing, fingers curling and twisting as though gripping an invisible cloth. ¡°Clean.¡±

    Finally, she paused, lifting an eyebrow before raising an index finger. ¡°If.¡± A slight outward motion, palms up, as though weighing a decision. ¡°Necessary.¡±

    Sebastian sighed, translating. ¡°She says she¡¯ll clean it up herself if needed.¡±

    Custodio and Mortimer exchanged a look.

    ¡°I firmly believe we should send him to the basement first,¡± Mortimer offered. ¡°Less mess to deal with.¡±

    Caruncle wrote in her notebook:

    "Do you have a plan to convince him to go to the basement?"

    Custodio ignored the question. ¡°Lopez won¡¯t come alone.¡±

    "You said he trusts you."

    ¡°He does. But he¡¯s not stupid.¡± Custodio tapped his cigar against the ashtray. ¡°He¡¯ll suspect something immediately. Hell, he probably already does.¡±

    Sebastian leaned forward. ¡°Mr. Esparza, might I see a copy of the letter you sent him?¡±

    Custodio reached into his coat and handed him an envelope.

    Sebastian unfolded it, reading aloud:

    "Mr. Lopez,

    They are coming for you.

    Meet me at my residence for more details."

    Sebastian gave him a flat look. ¡°Not exactly subtle, is it?¡±

    Custodio smirked. ¡°Lopez is a man of brevity.¡±

    Sebastian handed the letter back. ¡°Right.¡±

    Silence settled over the room again.

    I sat there, feeling restless.

    I wanted to fart, just to break the tension, but I didn¡¯t feel one coming.

    Yes, ghosts can fart.

    No, I don¡¯t eat anything¡ªit¡¯s just a habit.

    Sebastian finally broke the silence.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you should do this, Elena.¡±

    Caruncle looked up.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about it a lot,¡± he continued, rubbing his temples. ¡°And I just¡ªI can¡¯t keep up with this. This is more than I thought I could chew. I¡¯m done. With all due respect, this is insane.¡±

    Custodio flicked his cigar. ¡°Not the best time to grow a conscience, kid.¡±

    Sebastian ignored him. He turned to Custodio, his voice wavering. ¡°Mr. Esparza¡­ how can you allow this? I know you have your reasons, but you¡¯ve known Lopez for years. And you¡¯re just going to¡ªwhat? Let your own daughter murder him?¡±

    Custodio smiled around his cigar. ¡°You don¡¯t know Lopez at all, do you?¡±

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t.¡± Sebastian folded his arms. ¡°And I still don¡¯t see how that correlates.¡±

    ¡°Lopez is vermin.¡±

    Sebastian¡¯s face paled. ¡°But¡ªmurder?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well,¡± Custodio shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s had it coming for a long time.¡±

    Sebastian stared at him in disbelief. ¡°I just don¡¯t understand how¡ª¡±

    ¡°Sebastian,¡± Custodio interrupted, exhaling another slow cloud of smoke. ¡°You¡¯re smarter than you look. Think it over a little, and you¡¯ll see what I¡¯m talking about.¡±

    ¡°¡­Excuse me?¡±

    Caruncle stood abruptly.

    ¡°What?¡± Sebastian frowned. ¡°Where are you going?¡±

    Caruncle made a tight fist, thumb tucked between her index and middle fingers. She held it to her torso and shook it slightly.

    Sebastian sighed. ¡°She says she¡¯s going to the bathroom.¡±

    Caruncle left the room.

    Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°Whatever. Just don¡¯t take too long. We need to talk about this seriously.¡±

    Yeah.

    Caruncle wasn¡¯t going to the bathroom.

    ***

    The caleche was already arriving.

    I heard the wheels crunch over gravel, the distant creak of leather as it slowed to a halt.

    Lopez was here.

    It had been so easy.

    Too easy.

    I peeked through the window as he stepped down. He wore all black¡ªa standard suit like the one Mortimer always wore, but shinier. Something about the silk sheen made my stomach churn. He looked repugnant.

    Another second looking at him and I would have puked. Really.

    Caruncle lifted the axe from where it rested in the hallway, her fingers tightening around the rough wooden handle. She walked down the corridor, past the dimly lit sitting room near the manor¡¯s entrance. The door was open.

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    Her pulse hammered against her ribs.

    The axe was heavier than expected.

    Each shallow breath felt too loud.

    Lopez stepped inside.

    Caruncle swung.

    The axe connected before she even registered moving.

    A sickening crack. Then a dull, wet thud.

    The body hit the floor.

    The pale daylight seeped through the manor¡¯s windows, turning the blood into something almost glistening. A surreal, shimmering pool of red.

    Caruncle stared.

    Detached. Distant. She tried to shake the axe loose from Lopez¡¯s skull, but the weight of it resisted. A sharp tug. Then another. The sickening squelch of flesh peeling from metal. Finally, it came free.

    She swung again.

    This time, his back.

    Then again.

    And again.

    And again.

    She lost count.

    Blood splattered across her dress, her hands, her face¡ªsoaking into the red velvet until she couldn''t tell where the fabric ended and the gore began.

    I didn¡¯t know what I felt.

    I barely saw anymore.

    The day was a dim, flickering haze, like the dying glow of a fluorescent bulb. From where I stood, I could see the very edge of time itself.

    For him, time ended here.

    His consciousness folded in on itself, like stepping into a darkened room after walking an endless hallway. But the room was not a room.

    It was a vacuum.

    A silent, airtight container that sealed the corridor inside.

    I looked at Caruncle.

    Her eyes were still locked on the body.

    In her mind, a phrase looped over and over.

    "It¡¯s over. It¡¯s over. It¡¯s over. It¡¯s over. It¡¯s over."

    She had rewritten the laws of the universe.

    For a brief, blinding moment, the sensation was ecstatic.

    "Freedom comes from reaching the end."

    She tried to mouth the words, but her lips trembled uselessly.

    ¡°What in the actual fuck, Caruncle?¡± I whispered.

    The axe slipped from her hands.

    The weight of it hit the bloodied floor with a dull clatter. She stared at her fingers¡ªcoated in red.

    Footsteps. Rushing toward her.

    Caruncle barely turned before she saw Sebastian¡¯s face.

    His horrified face.

    ¡°Move away!¡±

    Her head jerked up.

    A second man.

    A gun.

    The buff bodyguard raised his revolver.

    Sebastian lunged.

    The two men collided.

    Sebastian slammed his full weight into the guard¡¯s midsection, knocking them both backward. The gun clattered to the floor, skidding across the blood-slick tiles.

    They hit the ground hard.

    Sebastian had momentum on his side, but the other man was bigger. Stronger. Their bodies crashed into furniture, knocking over a side table. The revolver lay only a few feet away.

    Caruncle was frozen.

    Her hands twitched at her sides, but she couldn¡¯t move.

    Sebastian couldn¡¯t hold him for long. The man twisted, grappling him by the collar and throwing him off balance. Their struggle turned messy¡ªwild, animalistic.

    Sebastian¡¯s voice cut through the chaos.

    ¡°Elena! Do something!¡±

    She didn¡¯t move.

    She couldn¡¯t.

    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake! Help me!¡±

    The axe came down hard.

    The blade sank into flesh.

    A shriek¡ªsharp, wet, agonized.

    Caruncle had buried the axe directly in the guard¡¯s groin.

    ¡°AAGGHH!¡± The man¡¯s body convulsed violently, his voice cracking in raw, high-pitched agony. He squirmed on the floor, clutching himself, his face twisting in pain.

    I have to admit. It was kind of funny.

    But before I could really appreciate the moment, Sebastian lunged.

    His hands closed around the guard¡¯s throat.

    Tightened.

    The guard thrashed, clawing at Sebastian¡¯s arms, at his own neck, at anything he could reach. His movements turned frantic, then sloppy. His fingers dug at Sebastian¡¯s sleeves, then slipped off. His grip weakened.

    Sebastian¡¯s didn¡¯t.

    Tears leaked from the guard¡¯s bulging eyes. His face darkened. His kicks slowed. His twitching hands stilled.

    And then¡ªnothing.

    Sebastian collapsed onto his side, panting. The room fell into silence.

    Minutes passed.

    And then¡ª

    A slow, measured set of footsteps.

    Custodio and Mortimer entered the room.

    Their steps were unhurried.

    Almost bored.

    Mortimer glanced around, taking in the scene with mild curiosity.

    ¡°Are you sure it was okay to let them handle this alone, sir?¡±

    ¡°Think about it,¡± Custodio murmured. ¡°If you and I died, who would have performed the spell to bring them back? The best outcome would be with¡ª¡±

    His gaze finally landed on what was left of Lopez.

    And he froze.

    ¡°...What on earth?¡±

    Custodio took a long drag from his cigar.

    Then sighed.

    Then facepalmed.

    ¡°What in the actual hell is wrong with you, woman?¡± he groaned, rubbing his temples. ¡°Do you have any idea what you¡¯ve done?¡±

    Caruncle didn¡¯t move.

    Custodio gestured vaguely at the pile of carnage. ¡°We could¡¯ve used his body to study the spell, but now? Now he¡¯s just a pile of fucking meat. Do you understand what a waste this is?¡±

    He shook his head, muttering. ¡°You were right, Mortimer. I¡¯m getting too slow. This could¡¯ve gone a lot worse.¡±

    Finally, he looked back at Caruncle.

    She was still frozen.

    Expressionless.

    Eyes vacant.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got serious issues, young lady. We¡¯re going to need to talk about this.¡±

    Silence.

    Custodio gestured vaguely toward the mess. ¡°I hope you¡¯re planning to start cleaning soon. We can¡¯t leave this out in the open.¡±

    Caruncle didn¡¯t react.

    She didn¡¯t even blink.

    Custodio sighed.

    ¡°Great. Look at her. She¡¯s probably going to stay like this all day.¡± He turned to Mortimer. ¡°I told you this little ¡®test¡¯ of hers was a bad idea.¡±

    ¡°I understand, sir,¡± Mortimer nodded solemnly. ¡°I had hoped you two would connect, but I was clearly misguided.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you were.¡±

    Sebastian, meanwhile, had been sitting in complete shock.

    He suddenly snapped.

    ¡°WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!¡±

    Custodio and Mortimer turned to him like they had forgotten he was even there.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Custodio muttered. ¡°Right. This guy¡¯s still here.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡±

    Sebastian staggered to his feet. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and twitching. He looked like a man who had just been dragged through hell itself.

    ¡°Two people have just been brutally murdered!¡± he shrieked. ¡°And you¡¯re talking about DOGSHIT?!¡±

    He spun in a circle, gesturing wildly at the carnage around him.

    ¡°WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT IS GOING ON?! DO YOU PEOPLE HAVE NO CONSCIENCE?! LOOK AT THIS! LOOK AT ALL OF THIS!!¡±

    He gagged.

    Stared at his hands¡ªstill covered in blood.

    Shuddered.

    Turned slowly toward Caruncle.

    She was still standing there.

    Frozen.

    Statue-still.

    ¡°¡­Look at this.¡± His voice dropped to a whisper.

    He took a slow, shaky step toward her.

    "You made me kill a man.¡± His breath was shallow, ragged. His voice cracked.

    ¡°You made me kill a man.¡±

    He lifted his trembling hands¡ªred with blood.

    Extended them toward her.

    Caruncle didn¡¯t even blink.

    Sebastian¡¯s breath hitched.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to say anything?!¡±

    ¡­

    Nothing.

    Still nothing.

    Caruncle remained as still as a corpse.

    Sebastian laughed.

    A broken, miserable laugh.

    ¡°I told you,¡± he whispered. ¡°Don¡¯t do this. There were better ways. There were better ways.¡±

    He turned toward Lopez¡¯s mangled body.

    That was a mistake.

    The moment his eyes landed on it¡ª

    He vomited.

    Dropped to his knees, retching into his own lap.

    ¡°I never wanted this,¡± he gasped between heaves. ¡°I never wanted any of this¡­¡±

    Mortimer tilted his head. ¡°Should we mention that the guard might still be revivable?¡±

    Custodio checked his pocket watch.

    ¡°Unlikely. Brain¡¯s probably already spoiled.¡±

    ¡°How long does that take again?¡±

    ¡°Without putting it in a freezer? Fifteen minutes." He glanced at the body. ¡°Time¡¯s up. His memories are gone.¡±

    Mortimer frowned. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it still be worth trying to revive him? Even without memories?¡±

    Custodio arched a brow.

    ¡°Do you want to take care of a 1.8-meter man and change his diapers?¡±

    Mortimer blanched. ¡°Uh. No, sir.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought.¡±

    ¡°Well¡­¡± Mortimer hesitated. ¡°I¡­ No. Okay. It¡¯s a shame then.¡±

    ¡°Besides,¡± Custodio added, flicking ash from his cigar, ¡°that man would¡¯ve been more trouble than he was worth.¡±

    ¡°You think so, sir?¡±

    ¡°I know so. Now¡ªenough chit-chat. Start cleaning. I¡¯ll take Elena to her room.¡±

    Mortimer sighed. ¡°And what should we do about Mr. Lysias?¡±

    Custodio glanced at Sebastian.

    He had been staring at Caruncle.

    For a long time.

    Neither of them had moved.

    It was creepy.

    Custodio exhaled.

    ¡°Right. First thing¡¯s first¡ªSebastian.¡±

    Sebastian slowly turned his head.

    His bloodshot, veiny eyes locked onto Custodio.

    ¡°¡­What.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not leaving this house until you bathe. And put on clean clothes.¡±

    Sebastian stared for a moment.

    Then tilted his head.

    Then let his head drop.

    Like he had started to nod, but gave up halfway through.

    His arms hung limply at his sides, as if he had lost control of them completely.

    ¡°Now, come here, young lady,¡± Custodio murmured to Caruncle, gently prying the axe from her fingers. ¡°Let¡¯s not hurt anyone else, alright?¡±

    He lifted her into his arms.

    She didn¡¯t resist.

    As he carried her upstairs, her mouth remained slightly open.

    Custodio sighed.

    ¡°My poor girl¡­ You should¡¯ve known.

    The first time is never easy.¡±

 24. On Law

    Several nights later, Caruncle dreamed of Lopez.

    They were in a haunted house. You know, the kind you see in shitty plays¡ªcrooked hallways, too many doors, shadows that didn¡¯t belong to anything. Somewhere in the distance, a pipe was leaking. Drip. Drip. Drip.

    Lopez was running like a defenseless little chicken. Arms flailing, legs too slow, voice breaking into these pathetic, wheezing sobs.

    "Oh please don¡¯t, please forgive me¡ª"

    Caruncle wasn¡¯t listening. She was admiring her drill.

    It was huge. Completely impractical. The kind of thing that looked like it belonged in a steampunk factory, designed by a lunatic with no regard for OSHA regulations. It hummed in her hands, vibrating like it was alive, like it was hungry.

    Lopez tripped and hit the floor. He didn¡¯t even try to get up. He just curled into himself, arms up, shivering like a little wet rat.

    Caruncle knelt beside him, pressed the drill to his shin, and pulled the trigger.

    It shrieked through bone. Blood spurted like a broken pipe.

    Lopez howled. Not a real scream. No. Something weaker. Something that made her think of a dying cat stuck under a carriage wheel.

    ¡°You are a pile of garbage,¡± she told him.

    Her voice came out wrong. Deeper. Almost inhuman.

    She didn¡¯t think too much about that. She kept going.

    The other shin. The forearm. Every part that looked fragile. Every part that seemed like it would hurt the most. The drill tore through muscle and ligaments like they were paper.

    Blood hit her face. She didn¡¯t blink.

    The drill kept going.

    Somewhere behind her, I sighed.

    ¡°Well. You¡¯re a murderer, Caruncle.¡±

    She didn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°You are trash too.¡±

    Still no answer. Just the wet, grinding sound of steel on flesh.

    She woke up angry. Not because of the dream. Not because of Lopez. But because it hadn¡¯t been real. Because she hadn¡¯t really made him suffer. She hadn¡¯t really watched him squirm and cry and beg.

    Because in the end, she had used an axe.

    An axe.

    What kind of moron uses an axe?

    The axe had been messy. Too much effort, too much physical strain. The blood splatter was all wrong. The cuts weren¡¯t clean. It had taken minutes to finish him off, and afterward, she hadn¡¯t felt triumphant or powerful.

    She had just felt dirty.

    She clenched her jaw, gripping the bed sheets so tight her fingers hurt.

    An axe wasn¡¯t enough.

    Lopez was dead. That should have been satisfying. It should have made everything better.

    It hadn¡¯t.

    She muttered under her breath (in her mind, of course), ¡°I will never use an axe again.¡±

    I rolled my eyes.

    The real problem wasn¡¯t the axe. The real problem was that we were never going to find a drill that actually worked in the real world.

    ***

    Caruncle sat against the headboard, staring at nothing. Custodio sat nearby, stiff as ever. Valentin was there, too¡ªpolished, pleasant, an uninvited problem wrapped in silk.

    Downstairs, the police were everywhere¡ªopening drawers, knocking on walls, looking for secrets they weren¡¯t smart enough to find. I counted at least a dozen of them, all stomping around like they were about to uncover some great truth.

    They wouldn¡¯t.

    Lopez had been dead for weeks. Things had been tense, but Caruncle had calmed down. A little.

    Valentin took her hand and kissed it. Her entire body shut down.

    Error. System failure. Rebooting.

    ¡°I apologize for the intrusion, my lady.¡± His voice was soft, perfectly measured, like an expensive melody. ¡°I know how inconvenient this must be, given your¡­ recent illness.¡±

    His eyes, though. His eyes were annoyed.

    The trip had taken too long. He hadn¡¯t expected this much effort.

    ¡°This is a lovely manor,¡± he added, as if he actually cared.

    Caruncle nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

    She tried to keep her face neutral, professional, but looking at him made her feel like a child being handed a crown.

    Embarrassment coiled in her chest.

    Yes. I remembered the embarrassment, too.

    ¡°Mr. Esparza,¡± Valentin turned to Custodio, all business now. ¡°How does one live in a place like this?¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°The moor.¡± Valentin smiled, but it wasn¡¯t warm. ¡°In the capital, they call it ¡®the moor with the broken sky.¡¯ Always cloudy, but it never rains.¡±

    Custodio¡¯s answering smile was barely there.

    ¡°Please, now,¡± he said, voice clipped. ¡°Keep it short.¡±

    Valentin sighed dramatically.

    ¡°I am here because of your daughter.¡±

    Custodio¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. ¡°You are.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Valentin shifted slightly, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. ¡°She contacted me some time ago to discuss proposals for the abolition of slavery. It is, after all, a subject of growing interest in the capital.¡±

    A pause.

    ¡°A few nations have already taken steps forward, even the Basilian Kingdom. Now would be the perfect time to attempt the same here in Luciana.¡±

    Custodio looked bored.

    ¡°Right.¡±

    ¡°And well,¡± Valentin continued, watching for reactions, ¡°I¡¯ve been supporting her ideas ever since. However, certain people in the capital have become aware of her name, and¡­ well.¡± He gestured vaguely toward the police. ¡°I¡¯d hate for a rumor to stain her reputation.¡±

    Custodio tilted his head. ¡°Some people?¡±

    ¡°People of power. Money.¡± Valentin shrugged. ¡°Nothing noteworthy. But still, I¡¯d like to ensure that her image remains untarnished.¡±

    Custodio gave him a long, unimpressed look.

    ¡°You mean your image.¡±

    ¡°Oh, please.¡± Valentin smiled. ¡°In any case, I¡¯m sure that if I help her, she can help me in return.¡±

    Custodio exhaled slowly. ¡°And I¡¯ve already told you¡ªI don¡¯t know anything about Lopez¡¯s whereabouts.¡±

    Valentin did not believe him.

    But he was too polite to say that.

    ¡°Of course,¡± he said smoothly. ¡°Say, Mr. Esparza, tell me¡ªhow do you make your income?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a financial advisor.¡±

    ¡°To whom?¡±

    ¡°All my services are confidential.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Valentin studied him. ¡°And if the chief detective asked?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Custodio said flatly. ¡°With an attorney.¡±

    Valentin sighed again, as if this was all beneath him.

    ¡°Very well.¡±

    Another long pause. The officers downstairs were still knocking on things.

    ¡°I would like to speak with Elena alone.¡±

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can agree to that,¡± Custodio said immediately.

    Valentin let out a breathy, knowing laugh. ¡°Surely you trust the reputation of a member of parliament?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can, no.¡±

    Valentin¡¯s smile flickered for just a second.

    Then, he turned directly to Caruncle.

    ¡°Miss Elena.¡±

    Her entire world shifted.

    Oh no.

    ¡°You understand why I¡¯ve come.¡±

    He was looking at her. Directly at her. Using her name.

    ¡°If you grant me just a moment,¡± he continued, voice like silk-wrapped steel, ¡°I believe we¡¯ll find common ground.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s stomach imploded.

    No, wait. Not imploded.

    Exploded.

    Atomized.

    You know the butterfly feeling? But worse? Like butterflies that set your organs on fire?

    That.

    Valentin had just obliterated her. And he didn¡¯t even know it.

    ¡°Miss Elena?¡±

    Reality flickered.

    The room wasn¡¯t a room anymore.

    It was glittering fairy dust. The floor was celestial fabric. The air was divine.

    ¡°Elena?¡±

    Caruncle nodded slowly.

    She was smiling, but her eyes were sad.

    There was also a weird, uncontrollable urge to laugh.

    "What a moron," she thought. What a moron, what a moron, what a moron¡ª

    ¡°See? The lady agrees,¡± Valentin said smoothly. ¡°Shall we?¡±

    Custodio didn¡¯t move for thirty full seconds.

    Then, finally, he stood¡ªslowly, deliberately, turning toward the door.

    But before stepping out, he stopped.

    He glanced back at Valentin.

    ¡°You know,¡± Custodio said, tone unreadable, ¡°I¡¯ve always wondered how the brother of a parliament member ended up as a slave.¡±

    Valentin didn¡¯t even flinch.

    He simply looked out the window.

    ¡°Believe me,¡± he said, voice distant. ¡°I ask myself the same thing every day.¡±

    Then he smiled.

    Very sad.

    Custodio left.

    The door clicked shut.

    Caruncle sat there, still frozen.

    Everything was spinning.

    ¡°I apologize for that, Miss Elena.¡±

    Valentin spoke like a man who wasn¡¯t actually sorry. Like a man who had practiced the art of apologizing without meaning a single word.

    ¡°The whole matter with my brother is, frankly¡­ ridiculous,¡± he continued, ¡°but nevertheless quite tragic for my family. And I don¡¯t like to talk about it.¡±

    That last part was almost convincing.

    Almost.

    He stared at the door for a long time, as if replaying Custodio¡¯s words in his mind, considering them like one might consider an insult that almost landed but not quite.

    Then, finally, he turned back to her.

    Caruncle hadn¡¯t moved.

    She was watching him carefully, balancing on a knife¡¯s edge between curiosity and calculation.

    ¡°You know something?¡± Valentin said lightly, reaching into his coat. ¡°The first time I ever heard of you was because of my brother.¡±

    His fingers closed around something. A wallet. He pulled it out with deliberate slowness.

    ¡°You¡¯re in the photo they sent me.¡±

    He opened the wallet and took out a small, expensive-looking print. A rare kind of photograph, too costly for common people.

    He held it out to her.

    ¡°My brother¡¯s casket.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s fingers twitched.

    She took the photo.

    The body inside was barely visible¡ªstiff, pale, distant. But Elena?

    Elena took up half the damn frame.

    Her lips were sad, but her eyes were furious.

    Something about it felt almost staged. Like the photographer had seen her standing there, seen the raw emotion twisting her face, and thought, Yes. That¡¯s the shot.

    ¡°I think the photographer was actually focused on you when he took this,¡± Valentin mused, laughing softly. ¡°The composition feels a little¡­ off, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    Caruncle didn¡¯t answer.

    She handed the photo back and turned to stare out the window.

    She looked sad.

    Valentin tucked the print back into his wallet and sighed. ¡°But anyway¡­ I¡¯ve been putting this off for a while, but I¡¯ll most likely have to ask your father for permission to move his body. I¡¯d like to place him in a cemetery in the city. Not with our family, maybe, but closer to me.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s hands moved on their own.

    There was a familiar feeling rising up in her chest¡ªthe kind of feeling that made her want to throw everything down the drain and set the drain on fire.

    She wrote something quickly, barely thinking.

    ¡°What happened to your brother?¡±

    Her hand trembled.

    Calm down.

    Valentin exhaled slowly, tapping a finger against his knee.

    ¡°I¡­¡± He hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to answer that, honestly.¡±

    For the first time since he arrived, he looked uncomfortable.

    ¡°I don¡¯t talk about my brother to anyone,¡± he continued, avoiding her gaze. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t take it personally, but I¡¯d rather not get into that.¡±

    Caruncle just stared.

    Valentin shifted. ¡°Are your parents still living?¡±

    Caruncle narrowed her eyes.

    Oh. So now he remembers them.

    ¡°No,¡± Valentin answered himself, sighing. ¡°My mother died almost ten years ago.¡± His voice softened. ¡°When Caruncle¡­¡± He trailed off. ¡°Well. It doesn¡¯t matter. She¡¯s resting now. That¡¯s what matters to me.¡±

    A long silence.

    Then, Valentin looked back at her, expression shifting.

    ¡°There¡¯s something I want to ask you instead.¡±

    Caruncle felt something cold slide down her spine.

    ¡°You see, when I saw you in that photo, I¡¯ve been thinking about you quite a lot.¡±

    She kept her expression neutral. Not too neutral. Just enough.

    ¡°I know what you are.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s breath hitched.

    ¡°I know why you came looking for me.¡±

    I froze.

    "Caruncle, I think we¡¯re toast."

    She gripped the edge of the bedsheet.

    Valentin leaned in slightly, watching her closely.

    ¡°I think you¡¯re a woman trying to escape your father¡¯s side. I can see it.¡±

    Oh.

    "Nevermind."

    ¡°When you came to me with your little emancipation idea, I knew you were looking for something bigger.¡± Valentin waved a hand, his voice calm. ¡°Because this place? That man? He¡¯s insane.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s heart was pounding.

    ¡°Your father killed Lopez,¡± Valentin continued. ¡°I don¡¯t know why, I don¡¯t know how, but I can bet he did it. He isn¡¯t right in the head. So I came here to propose something to you.¡±

    Caruncle raised her hands. Fine. Go on.

    ¡°If you don¡¯t testify against him, the whole investigation could drag on forever. Not enough evidence. Not enough proof. But if you do¡­¡± Valentin tilted his head. ¡°I could recommend you for a job in the capital.¡±

    Caruncle wrote quickly. ¡°Go on.¡±

    Valentin studied her for a moment.

    ¡°I know you¡¯ve had trouble finding work because you¡¯re mute.¡± His voice was suddenly, irritatingly, gentle. ¡°I understand that.¡±

    She hated that.

    ¡°But I know of an opportunity. A family I¡¯m acquainted with¡ªstruggling financially, could use the help. And, if I¡¯m being honest, your condition might actually work in your favor.¡±

    He let that sit in the air for a moment, before continuing.

    ¡°They¡¯d pay you properly. Give you a place to sleep. It¡¯s honest work.¡±

    Caruncle tapped her fingers against her palm, waiting.

    Valentin smiled. ¡°You¡¯d be a maid.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change.

    Slowly, she nodded once.

    ¡°And who is this family?¡±

    ¡°Felicity Valbuena.¡± Valentin stood, dusting off his coat. ¡°You would work for her family.¡±

    Caruncle nodded again, slowly.

    She didn¡¯t say anything else.

    She didn¡¯t need to.

    Valentin studied her for a second longer, then nodded to himself.

    ¡°I¡¯ll let you think about it until next week,¡± he said, adjusting his cuffs. ¡°Your father clearly isn¡¯t in the best mood, and I doubt he¡¯ll let us lodge here.¡± He turned toward the door, but paused.

    Then, looking back at her, he added, almost like an afterthought:

    ¡°Oh, before I forget again¡ªwhat did you get to know about Caruncle before he died?¡±

    Caruncle didn¡¯t move for a few seconds.

    Then, she wrote on the board.

    ¡°Caruncle was a very sad, sad man.¡±

    Valentin stepped closer, reading the words carefully.

    ¡°I see.¡± His voice was softer now. ¡°Did he ever say anything about me? About our family?¡±

    She shook her head.

    She was looking down now.

    Not paying attention to him anymore.

    Valentin exhaled through his nose, watching her for a moment longer. Then, finally, he straightened.

    ¡°Alright. Thank you for your time, Miss Elena.¡± He stepped back toward the door. ¡°I appreciate your honesty.¡±

    He left.

    The door clicked shut.

    Caruncle sat there, still frozen.

    A strange, foamy sensation crept up the back of her skull.

    It wouldn¡¯t stop.

    ***

    Sebastian sat on the edge of a chair, his face drawn tight.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± he muttered. ¡°Why would a man keep people chained up like that?¡±

    His voice was low, tired, disgusted.

    ¡°If people aren¡¯t doing physical labor, their aptitudes rot to nothing. I thought maybe he¡¯d have them doing forced work, but no¡ªevery single one of them was in a dark cell. It wasn¡¯t even a plantation. It was just¡­ a prison. A prison built by a lunatic.¡±

    Custodio and Mortimer laughed.

    Sebastian¡¯s head snapped up.

    ¡°¡­What?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just funny hearing you say that,¡± Custodio smirked.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Nevermind. Go on.¡±

    Sebastian hesitated, then scowled. ¡°I talked to some of the prisoners.¡±

    ¡°What did they say?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    Custodio raised a brow. ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡±

    ¡°Well, nobody wanted to talk to me.¡± Sebastian exhaled sharply. ¡°A lot of them were too weak to even lift their heads when I undid their chains.¡±

    ¡°Did anyone attack you?¡± Mortimer asked.

    ¡°A few tried,¡± Sebastian admitted. ¡°But they were too weak to actually hurt me.¡±

    ¡°Oh, really?¡± Custodio smirked. ¡°Then how do you explain the black eye?¡±

    Mortimer chuckled. ¡°Yeah, you fall down some stairs?¡±

    The two men laughed.

    Sebastian clenched his jaw.

    ¡°Shut up.¡±

    Custodio smirked. ¡°What about race? What kind of people did Lopez like to keep?¡±

    Sebastian frowned. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± Mortimer added. ¡°Let¡¯s talk about race.¡±

    ¡°Were there many Black people?¡± Custodio asked.

    Sebastian hesitated. ¡°No¡­ I mean, there weren¡¯t that many. Most of them were Lucianan or mixed. Only one man was fully Basilian.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Custodio mused. ¡°So not many Blacks, huh?¡±

    He chuckled.

    Mortimer nodded. ¡°Jeez, this Lopez guy sounds like a real piece of work.¡±

    Sebastian stared at them. ¡°You¡¯re seriously calling him a bigot?¡±

    Custodio shrugged. ¡°Well, it¡¯s not like he was buying livestock. He was too picky for a man in his position.¡±

    Sebastian¡¯s stomach turned.

    Mortimer exhaled. ¡°Honestly? He was probably overpaying. Everybody knows the market value¡¯s higher for certain groups.¡±

    Sebastian froze.

    His skin crawled.

    He had nothing to say.

    ¡°Why was the Basilian man there, anyway?¡± Custodio asked.

    Sebastian hesitated. ¡°Uh¡­ He said his wife was Lucianan, and¡ª¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Custodio cut in.

    Sebastian frowned. ¡°And he mentioned taking a loan from Lopez.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Mortimer muttered.

    ¡°Lopez was about to take his wife as payment,¡± Sebastian continued, ¡°but the man offered himself instead, so she and their children could leave.¡±

    The two men laughed.

    ¡°I wonder,¡± Custodio smirked, ¡°what kind of thinking leads a man to that decision.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. He said he¡¯d only been there for a year, but he already wanted to go home. His family¡¯s on the other side of the country.¡±

    ¡°Well, hopefully, he makes it.¡±

    ¡°Did you free them all?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Did they actually leave?¡±

    ¡°Not that many,¡± Sebastian admitted. ¡°Some said they wanted to rest before going. A few needed help standing. Some had lost fingers.¡±

    ¡°¡­And you didn¡¯t help them?¡± Custodio asked.

    Sebastian exhaled. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to stay too long. And I didn¡¯t want them to remember my face.¡±

    ¡°I was covering myself at first, but it was hard to breathe in that place.¡±

    Custodio raised a brow.

    ¡°So you just left them there?¡±

    Sebastian tensed. ¡°I mean¡ªyes. What else was I supposed to do?¡±

    Mortimer hummed. ¡°I think that if you start something, you should finish it.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Come on,¡± Custodio scoffed. ¡°These people have been mistreated for years. Who¡¯s to say some of them won¡¯t turn on the others?¡±

    ¡°¡­Seriously?¡±

    ¡°They might not even leave.¡± Mortimer shrugged.

    ¡°They¡¯ll die of hunger,¡± Custodio mused.

    ¡°Indeed.¡±

    Sebastian¡¯s eye twitched.

    ¡°You¡¯re a jackass.¡±

    Sebastian suddenly stood.

    ¡°You know what?¡± His voice was dangerously calm.

    ¡°I think you¡¯re right.

    I should finish what I started.¡±

    Before anyone could respond, he turned and stormed out.

    Mortimer and Custodio exchanged a glance.

    Caruncle remained silent.

    Minutes passed.

    Then¡ª

    ¡°FUCK YOU AND YOUR BOOK TOO!¡±

    Sebastian burst back into the room.

    Holding Custodio¡¯s grimoire.

    On fire.

    He threw it onto the floor.

    The flames devoured the pages in seconds.

    Custodio screamed.

    ¡°WHAT?! YOU MORON!¡± He lunged forward, but by the time he reached the book¡ª

    It was already nothing but ash.

    ¡°That had the resurrection spell!¡± Custodio roared.

    ¡°What the fuck did you use to burn it?!¡±

    Sebastian smiled.

    ¡°White phosphorus.¡±

    Custodio¡¯s eye twitched.

    ¡°How did you even get¨C¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve abandoned my studies in magic,¡± Sebastian continued, voice eerily casual. ¡°Now I¡¯m studying chemistry.¡±

    ¡°You. Absolute. Moron.¡± Custodio looked like he was about to strangle him.

    ¡°What,¡± Sebastian sneered, ¡°so you didn¡¯t memorize it?¡±

    ¡°The spell was five-thousand characters long.¡± Mortimer spoke slowly.

    ¡°Composed mostly of nonsensical words and syllables. It is not easy to learn.¡±

    Sebastian shrugged.

    ¡°Don¡¯t care.¡±

    Mortimer exhaled.

    ¡°You know what you just did, boy?¡± His voice was cold.

    ¡°You¡¯ve doomed us all.¡±

    Body transplantation.

    Transmutation.

    All of it¡ªgone.

    ¡°We are now fated to die.¡±

    Sebastian simply smiled wider.

    He turned toward the door.

    Paused.

    And then, in the calmest voice imaginable¡ª

    ¡°Good.¡±

    He walked out.

    End of Act 3.

    "On a Body Now Undead."

 25. By Forgetting

    Things were bleak after that. Caruncle thought over her situation again and again, but there was no easy answer. If she didn¡¯t testify against Custodio, Valentin would grow suspicious¡ªand that wasn¡¯t a risk we could take. She told him as much, and though it clearly hurt him, he accepted it. After his book of spells was destroyed, he looked utterly defeated.

    Moving into the Valbuena household was disorienting, especially seeing Felicity again. Caruncle tried to settle into routine, but every morning, she woke up in terror, certain she was still under Lopez¡¯s control. She cried often. The head maid assumed it was grief over Custodio and quietly gave her time to recover.

    But that wasn¡¯t it.

    She kept thinking¡ªif Lopez were still alive, she could have made him remember, forced him to confront what he¡¯d done. But he was gone, and yet, she was still trapped in that room. The days and years blurred together, and I could see her searching for meaning in all of it. Why? Why did it happen? Why did it have to be her?

    I tried to get in her shoes, not because I could comfort her¡ªbecause I couldn¡¯t¡ªbut because I thought that maybe if I could untangle the suffering in my head, I could carry it with me, and then the world would feel lighter if two people were carrying the same weight. In my head, I spoke to her: You¡¯re free now, Caruncle. Let¡¯s start over. But even I knew it wasn¡¯t that simple. I thought so myself, forgetting was the best step to take.

    If she could somehow rewrite her life, she would make sure those chapters disappeared from existence. She remembered how, in captivity, she had tried to say what Lopez wanted to hear, only for it to make him more interested. When she stayed silent, he only hurt her more. So what was the right answer? Was killing him supposed to fix it? Because it hadn¡¯t. And if there was no meaning in his death, then what was the meaning of those ten years?

    There wasn¡¯t one. So she made a decision: they didn¡¯t happen.

    Those days, those years¡ªthey were gone. She had started existing the moment Custodio woke her up in Elena¡¯s body.

    And that was that.

    Returning to the capital only made things worse. The city was ugly. The sky was always clouded, the streets smelled like rain and filth, and the buildings were old and crumbling. Caruncle was given a maid¡¯s uniform and formally introduced to the family.

    Valentin looked pleased when he saw her mopping the floors.

    She thought back to when she had stood before him, playing the part of an educated woman, hoping to convince him to push for the abolition of slavery. What a joke. She had read in the Pisces Library that after Luciana gained its independence, it took two decades for slavery to end¡ªa slow, painful process. And now? Valentin likely saw her as nothing more than an easy target, a naive girl to be strung along. That¡¯s why he had been paying attention to her.

    Well, she wasn¡¯t that woman anymore. She wasn¡¯t a lady, she wasn¡¯t high class, she wasn¡¯t anything. She was a maid, serving a family with their own financial troubles.

    Maybe that was where she belonged.

    ***

    Caruncle dusted the windows, the stiff fabric of her maid uniform brushing against her wrists. Across the room, Felicity lounged with her friends, their laughter rippling through the parlor like chimes in the wind.

    ¡°Really? That sounds terrifying!¡±

    ¡°Valentin found her at that old man¡¯s estate. My father took her in because, well, who else would?¡± Felicity said, her voice dripping with faux sympathy.

    The conversation had turned to Caruncle.

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t talk?¡±

    ¡°Maybe she¡¯s just shy?¡±

    Felicity scoffed. ¡°She¡¯s not shy. She¡¯s mute. Completely silent.¡±

    ¡°How do you know?¡±

    Felicity giggled, leaning in as if sharing a scandalous secret. ¡°The other day, I accidentally stepped on her foot. She started hopping around like a wounded rabbit, but not a single sound! It was hilarious.¡±

    ¡°Accidentally?¡± One of the women raised an eyebrow.

    Felicity feigned innocence. ¡°What are you implying?¡±

    ¡°But I can¡¯t deny it¡ªshe¡¯s gorgeous,¡± another woman mused. ¡°My brother saw her and said she looked like a silent little elf.¡±

    ¡°Prettier than you even!¡± Felicity teased.

    The room erupted into laughter.

    Caruncle dusted the same spot on the window, her grip tightening on the handle. I watched her carefully. My little murderer, listening so patiently.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°She does look young,¡± Felicity admitted.

    ¡°How old is she?¡±

    ¡°My father said she¡¯s twenty-nine.¡±

    ¡°Twenty-nine?¡± One of the women gasped. ¡°I thought she was younger than you!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s been locked away her whole life, so I suppose that helps.¡±

    ¡°Oh, the poor thing!¡±

    Caruncle felt a strange sense of detachment, listening to them discuss her like she wasn¡¯t in the room. "Maybe Felicity isn¡¯t so bad after all." She said to herself.

    And then¡ª

    ¡°They say her father was a monster. He bought people to fulfill his sick fetishes.¡± Felicity paused, savoring the anticipation before dropping the final blow. ¡°Apparently, he even bought that pervert Evelyn was once engaged to.¡±

    Caruncle went still.

    ¡°You don¡¯t mean¡­¡±

    ¡°Yes. Caruncle.¡±

    Gasps.

    ¡°Wait, isn¡¯t that the guy who¡ª¡±

    ¡°The one who put on her clothes and laughed?¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s breath hitched.

    ¡°I never said that!¡± Felicity grinned. ¡°But honestly? Evelyn never confirmed or denied it. She¡¯d rather pretend it never happened.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s grip on the duster turned ironclad. ¡°I¡¯ll cut you like a fish¡±. She thought. She was grateful her back was to them. They couldn¡¯t see the fury burning beneath her quiet expression.

    ¡°Elena! Come here.¡± Felicity¡¯s voice sliced through the air. ¡°My guests want a better look at you.¡±

    Caruncle turned slowly, her eyes downcast as she approached.

    ¡°Jeez, you really take your time,¡± Felicity huffed. ¡°Sit down. Now, ladies¡ªwhat do you think?¡±

    One of the women tilted her head. ¡°Hmm¡­ I imagine plenty of men would love to have her.¡±

    ¡°She should find a fianc¨¦! Even if she¡¯s mute.¡±

    Caruncle twiddled with her fingers, looking down. Blushing. She liked the attention.

    ¡°Hey, are you really mute?¡± one of them asked.

    ¡°She is!¡± Felicity cut in before Caruncle could even react. ¡°Don¡¯t be rude.¡±

    ¡°Raise your head, dear. We want to see your eyes.¡±

    Caruncle hesitated, then lifted her gaze.

    Silence.

    One of the women sucked in a breath. The others simply stared.

    ¡°Your eyes¡­¡± The voice was hushed. ¡°They¡¯re beautiful.¡±

    One of the women gasped. The others simply fell silent.

    ¡°You have really, really beautiful eyes.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s stomach fluttered. Like she was made of light.

    ¡°I think they¡¯re even prettier than Evelyn¡¯s,¡± Felicity mused.

    Caruncle froze. Wait¡ªwho?

    A knock at the door. A maid hurried to answer.

    ¡°Oh, finally! Evelyn, come in! I wanted you to meet my maid!¡±

    Caruncle turned, and the world stopped.

    Evelyn stepped into the room, the glow of the cloudy afternoon casting a soft halo around her figure. She hadn¡¯t changed much in ten years¡ªif anything, she was even more striking. Her sad eyes, her gentle smile. She looked like the Belt of Venus, that fleeting moment when the sky turns violet and everything feels dreamlike, as if suspended between worlds.

    Caruncle stared.

    ¡°Elena? Elena!¡± Felicity¡¯s voice sliced through the moment. ¡°Are you deaf too? My guest is trying to greet you! For fuck¡¯s sake.¡±

    ¡°Felicity!¡± One of her friends scolded.

    ¡°What? It¡¯s just an expression!¡±

    Felicity rolled her eyes while Evelyn took a seat beside Caruncle, studying her with quiet curiosity.

    ¡°And¡­ is she alright?¡± Evelyn asked.

    Oh. Oh wow.

    She said "she."

    Caruncle felt dizzy. She wanted to hold onto that word, to cradle it in her arms like a delicate thing. She. What a wonderful letter, what a magnificent sound. The alphabet had never been so kind.

    ¡°Uh¡­ yes,¡± Felicity waved dismissively. ¡°She¡¯s just slow. A country girl, you know.¡±

    Caruncle extended her hands toward Evelyn, palms up.

    Evelyn blinked in confusion before hesitantly placing her own hands in Caruncle¡¯s.

    ¡°What is she doing?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Felicity snorted. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s how mute people say hello.¡±

    ¡°Really? I wish she¡¯d greeted me that way!¡±

    Caruncle barely heard them. Her fingers brushed against Evelyn¡¯s wrists, searching¡ªsearching for something. A pulse, a sign, proof that this was real. But the only heartbeat she felt was her own.

    Evelyn gave a nervous chuckle. ¡°That was¡­ interesting. What were you trying to do?¡±

    Caruncle shook her head.

    ¡°She¡¯s a little loopy,¡± Felicity muttered.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Evelyn said softly. ¡°I thought it was nice.¡±

    Felicity shrugged. ¡°Anyway, she¡¯s the daughter of that old man I told you about.¡±

    Evelyn¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°¡­Oh.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think she knows much about Caruncle, but maybe she could write¡ªwait, Elena, can you write? Did your father teach you?¡±

    ¡°No, wait¡ªFelicity,¡± Evelyn¡¯s voice dropped, ¡°I¡¯d rather not¡ª¡±

    Caruncle nodded.

    Felicity grinned. ¡°Great! Claire, bring a notebook and pen!¡±

    As the maid scurried off, Felicity turned back to Evelyn. ¡°We were just talking about how young Elena looks for her age. What do you think?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ I don¡¯t know. How old is she?¡±

    ¡°How old do you think?¡±

    ¡°Twenty-four? Twenty-five?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s twenty-nine.¡±

    Evelyn blinked. ¡°Oh. Wow. I guess I can see it.¡± She smiled. ¡°You¡¯re very beautiful, Miss Elena.¡±

    Caruncle¡¯s chest clenched. ¡°If only you knew that was all I ever wanted you to say to me, Evelyn.¡± She thought.

    ¡°And you are already pushing thirty, woman,¡± Felicity teased. ¡°You should be taking things seriously. Your clock is ticking.¡±

    Evelyn sighed. ¡°I told you, I¡¯m not looking for anyone right now. Besides, look at Miss Elena¡ªI doubt she¡¯s thinking about romance either.¡±

    ¡°I guess, but she¡¯s twenty-nine! You¡¯re thirty! You¡¯re already on the third floor, as they say. You should be setting an example.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Then why don¡¯t you set one?¡±

    ¡°Nope! I¡¯m twenty-eight. I still have two years left.¡±

    Caruncle barely heard them. She was still caught in Evelyn¡¯s words.

    Aren¡¯t you a pretty girl now, Caruncle? Everyone thinks so.

    The notebook arrived. Caruncle took it onto her lap, fingers tightening around the pen.

    ¡°Write what you know about Caruncle,¡± Felicity said.

    ¡°Yeah, tell us,¡± another woman prodded. ¡°How did he end up there? Did he escape?¡±

    Evelyn¡¯s face darkened. ¡°Please, don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Or¡ª¡± Felicity ignored her. ¡°Tell us about your father. He was a monster, wasn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°He kept you locked away like a prisoner, didn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s time for you to vent! We want to hear you out.¡±

    The words swirled around her, overlapping, tightening, twisting.

    Caruncle didn¡¯t write a single word.

    Tears dripped onto the blank page, smudging the ink before it could even be written. A faint smile ghosted over her lips, but no one noticed it.

    ¡°Look what you did!¡± Evelyn snapped. ¡°You don¡¯t ask people things like that¡ªit¡¯s cruel!¡±

    ¡°We were only asking for your sake!¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯ve told you over and over¡ªI don¡¯t want to hear about it! I moved on!¡±

    A pause.

    Then Evelyn turned to Caruncle, her voice softer now. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she whispered. ¡°It¡¯s over now. You¡¯re safe here.¡±

    She pulled Caruncle into her arms, holding her tight.

    Caruncle broke.

    ¡°If I could speak, I¡¯d tell you how much I still love you.¡±

    She buried her face in Evelyn¡¯s shoulder while holding her tightly, silent tears shaking her frame.

 26. By Poisoning

    Okay, so real talk¡ªFelicity was one of the worst people of all time.

    Or at least, that¡¯s what Caruncle thought.

    Ten minutes after the hug, she had calmed down enough to wipe the stupid smile off her face (thankfully, because grinning like an idiot right then would have been a terrible idea). She stayed quiet, trying to blend into the background.

    ¡°Your maid really got attached to Evelyn, didn¡¯t she?¡± one of Felicity¡¯s friends remarked.

    ¡°Yes, Evelyn, what on earth did you do?¡±

    ¡°I think she just wanted someone who didn¡¯t bully her so much,¡± Evelyn chuckled.

    ¡°Oh, please! We¡¯ve been nothing but kind to her!¡± Felicity scoffed. The room burst into light laughter.

    ¡°But alright, back to work,¡± Felicity said with a dismissive wave.

    ¡°No, wait. Let her stay.¡± Evelyn cut in.

    Felicity narrowed her eyes. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯d be good for her to socialize a little.¡±

    ¡°Oh, really?¡±

    ¡°Yes, really. Besides, I¡¯m not going to send her back to work like this. Are you okay?¡± Evelyn turned to Caruncle, who nodded quickly.

    ¡°Good.¡± Evelyn patted her shoulder, and Caruncle nearly melted into a puddle right then and there.

    ¡°When I used to work at my father¡¯s store as a teen, I barely got to talk to other girls, and that annoyed me so much,¡± Evelyn continued.

    ¡°Yeah, talk,¡± Felicity muttered, rolling her eyes.

    ¡°Anyway,¡± she changed the subject, ¡°I don¡¯t know if I told you all, but Percival is coming next week. That¡¯s why I wanted you here again.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Evelyn tilted her head. ¡°What for?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s moving back to the capital. Says he wants to open a circus or something.¡±

    ¡°A circus?¡± Evelyn asked, still absently patting Caruncle.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°¡­Why a circus?¡±

    Felicity shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. He said he liked the idea and wanted to set one up. Maybe when he gets here, he can tell us more about it.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    ¡°Maybe he¡¯ll recruit people like Caruncle for his exhibit! Hahaha!¡±

    That was the thing¡ªthe constant mocking, the bullying. Caruncle once overheard Felicity talking with her father in his office.

    ¡°I¡¯m telling you, she¡¯s weird! She¡¯s always so quiet, and when she looks at me, it¡¯s like I¡¯m some kind of exotic animal!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s mute, Felicity.¡±

    ¡°But she¡¯s like her father! I¡¯ve told her to write down what she hates about him, but she never does! She always avoids the topic¡ªsometimes she even frowns! What if she¡¯s just as weird as that old man? Or worse, like Caruncle? I think she actually liked him! She always pays attention when I talk about him!¡±

    ¡°Well, what do you want me to do?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know! Fire her? Shape her into someone more decent? She just creeps me out! We can¡¯t accept people from houses like that!¡±

    Her father sighed. ¡°First of all, we took her in as a favor to your own friend. I thought you cared about him?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but couldn¡¯t you have made an excuse? At least scolded her? Just remind her who¡¯s in charge here!¡±

    ¡°Look, Felicity,¡± her father¡¯s patience was running thin, ¡°Elena might not be the best maid, and she still has a lot to learn, but she does what she¡¯s told. And unlike the other maids who bicker all day, it¡¯s good to have someone who actually stays quiet while working. That¡¯s final. Now leave¡ªI¡¯m busy.¡±

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Oh, come on!¡±

    When Felicity couldn¡¯t get Elena thrown out, she switched tactics.

    ¡°Remember when Caruncle said he¡¯d rather live in a monastery because he couldn¡¯t understand women? What a fucking loser!¡±

    First of all, that wasn¡¯t even what he said. He was joking about how Evelyn got mad when he stayed silent during arguments. He had laughed and said, At this rate, I might as well swear myself to a monastery¡ªat least they allow silence there! Evelyn had understood it. She never threw it back in his face. But Felicity? She took that joke and ran with it, calling him Reverend, Brother, Archbishop¡ªlike some deranged church-themed nickname generator.

    Other times, she¡¯d say, ¡°What about when Caruncle said his parents¡¯ legacy was a complete disappointment? What a piece of shit!¡±

    Again, not what he said. What he actually said was, Ah yes, my birthright¡ªthe grand estate of dust and disappointment. He was talking about how his father¡¯s wooden ship business was dying out. But Felicity twisted it into him insulting his entire family¡¯s existence.

    And then there was the worst one.

    ¡°To think he wanted us to put Lady on his tombstone if he killed himself! He said he was going to kill himself! The horror!¡±

    No. What Caruncle had really said¡ªback when Percival had jokingly called Evelyn the "man of the relationship"¡ªwas, Yes, in fact, by all means, let¡¯s carve ¡®Lady of Misfortune¡¯ into my tombstone now! It had been part of a joke about how Caruncle didn¡¯t have the confidence to be the ¡°commanding one¡± in a relationship. Percival had said he was too in love with his own misfortunes, and that¡¯s where the whole thing had spiraled from.

    Caruncle could barely stand it. I could hear her thoughts looping, a frantic spiral of frustration that was very pathetic to hear.

    It was a joke. It was a joke! I swear¡­ Aren¡¯t we human after all? Does humor not exist anymore? Why do you always assume I¡¯m serious¡ªonly when it makes me look bad? Why do you hate me so much? Am I really in the wrong? I really am in the wrong, aren¡¯t I? Am I a piece of shit?

    Please, someone, tell that bitch to shut up.

    I¡¯m not a bad person. I¡¯m not a bad person.

    Please, someone, shut her up.

    This had been going on for too long. Before she was sold, after she became a maid¡ªFelicity never stopped.

    Caruncle had finally made up her mind.

    ¡°The only way to stop her is to kill her,¡± she thought.

    ¡°No!¡± I screamed.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she muttered back to herself almost as if actually heard me, like we were having a debate.

    The kitchen was empty. One maid had gone to take out the trash, another was looking for dish soap, and a third was outside, feeding the animals.

    The perfect chance to ruin everything.

    Caruncle grabbed the rat poison. Just a pinch. A tiny, insignificant dusting of white powder. Easy.

    The meal already looked disgusting¡ªsome kind of thick, lukewarm fish custard. It jiggled when she nudged the plate, a sickly, grayish-white mush that smelled like stale ocean water and regret. The mealy texture clung to the spoon like it was begging for mercy. The smell alone made me want to puke.

    Her hands shook. Her teeth chattered. A single bead of broth dripped from the spoon, plopping back into the viscous mess.

    This was it. Just a flick of the wrist.

    "Caruncle, don¡¯t be stupid. Please, stop."

    Felicity¡¯s laugh rang out from the adjacent room¡ªsharp, grating, like glass shattering in slow motion.

    Caruncle tipped her palm. The poison tumbled in. Gone. Swallowed by the sludge.

    She stirred.

    One turn.

    Two.

    Three.

    Her breath hitched. The room felt smaller. The walls loomed, watching her, whispering.

    "Caruncle!"

    She grabbed the plate. Walked towards the dining room.

    Felicity was alone, reading. Everyone else had gone to sleep.

    One step.

    "For fuck¡¯s sake!"

    Two steps.

    "Stop acting like a moron for once!"

    The food wobbled in her trembling hands, threatening to spill.

    She was laughing.

    Tears slid down her cheeks.

    ¡°You fucking bastard, fucking cunt, fucking bitch, fucking stupid cunt bitch¡ªdie, die, die, die, fucking die, die, die.¡±

    Okay. That was enough.

    ¡°I¡¯m taking over.¡±

    Before Felicity could look up, I shoved my way into Caruncle¡¯s body and seized control.

    And immediately regretted it.

    Her heartbeat was thrumming like a drumline in my skull. Her skin burned hot. Everything looked too bright, too sharp, as if the world had been dipped in oil. My hands shook. Her pupils were blown wide.

    And God, the feelings.

    I could barely think.

    A thought slithered through me, invasive and awful. Maybe it¡¯s better to go through with it. If we turned back now, wouldn¡¯t that look more suspicious? Maybe Caruncle could just feign ignorance. Maybe someone would assume the poison had mixed in accidentally. Maybe¡ª

    I wanted to do it.

    I wanted to watch Felicity spasm on the floor, foam bubbling from her lips.

    Caruncle¡¯s thoughts were loud¡ªand deeply cringe. Why shouldn¡¯t I? What does anything matter in this putrid system? I will be the god of death. Judge, jury, executioner. Because anything else takes too long. Because I don¡¯t care. Because she deserves it.

    This was an emergency.

    I turned on my heel and sprinted back to the kitchen. The plate of poisoned food hit the bottom of the garbage bin with a wet splatter. I shoved two fingers deep into my throat, past hesitation, past dignity, and wretched violently over the remains. Bile burned my throat, and the sour stink of vomit mixed with the already putrid scent of old lentils and greasy fat. The air felt thick with it, clinging to my skin like a heavy, rotting fog.

    The smell was unbearable.

    Good. No evidence.

    ¡°Oh my god! What happened here? Are you okay?¡± One of the maids entered just in time to see us holding the bin.

    I yanked myself out of Caruncle¡¯s body and collapsed beside her. She was panting on the floor, still coming down from whatever that was.

    I sighed, running a hand down my face.

    ¡°Caruncle, you are a fucking moron.¡±

 27. By Listening

    To be honest, I didn¡¯t know what to do with Caruncle. I let her kill Lopez. That was on me. But I hated that man too. Felicity was an annoying woman, sure, but she wasn¡¯t worth throwing everything away for. Caruncle now had a job, and a roof over her head. This was the best life she was ever going to get.

    Every morning, I watched her wake up crying. She cried so much that her eyes were constantly dry, red, and sore. It made it hard to bring up the whole murderous rage thing when she was already falling apart.

    ¡°Honey, you can¡¯t let this anger eat you up,¡± I muttered¡ªnot that she could hear me! That was the life of a ghost! Watching everything pass by, screaming into the void. It was maddening. It made me want to cry too. But whatever. I was talking about Caruncle, and Caruncle was in trouble.

    I considered permanently possessing her. Yes, it would be better for everyone. Safer. If I stayed in control, things wouldn¡¯t spiral again.

    But the thought of taking her over entirely made me feel sick. I wasn¡¯t ready to run out of options.

    Three months after Caruncle started working as a maid, Percival visited Felicity.

    They gathered in the living room¡ªFelicity, Evelyn, Percival, and Caruncle. Valentin was missing. Caruncle, pretending to mind her own business, swiped at the floor in the next room, listening in.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re starting a circus,¡± Felicity scoffed. ¡°You¡¯ve lost your mind.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a circus,¡± Percival sighed. ¡°You misread my letter again.¡±

    ¡°Oh, please! I don¡¯t misread anyone! I¡¯m a writer.¡±

    ¡°Haha, right,¡± Percival said, clearly humoring her.

    ¡°How¡¯s that going?¡± Evelyn asked.

    ¡°Fantastic! I¡¯ve written a 30,000-word outline for the prologue.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Evelyn blinked. ¡°And that¡¯s just the outline? How long is this supposed to be?¡±

    ¡°As long as it needs to be.¡± Felicity grinned.

    ¡°What¡¯s it about again?¡± Percival asked.

    ¡°I told you before! The Golden Orphan. A brilliant, misunderstood orphan who rises to greatness, proving that genius is not bound by bloodlines!¡±

    ¡°A play? I thought you were writing a book.¡±

    ¡°Oh, no, no! It has to be a play! The raw emotion must be felt, not just read. It will shake society to its core! A scathing critique of nepotism, exclusion, racism¡ªthe world itself! You¡¯ll see. My masterpiece will change everything!¡±

    ¡°¡­Your play,¡± Percival corrected.

    ¡°Yes, my play.¡±

    ¡°But if it¡¯s a play, how long are people going to sit in the theater?¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be ridiculous! I¡¯ve thought about that. I¡¯ll split it into eight-hour chunks so it¡¯s easy to digest. A full week of performances! The Golden Week of The Golden Orphan! It will be legendary.¡±

    Caruncle peeked into the room. Percival and Evelyn exchanged glances, barely holding back laughter. Just then, Evelyn turned and spotted her, waving her over.

    ¡°The lore is fascinating too,¡± Felicity was saying. ¡°I want to set my play in an alternate version of our world where¡ªhey! What are you doing here? Shoo!¡±

    ¡°Felicity! That¡¯s rude! I invited her.¡±

    ¡°And why would you do that? She was probably sneaking around, lurking like a weirdo!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure she just wanted to see me. Isn¡¯t that right, Miss Elena?¡±

    Caruncle nodded.

    ¡°Come on, Felicity. Let her stay.¡±

    ¡°Fine, whatever.¡±

    Caruncle sat down on a seat near Evelyn, who casually took her hand. Butterflies erupted in her stomach.

    God, I think I might be a lesbian.

    ¡°Jeez, you think?¡± I rolled my eyes.

    ¡°Anyway,¡± Felicity continued, ¡°imagine if we hadn¡¯t been a colony of the Basilian Kingdom, but of the Soccorians instead.¡±

    ¡°The Soccorians?¡±

    ¡°Yes! We wouldn¡¯t be speaking our language, but theirs. There¡¯s a document I found detailing an alternate version of the civil war where Jeremiah Tony dies instead of winning.¡±

    ¡°And this is for your orphan play?¡± Percival asked, scratching his head.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°¡­But why?¡±

    ¡°So I can write the orphan as someone without a Basilian background. It would add layers to her struggle, make it more authentic.¡±

    Yeah. Felicity was¡ªhow do I put this? A dogshit writer. Like, sure, I couldn¡¯t criticize too much¡ªI¡¯d dedicated entire libraries to documenting every tiny detail of a world built by someone I loved¡ªbut at least I had some self-awareness. A bit, at least.

    Felicity, however, was a fucking dumbass.

    A knock on the door saved me from her nonsense. Caruncle stood up and opened it.

    Valentin.

    ¡°Good day, Miss Elena. I¡¯m glad to see you doing well. Is Felicity around?¡±

    Caruncle gestured him inside.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°Alright, thank you.¡±

    ¡°Valentin! My man!¡± Percival stood up, clapped him on the back, and the two hugged before taking their seats. Caruncle slipped back beside Evelyn.

    ¡°How¡¯s life been?¡±

    ¡°Good. But I really miss the food.¡±

    ¡°Ha! That¡¯s a new one!¡±

    Valentin glanced at Caruncle. ¡°Evelyn, you know Felicity¡¯s maid?¡±

    ¡°Oh yes, I met her the other day. Would you mind if she stayed?¡±

    ¡°I guess not. You know where we found her, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Felicity told me.¡±

    ¡°Alright, just making sure that¡¯s clear.¡±

    ¡°What are you implying?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ no offense to Miss Elena here, but she comes from a queer family. And she¡¯s rather queer herself.¡±

    ¡°Y¡¯all are rather queer yourselves, so what are you bugging me for?¡± She thought.

    ¡°Well, sure,¡± Valentin admitted, ¡°but she¡¯s harmless.¡±

    ¡°She probably knew Caruncle too. Haven¡¯t you asked her anything about it?¡±

    Evelyn frowned. ¡°No. And I told you guys¡ªI don¡¯t want to talk about that.¡±

    ¡°Oh! But I do,¡± Felicity said, raising a hand like a schoolgirl eager to answer. ¡°I¡¯d love to know what happened to him.¡±

    ¡°No! I don¡¯t even get why you all care so much. It¡¯s not something I like thinking about. What¡¯s the point?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Valentin said quickly. ¡°We¡¯re here to talk about Percival¡¯s adventures up north¡ªseeing the top of the world and all that, yeah? Right, Percival?¡±

    ¡°Oh, you bet! And I have plenty of them!¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯d you decide to come back, anyway?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ well, I saw these traveling showmen, doing performances across different countries. The spectacle, the art of it¡ªit really spoke to me. Made me think I could bring something like that here.¡±

    ¡°Like a circus?¡± Valentin asked.

    ¡°Oh, not a circus! Felicity just accused me of that earlier. But you¡¯ll see¡ªit¡¯s something different.¡±

    ¡°Well, if you¡¯re here to stay,¡± Felicity mused, ¡°I guess there¡¯s no rush.¡±

    ¡°No rush? I suppose not. But what do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I want to talk about Caruncle! I haven¡¯t been able to get a single word out of this woman¡¯s mouth. But now that Valentin¡¯s here, maybe we¡¯ll finally get something.¡±

    Percival scratched his neck. ¡°Well¡­ I dunno, Felicity. I haven¡¯t thought about that in a long time, if I¡¯m being honest.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t make her talk! She¡¯s mute! Remember?¡±

    Valentin, Percival, and Felicity chuckled.

    ¡°Can you guys quit it?¡± Caruncle thought, frowning.

    ¡°Oh, come on, Miss Elena, we¡¯re just joking,¡± Valentin said, patting her shoulder.

    ¡°How did you know I was upset?¡± she wondered. Look at your face, stupid.

    Valentin sighed. ¡°Miss Elena, allow me to apologize for all of us. It¡¯s just¡­ your presence brings back some memories. Please don¡¯t take it the wrong way.¡±

    ¡°But let¡¯s not get distracted,¡± Felicity pressed on. ¡°Did you ever see or talk to Caruncle? Or¡ªwell¡ªdid he ever talk to you?¡±

    Caruncle shook her head.

    ¡°Really? Not at all? Not even once?¡±

    She shook her head again, more slowly this time.

    ¡°Did you just spend all day in your room?¡±

    ¡°Felicity, that¡¯s not nice,¡± Evelyn muttered.

    ¡°I¡¯m just asking! She always pays attention when I talk about him!¡±

    Caruncle noticed Valentin handing her a notebook and a small fountain pen. She took it and wrote:

    ¡°I like to think about my dad when you talk about that man.¡±

    ¡°Aww¡­¡± Evelyn gently stroked her hand. ¡°See, Felicity? She was just thinking about her dad.¡±

    ¡°But I never knew her dad!¡± Felicity huffed. ¡°I do wonder why he went out of his way to¡ªwell, whatever. I guess I kinda get it now.¡±

    ¡°Do you have any idea why your father wanted to keep Caruncle?¡± Valentin asked.

    She shook her head.

    ¡°Do you think he might have¡­ killed him?¡±

    Another shake.

    ¡°Oh! I-I didn¡¯t mean to accuse your father of anything,¡± Valentin backtracked. ¡°I just mean¡ªwith what happened to Mr. Lopez, it¡¯s¡­ well, you know. It¡¯s complicated. But we don¡¯t hold it against you or anything, so please, don¡¯t worry.¡±

    ¡°But your father bought a person,¡± Felicity cut in again. ¡°A whole damn person. Even if you don¡¯t know what he was up to, you must have some suspicion about what he had in mind.¡±

    Caruncle hesitated. There was something she could write. Something that would shut them up for good.

    She put the pen to paper.

    ¡°My father liked to play doctor. But he wasn¡¯t very good at it.¡±

    Valentin read what she wrote. The room fell into silence.

    ¡°Well, I guess that means no more questions for you, Miss Elena! Sorry we brought it up again.¡± Percival finally broke the tension.

    ¡°I mean, it¡¯s not like we really knew the guy, right?¡± Felicity added with that grating, fake laugh of hers. ¡°Caruncle was always a bit of a weirdo. Everyone figured he¡¯d end up with the wrong crowd one day!¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ yeah,¡± Valentin nodded. ¡°He always got himself into wacky situations.¡±

    ¡°Dude wasn¡¯t that bad,¡± Percival admitted, ¡°but he definitely wasn¡¯t the type to hang around normal folks, that¡¯s for sure.¡±

    ¡°Maybe he got on bad terms with the mafia?¡± Evelyn spoke up suddenly. She hadn¡¯t said a word about Caruncle in ages, but now her voice wavered with uncertainty.

    I crossed my arms, staring at them in disbelief.

    ¡°Maybe! You just can¡¯t mess around with the mafia like that!¡± Felicity said, warming up to the idea. ¡°I always told him¡ª¡®Caruncle, I know you need money, but those guys? Bad news!¡¯¡±

    ¡°Haha, yeah!¡± Percival laughed along.

    ¡°Caruncle was definitely the kind of guy to get himself into trouble,¡± Valentin said, shaking his head.

    And from there, they just kept going¡ªspinning this bizarre, made-up story about him. Badmouthing him, turning his life into some half-coherent joke. I thought they were being idiots.

    But Caruncle¡ªCaruncle felt something different.

    Her heart pounded, hard, almost making her dizzy. And then, almost instinctively, she smiled.

    She felt like she was her heart¡ªlike every beat was pressing her ear against the wall, eavesdropping on a conversation in the next room. They were talking about her. They had no idea. She was safe, hidden inside her own ribcage, listening. At that moment it was the funniest shit she had ever seen.

    ¡°If anything,¡± Felicity mused, still running her mouth, ¡°even if Caruncle never did it on purpose, he sure gave us something to laugh about after all this time.¡±

    God. Fucking. Damn it, Felicity.

    When Caruncle made a joke, it was on purpose.

    It had always been on purpose.

    You stupid broad.