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—not 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—Felicity, 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 py? I thought you were writing a book.”

  “Oh, no, no! It has to be a py! The raw emotion must be felt, not just read. It will shake society to its core! A scathing critique of nepotism, exclusion, racism—the world itself! You’ll see. My masterpiece will change everything!”

  “…Your py,” Percival corrected.

  “Yes, my py.”

  “But if it’s a py, 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 gnces, barely holding back ughter. Just then, Evelyn turned and spotted her, waving her over.

  “The lore is fascinating too,” Felicity was saying. “I want to set my py in an alternate version of our world where—hey! 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." She wondered, feeling like her world was about to colpse at the realization.

  “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 nguage, 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 py?” Percival asked, scratching his head.

  “Yes.”

  “…But why?”

  “So I can write the orphan as someone without a Basilian background. It would add yers to her struggle, make it more authentic.”

  Yeah. Felicity was—how do I put this? A dogshit writer. Like, sure, I couldn’t criticize too much—I’d dedicated entire libraries to documenting every tiny detail of a world built by someone I loved—but 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 gd to see you doing well. Is Felicity around?”

  Caruncle gestured him inside.

  “Alright, thank you.”

  “Valentin! My man!” Percival stood up, cpped 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 gnced 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—I 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—seeing 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—it 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—it’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—well—did 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—well, 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—with 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 py 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 ugh 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—‘Caruncle, I know you need money, but those guys? Bad news!’”

  “Haha, yeah!” Percival ughed 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—spinning 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—Caruncle felt something different.

  Her heart pounded, hard, almost making her dizzy. And then, almost instinctively, she smiled.

  She felt like she was her heart—like 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 ugh 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.