Hell isn’t fire. It isn’t torture. It’s waiting.
A pce where no one hears you. Where no one comes. Where you rot alone—forever.
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—
He woke up.
An unfamiliar ceiling.
White. The walls, the curtains, the bedsheets—everything 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—he had left.
For a moment, he almost ughed. The whole thing felt impossible. Miraculous.
But then—
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—and 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, cttering 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—he 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—maybe he was still in the basement. Maybe this was just another hallucination.
But then—
His foot slipped.
The window—he hadn’t seen the window.
His body pitched forward.
The world lurched.
And then—
Impact.
His left leg crunched against the garden stones below.
No scream came out.
But the pain—the 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—”
“No.” Custodio’s shadow loomed over him. “I’d rather take her to her room and treat her there.”
And then—his 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 needle.
Something cold seeped into his veins.
The pain faded. The fear dulled.
The world blurred.
And just before the dark swallowed him whole—
I realized.
It hadn’t been Caruncle running through those halls.
It had been me.
Somehow—I had possessed him.
And in pure, blind panic—I had run.
I don’t know how I did it.
Possessing someone. Moving them. Feeling everything.
Being a ghost was like watching through gss, sensations distant and muted—like 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—just 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, pcing 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 ft. 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 dy sleeps well.”
Custodio gave Caruncle one st gnce 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—how 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—many don’t adjust well to their new… pce 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—would 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—but Mortimer lifted a hand.
“If you’re going to ask about the other donors,” he said smoothly, “let me remind you—that’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 dy.”
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—warmth and decay—sent 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—one 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 bnket 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 ughed 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 y 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—truly alive—even just one more time?
Wouldn’t it be worth anything?
