A rose, a beautiful rose in a garden of hundreds of lilies—that’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—deep, 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 pce? This pce 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, 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—well, obviously, because of everything—but 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—you’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 ughed. “Did I say something funny?”

  She tried to mouth ‘yes’, but her lips wouldn’t form the word. Her mouth stuck, frozen in pce.

  “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 compin 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—

  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—

  And then—

  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 gred at him.

  “Miss, please—don’t be mad at me!” he sputtered. “I thought you were just trying to lean back and rex!”

  She snatched the soap and started scrubbing her arms again, her back now turned to him.

  “Alright, alright,” Mortimer chuckled, “let’s finish up—this 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.

  "I took her pce."

  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 ce-trimmed sleeves draping over her wrists. Instead of a bra, there was a corset folded neatly beside it—but 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—though her injured leg throbbed in protest.

  Finally, she pced a wide-brimmed bck 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—it’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—oh, 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—the 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—if 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 dy 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 dy,” 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—the one she had lived in for decades—was right in front of her.

  She opened her eyes.

  And looked inside.

  The body y in the open casket, dressed in a bck, slightly oversized suit. It had been preserved with an unsettling stillness—too 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—every instinct screamed at her to turn away—but 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—just a little more, just one touch—but 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—to spring to life, to lunge at her.

  A part of her even taunted it, daring it to do something, anything.

  Nothing happened.

  It just y 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—

  She was going to kiss it.

  But before she could—

  “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—our family.

  “When it was time to say goodbye, they were id 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 crified, 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—”

  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 ft cap sat snugly on his head.

  He gnced around nervously, then pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper, his eyes scanning the contents before looking up toward them.

  His gaze nded 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.”