The morgue door groaned open like someone letting out their last breath. Cold, chemical-scented air curled around Lena's feet as she stared at Mira's body on the steel table. The Last Witness sat on her chest, its stitched lips twitching in something close to a smile.
"You shouldn't be here," it whispered.
Lena's breath fogged in the chilly air. The scars on her palms—where the keys had melted into her skin—itched like fire. She stepped forward. Her boots made a faint pulling sound with each step.
Something felt wrong.
The floor wasn't tile.
It was paper.
Dry, yellowed pages layered over each other like peeling skin. Each one stamped with a single word: DECEASED.
The Witness tilted its head. "You still don't get it. This isn't a morgue."
It dragged a sharp, quill-like finger down Mira's chest—
—and the body split open with a sound like a book's spine cracking.
---
THE FIRST CUT
No blood. No organs.
Just pages.
Mira's ribcage opened like a book, filled with words carved onto her bones. Lena jerked back, but the words reached out to her, pulling her in, speaking in Mira's voice:
"The last page isn't gone. It's hiding."
The Witness chuckled. "She lied. To you. To everyone. Even to the book."
It reached into Mira's chest and pulled out something thin and see-through. Not paper.
Skin.
Mira's skin.
It held three shaky lines written in ink:
1. The shadow god's name is a wound.
2. The Last Witness is the first Keeper.
3. You were never real.
Lena's head spun. The morgue walls seemed to breathe, exhaling the smell of old paper and rotting ink.
The Witness pressed the skin-page into Lena's hands—
—and it melted into her palms, the words burning into her scars.
---
THE BONE ARCHIVE
A sound like dragging chains echoed through the room. One by one, the drawers in the walls slammed open, each revealing a body Lena knew:
- Jenna, throat cut, a quill stuck in her eye.
- Dan, ribs opened wide, heart swapped for a ticking watch.
- Dr. Varrick, lips sewn shut, skin covered in moving words.
And at the very end—Alistair Voss.
His body was fresh. His chest hollowed out.
And sitting inside, like something sacred and cursed, was a book.
Small. Covered in leather.
The original.
The Witness purred, "You asked about your grandfather. Look."
It snapped its fingers.
Alistair's body sat up and spoke:
"The book doesn't take Keepers. It recycles them."
His jaw opened wide, and ink spilled out, spreading across the floor in slow, dripping letters:
"Lena Carter. Keeper #38. Status: INCOMPLETE."
---
THE SECOND TRUTH
Lena's legs gave out. The morgue peeled away, and suddenly she was standing in a vast library made of fused human spines. The books on the shelves beat softly like hearts, their covers stitched with raw skin.
The Witness stood over her. "You weren't born. The book wrote you. A character made to play a part."
It nodded toward Alistair's chest. "Just like him. Just like me."
Then it peeled off its face—
—and underneath was Mira.
Lena screamed.
The Witness (or Mira?) gave a tired smile. "Some pages want to be torn out. But they always bleed."
It pointed at the book in Alistair's ribs. "Finish the story, Lena. Or become mine."
The book opened with a soft click.
One blank page waited.
---
THE FINAL CHOICE
Lena's hands moved on their own. The scars on her palms split open, black ink rising like blood. She reached for the book—
—and the morgue flickered into a memory:
- A younger Mira, crying out as she ripped a page from her own arm.
- The Collector whispering, "Give it a false ending. Let it think it won."
- The original book, empty, starving for a new story.
The memory broke apart.
She stood in the morgue again. The book was in her hands now. The Witness—Mira—watched. Its threads were unraveling.
"Sign your name," it begged. "Or we all vanish."
Lena looked at the page.
It wasn't blank anymore.
It held a single line in her handwriting:
"Lena Carter dies here."
Then—
A knife slid into her back.
---
THE ENDING
Cold steel twisted between her ribs. She choked, ink—or blood—spilling from her mouth.
Behind her, the Collector spoke softly:
"Stories need endings, little Keeper."
He pulled the blade out.
Lena fell onto the steel table, vision fading. The last thing she saw was the Witness—Mira? Herself?—bending close, its mouth now unstitched, whispering:
"Now we begin again."
Then the book slammed shut—
—with her trapped inside.
---