Chapter 3 – A Question I Can't Answer
I didn't know what to say.
Her question lingered in the air, sharp as a knife: Did you dig your way out, or did something let you out?
I could still feel the dirt beneath my fingernails, still taste the bitterness of soil at the back of my throat. My body ached in places I didn't understand. And yet… even as I stood there, I wasn't sure whether I had clawed my way up from nothing, or whether the earth had simply given up trying to keep me.
My lips parted, but no sound came. My voice felt stuck somewhere deep inside my chest.
Wednesday didn't move. She just watched me, her expression unreadable, her eyes like ink spilled on snow. She had the patience of someone who was used to silence, who could hold a stare forever without flinching.
The night pressed in around us. The trees leaned close, their branches rattling with the faintest breath of wind. It was cold. My body adjusted to it so quickly it was almost frightening — I felt the chill for an instant, then my skin seemed to harden against it, my blood warming. Adaptation. Again, always adapting.
"I…" My throat cracked. The word was hardly a word at all.
Wednesday's eyebrows rose a fraction. The smallest acknowledgment that I had spoken.
I tried again. "I don't know."
It was the truth, but it sounded pathetic in my own ears. A man — or whatever I was now — clawing his way out of the earth should have answers. Instead, I had nothing.
Her head tilted slightly. "Interesting."
The word was soft, but it carried weight. Not mockery, not sympathy — just… interest. As though I were a puzzle she had found, one she had every intention of solving.
I swallowed hard. My throat still hurt. My tongue felt heavy, as if unused for too long. Every word I forced out was like dragging a stone uphill.
"I… woke up there. In the dark. Buried. And then… I was here."
She studied me a moment longer. Her eyes flicked down to my arms, to the last traces of dirt and scratches. They were nearly gone now. My skin had sealed itself while we spoke.
"You heal fast."
It wasn't a question.
I glanced down at my arms, flexing my fingers. "Yeah." My voice was low, shaky. "Faster than I should."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth — not warmth, but something closer to amusement. "That could be useful."
The way she said it made me shiver. Not because it was cruel, but because it was honest. She didn't seem impressed by me, or frightened, only calculating. As though she were already considering what someone like me could do.
My chest tightened. I felt… exposed. Vulnerable. I didn't even know who I was anymore. My body wasn't my own, my instincts weren't mine. Every breath reminded me that something monstrous curled deep inside me, twisting and whispering. Mahoraga's wheel turned in silence, grinding against my ribs.
I wanted to ask her questions — where I was, what she knew, what I was. But when I opened my mouth, hesitation stopped me. She looked so sure of herself, so composed, as if she already knew more about me than I did.
Instead, I asked the smallest thing. "Who are you?"
Her eyes flicked up, meeting mine again. For the first time, I thought I saw the faintest spark of amusement. "Wednesday."
The name hung between us. Just that. No explanation, no last name, no context. She didn't need to offer more — as if the name alone was enough, and if I didn't understand it, then that was my problem.
I let out a shaky breath. "I'm…" I stopped. My name — my old name — felt strange in my mouth. Did it even belong to me anymore? Or had I left it in the grave?
She noticed my hesitation. Her lips curved into the faintest smirk. "You don't know who you are."
It wasn't a question.
"I… did. Before." I rubbed my arm, dirt still clinging to the skin. "But now, it feels… wrong. Like I borrowed someone else's body."
Her eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but in fascination. She took a slow step closer, until we were almost eye to eye. I could see the pale reflection of moonlight in her pupils.
"That makes two of us," she said quietly.
The words caught me off guard. For the first time, I saw something flicker behind her mask — not just curiosity, but… recognition. Like she knew something about being out of place.
I wanted to ask what she meant, but she turned away suddenly, her braids swaying as she started walking deeper into the forest.
"Come," she said simply. "If you want answers, you'll find none standing out here like a lost grave-robber."
For a moment, I stood frozen. My instincts screamed at me not to follow — to stay in the shadows, to run, to hide. But another instinct pushed back, harder, heavier: survive. Adapt. Move.
And so, I followed.
The forest seemed to close behind us as we walked. My body was steadier now, my breathing less ragged, my steps more sure. Every second, I felt myself adjusting, learning how to exist in this strange new form. It scared me how natural it felt, like my humanity was something slipping through my fingers without me noticing.
Ahead of me, Wednesday walked in silence, her back straight, her pace deliberate. She didn't look back once to see if I was still there. She didn't need to. Somehow, I had the feeling she already knew I would follow.
I glanced up at the sky as we moved, the moon glaring down through torn clouds. I thought of the earth above me, the dirt in my lungs, the crushing dark. I thought of the wheel turning inside me, reshaping me every moment.
I thought of the question she had asked.
Did I dig my way out… or did something let me out?
I didn't know. Maybe I never would. But as I trailed behind the girl with braids, I realized something with a cold clarity that sank into my bones.
Whatever brought me here… wasn't done with me yes