Author's warning:It appears that not every player in our little drama follows the rules of polite society. This chapter features a turn toward the violent and the visceral. Reader discretion is advised for those who prefer their stories without the sting of a blade or the shadow of a betrayal.
~ Cassie ~
As Miranda leaned in close, her perfume flooded my senses. It was an expensive, floral scent that felt nauseating in this context, clashing horribly with the pervasive stench of mold, sweat, and the metallic tang of old blood. She looked at me with a terrifyingly calm expression, her eyes reflecting the flickering light of the single bulb above us.
"This," she whispered, her voice low and steady, "is your final lesson."
She reached for the gallon container held by the masked man. My heart lurched so violently against my ribs that it hurt, a frantic bird hitting the bars of its cage. I knew what was coming before the lid was even removed. The air seemed to turn to lead in my lungs.
"No," I croaked. My voice barely existed anymore. "Please. Miranda, please."
She did not answer me. There was no flicker of mercy, no hesitation in her hands. With one merciless, sweeping motion, she tipped the container.
The liquid poured over me in one merciless motion.
The scream that tore out of me did not feel human. It was a sound that came from somewhere ancient and raw, ripped straight from the center of my soul. Pain unlike anything I had ever known exploded across my skin. It was not merely a burn; it felt like a thousand jagged needles made of fire burrowing into my pores, peeling me open and dissolving my identity from the outside in.
I smelled the sickening, heavy scent of my own flesh burning.
My vision blurred instantly. My skin sizzled. Blood mixed with acid. My throat shredded itself as I screamed, the sound bouncing violently off the walls and crashing back into me.
Miranda watched calm and focused.
"In your next life," she said evenly, "I hope you are born ugly."
My voice broke completely. Nothing but broken gasps escaped me as my body collapsed forward. Every nerve screamed at once. My heartbeat stuttered. My breath shortened. The lights above flickered, fading in and out like my consciousness.
All the pain I had ever endured fused into one unbearable blur.
Miranda stepped back, observing me with clinical detachment.
The last thing I saw was her face.
That smug, triumphant smile.
Tears slid from my eyes, burning as they crossed my ruined skin. I prayed silently, desperately, with the last fragments of myself.
If there is a second chance…
If there is even a sliver of mercy…
Let me come back.
Let me avenge this death. Let me stop being the naïve girl who believed in the goodness of others. Let me stop being weak. Let me make her pay for every second of this.
There was no answer from the heavens.
Something inside me snapped quietly, like a final thread giving way.
And then the pain stopped.
My breathing ceased.
My heartbeat stilled and silence filled me.
For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt light. Weightless. Almost peaceful.
I opened my eyes.
And froze.
My body lay below me. Burned. Bloodied. Ruined beyond recognition. Twisted in a way no living thing should be.
I was floating above it.
I reached out instinctively, panic surging through me. My hand passed straight through my own body. A cold shock rattled through my entire being.
"No," I whispered. "This isn't real."
I turned toward Miranda, rage igniting hotter than the acid had burned. I lunged at her, swinging with everything I had left.
My fist passed through her head.
She did not flinch nor did she react. She could not see me and could not hear me.
I was invisible.
Dead.
"I will destroy you," I whispered, my voice trembling with fury. "If there is any justice left in this universe, I will make you pay."
The men grabbed my lifeless body and dragged it toward the door. I followed helplessly, my soul tethered to the horror unfolding. Moonlight spilled over my corpse as they carried it outside, revealing just how mutilated I truly was.
Grief crushed me deeper than pain ever had.
They dumped my body into the back of a van. Miranda stepped inside, flicking her hair casually. The engine roared to life.
I drifted behind them, pulled forward like a shadow chained to its source.
As the van sped into the darkness, I touched my cheek. When I pulled my hand away, thick tears of blood slid down my fingers.
Blood I no longer possessed.
Blood made of grief.
Rage.
A stolen life.
I floated above the road, time stretching endlessly, memories replaying in cruel detail. Every choice. Every smile. Every moment of trust that led me here.
With each memory, another tear of blood fell.
"You took everything from me," I whispered into the night. "But I am not finished yet."
The van turned down a lonely road.
And I followed.
Because even in death, my story was not over. It was only just beginning.