As I move through the manor, going through walls, drifting down the stairs, I truly feel like a ghost. A hollow shell. A specter floating between space and time. Unseeing. Unbreathing. Staring at the ground, hoping it might swallow me whole and make it all end.
I’m alive again, wishing for death.
I have no path in mind. No aim. I don’t notice the grass beneath my feet or the wind rustling through the leaves. I don’t feel it. I’m lost. It isn’t until I’m staring at a mound of dug-up dirt that my mind comes to.
Frowning, I stare at the torn fabric that’s been dragged out of the hole and the gaping wounds in the corpse where limbs should be.Mycorpse. The same corpse that’s lying above the earth instead of beneath it. My forearm and both my legs are missing. As is half my other hand.
I stagger back, clutching my stomach as I hunch over. Nausea pushes air out of me in place of bile.
My body—the only evidence that I existed—has been defiled. Reduced to a fucking chew toy. What? Not even nature thinks I’m worthy of respect. So every single thing I’ve done in my life amounts to—to?—
Is this what Grandma wanted for me? To be buried in the dirt without a coffin so I could become as disfigured as I am on the inside?
The animal didn’t even find my flesh acceptable for consumption. Sinew and meat are scattered amongst the roots and twigs. Beneath a nearby bush, there’s a gnawed leg. Like a pack of wolves took turns playing with it.
Alarm bells ring in my head, snatching me out of my pity party.
If anyone stumbled upon this, the cops would be here in no time. Once they inevitably identified me, what are the chances that a distant relative or my parents swoop in and put the place up for sale?
I’d be stuck watching people live their lives every day while I wander the halls. Maybe even my parents if they successfully appeal their case.
Not to mention they’d be stuck with a goddamn demon.
How would that even work?
Or worse, what if they raze the manor to the ground and put an IKEA or something here? Lynx would go on a murder spree.
No one can find out there’s a murdered corpse buried on the property.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I snarl, heading deeper into the forest to look for my own body parts.
It was probably a wolf or coyote—no, those bite marks look far too big for any animal I’ve ever seen roaming around here. A supernatural creature on the other hand?
Fucking Tidus.
I’m throwing him off the roof too.
Grumbling and cursing and wishing I could understand the grimoire so I could smite the hellhound, I start the painstaking task of combing through the forest in search of my severed limbs. This is all one bad joke.
Hours pass and all I manage to find is half a finger that I gave up on carrying and gave a mini burial instead.Fingers crossed a rat doesn’t dig it up. I make it near the driveway before spotting a bone that could be the length of my forearm.
It could be mine or belong to another animal that died here recently and became vulture chow. I haven’t got a clue.
I’m not even sure what type of wildlife exists in this part of the country, even though I’ve lived here most of my life.
I bend down to investigate it with my zero years of experience as an anatomist. I mean, it looks like it belongs to a human, but it’s too thick to be mine. The back of my neck prickles with awareness, and I whip round, expecting to see the culprit of my dismemberment.
But it’s worse.
“I’ve been fucking looking for you,” I hiss, storming toward Lynx, who’s glaring me down, hand suspended in the air like he was midway through reaching for something. “Where the shit have you been?”
He sneers at me, giving the black jeans and thick knitted sweater I’ve conjured a once-over, and every one of my nerve endings comes alight. I can hear the chirping of the insects, the soft hum of the wind, and feel the kiss of the breeze against my cheek. It’s what I’ve been looking for since I woke up naked and alone two nights ago.
“In Hell.”
My rampage halts. “You can leave?” Bitter disappointment weaves through my voice against my will. I hold my breath, waiting for him to respond as my anger wars with fear and sadness.
I don’t want him to go.
