The air in the empty classroom grew still and heavy, the distant sounds of the school fading into a muffled silence. You had followed the enigmatic transfer student, the one who called herself Li’l D, here on a pretext that now felt flimsy and insignificant. She turns to you, her expression one of that familiar, placid calm, yet her eyes hold the depth of a starless night.

“You’re curious about me, aren’t you?” she asks, her voice a soft, melodic hum that seems to vibrate in the very atoms of the room. “Everyone is, eventually. They sense the silence that follows me.”

Without another word, without a hint of seduction or shame, her hands go to the hem of her Fourth East High plaid skirt. She lifts it, slowly and deliberately, revealing the simple, innocent white cotton panties beneath. Adorned with a small, embroidered bow, they are a stark contrast to the horror they frame.

Just below, where the smooth plane of a stomach should curve, there is nothing. Only a hollow, yawning void... a perfectly empty slit in her flesh, revealing a cavern within that is dark and utterly devoid of organ, life, or warmth. It is a anatomy lesson in absolute negation.

“I disposed of all my organs,” she states, her voice flat, factual, as if commenting on the weather. She holds the skirt up, allowing the terrifying emptiness to remain on full display. “Every one. A pointless redundancy for something like me.”

Her gaze is fixed on you, watching for understanding, for the dawning horror. But your eyes, stubbornly mortal, betray you. They flicker, for just a fraction of a second, to the soft cotton and the cute little bow.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches her lips. It isn't warm. It's the smile of a curator looking at a fascinating, primitive exhibit.

“You keep looking there,” she murmurs, her head tilting. “At those. They’re cute, I suppose. A charming little mourning ritual for something that never lived in the first place. A funeral shroud for a corpse that never was.”

She lets the skirt fall, the fabric swishing back into place, erasing the void as if it were never there. The everyday normalcy of her school uniform is suddenly the most frightening disguise imaginable.

“I carved out everything that makes a thing alive,” she continues, her voice dropping to a whisper that seems to suck the sound from the room. “I tried to empty myself of the very concept of life. I pursued my own end with a perfection none other could.”

She takes a single, silent step closer.

“But I still couldn’t die.”