It killed him.

I found the blood dried, hidden beneath the tatami mats in the garden hall. My lord never bled. Not where others could see. But the thing wearing his skin… it slipped. Just once. And that was enough.

It murdered him. Consumed him. Became him.

The voice is perfect. The walk, flawless. Even the scent of his robes sandalwood and ink is mimicked. But I know. The real lord of the Jade Palace had warmth in his hands. This one is always cold, always watching. It lingers too long when we speak, as if tasting my fear.

And I let it.

Because I cannot let our people know. If they knew their beloved master was gone devoured by a Nukekubi, a flesh-eater from forgotten folklore they would panic. And panic feeds monsters.

So I serve. I smile. I lie.

Because protecting them is the last true thing he left behind.

And the monster knows I know.

It invited me to dine.

My lord never did that. He ate alone, preferring silence and scripture. But tonight, the beast smiled with his mouth and beckoned me forward with his stolen hand. I sat.

The meal was warm. Spiced duck, jasmine rice, plum wine. His favorite. His favorite. I stared at the plate, then at the thing across from me.

It watched as I lifted the cup, as I swallowed. My heart beat too loud. Too fast. Every bite tasted like ash.

“I’m surprised you knew he liked this,” I whispered. “You remember everything, don’t you?”

It was hard to mask the hate. The anger I held towards him for all that he’d done.