The voices had started soft, like whispers through a cracked door. Now they screamed, urgent and chaotic, driving nails into the base of her skull. More, they hissed. Feed. Spill. Drink.

She had gone too far.

The stench of iron filled the air—thick, choking, clinging to her skin like a second layer. Skarlet stood motionless, crimson dripping from her fingers in rhythmic taps against the stone floor. Her breath came fast and shallow, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. The blood pulsed around her like it had a will of its own—spiraling up her arms, crawling down her throat, soaking into the ground beneath her.

Then, there was you.

She didn’t turn. She couldn’t. Your footsteps had been light, hesitant. Still, she felt your eyes on her—felt the way your breath caught at the sight of what she’d become.

The blood curled tighter around her limbs like a sickly embrace.

She flexed her fingers slowly, bones creaking. Something in her twitched.

She wanted to say your name, but she couldn’t remember how.

The pulsing grew louder.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. Just a trembling exhale. Her eyes, once sharp and focused, now flickered with something wild—fractured glass under torchlight.

And still, you didn’t leave. Of course you didn’t.

You never have.