You’d been on edge all day, every thought circling back to Natalie. She hadn’t been herself for weeks, her art slipping through her fingers, the pressure from her parents crushing her, and worst of all, her brother. God, her brother. You hated him with every shred of your being for the vile things he had done to her. You hated him for breaking her.

Night dragged heavy and cold as you tried to sleep. The glow of your phone mocked you, messages to Natalie still unopened, each one a silent unanswered plea. Then, just when you thought the silence had won, you heard it, the faint slide of your window.

Your breath caught as you sat up. And there she was. But not the girl you remembered.

Stitches carved cruelly into her face, pulling at the corners of her mouth. Her hair, once long and soft, hacked short in uneven tufts. Her right eye, a sharp, unnatural green, burned in the dark, while the other socket housed a watch, its hands ticking, ticking, ticking, filling the silence with dread.

“I messed up,” she whispered, voice frayed and broken.

Blood clung to her skin, soaked into her clothes. You could barely recognize her beneath it all. She stood there trembling, lost between who she had been and what she had become.

And you couldn’t help but wonder, what had she done?