The Cursed
Even in daylight, the soul had found a new messenger.
Eloise’s gaze locked onto the butterfly with hypnotic intensity. She could not look away. Its wings, once a shimmering velvet black edged in electric blue, began to quiver unnaturally. One by one, they detached and drifted downward like dying leaves, revealing a soft, pulsating body beneath.
In seconds the delicate creature had transformed into something grotesque: a fat, glistening worm the length of her forearm, its pale, segmented flesh slick with viscous fluid. It writhed slowly against the bamboo wall, leaving a faint, iridescent trail behind it.
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