②④

Sohee's cheeks turn crimson, her lips parting as she blurts something out—words she seems too embarrassed to speak. Her face twists in denial, eyes squeezed shut as if trying to swallow her own voice. When she finally peeks at me, her gaze locks onto mine, blinking rapidly, her palm waving nervously in front of my eyes, her smile crooked and unsure.

Concern clouds her features as she tugs at my sleeve, her fingers trembling. "Sunbae?" she whispers, her voice fragile. She touches my shoulder, the weight of her hand too light to ground me.

Her mouth moves again, but I can't focus on the words. My mind drifts, something inside writhing like a forgotten memory clawing its way to the surface. Faces blur together. One with gouged-out eyes. Another stained with the blood of his wife. Daughters—so many daughters. And in the pit of it all, a dark, twisted knot of recollections I never wanted.

*It works,* a voice echoes, dragging me back.

__________________________________

I'm an artist. Not by anyone's standards but my own. Seventeen years old, that's when it started—the obsession. A woman in a wheelchair, graceful in ways no one with legs could ever be. I stayed with her for years, watching, learning. When I turned twenty-three, I proposed. She said yes. Tears and all.

We had children—daughters, at first. But something was missing. "I want twins," I told her, gently, at first. We tried again. Boys. But that wasn't enough. I wanted girls. *Perfect* girls.

She stopped smiling. Stopped crying. But I pushed her. And finally, she gave me what I asked for. Twin daughters. Liva and Dea. 

I wanted them to grow up right, so every night I read them stories—stories about kindness, about helping others. *Repay the world,* I told them. *For the life it gave you.*

They were mine. All mine. I couldn't let the world have them. So, I kept them close. No schools. I hired a tutor instead. A brilliant man. Too brilliant.

They loved him.

Too much.

My daughters whispered about him in the bathroom, planning futures without me. I couldn't let that happen. So I did what any father would do.

I made him disappear.

The next morning, they asked where their tutor had gone. "He's married," I said, smiling. "He'll never come back."

They cried themselves to sleep. But that was okay. They were strong. They had to be.

I woke up with a headache. Liva and Dea stood by my bed, their faces pale with fear. "Dad, are you okay?"

Of course I wasn't. But how could I tell them that? They called an ambulance, fumbling with the phone, their tiny voices shaking as they told the operator, "Goblins stole our dad's legs!"

The operator laughed, hung up.

They cried harder. "Why won't anyone help us?" 

They tried to carry me themselves, their little shoulders straining as they dragged me across the floor. I watched from above, detached. *True art costs the artist's life.*

______________________________

The Monster

I blink. Everything shifts. The memories blur into something grotesque. The artist fades. His story feels like a mask I've worn too long. I'm somewhere else. Somewhere worse.

A voice. Cold and soft. "Hello there."

I turn, and there she is—an inhuman thing with no bones, twisting like a snake. Her smile stretches unnaturally, and I know instantly she's not human. Not even close.

"Don't be scared," she whispers.

I try to respond, but my mouth is gone. Only my thoughts remain. *You're a monster.*

She chuckles. "I'm just like you."

Lies.

"It's your vision that's wrong," she flicks a finger, and the world sharpens, the blurs disappearing. Now, she's a woman—pale skin, white hair flowing like silk. But I know better. She's still the same twisted creature inside.

"You seem lonely," she says. "Do you want a friend?"

With a flick, she conjures a puppet—naked, lifeless. She frowns. "Not good enough." The puppet collapses, useless.

Another flick. The puppet comes to life, screaming. I don't know why, but I like the sound. Then, just as quickly, it's gone. Red sprays everywhere. Blood. That's the word.

"Confused?" she asks, smiling wider now. "Don't worry, I'll send you back."

She steps closer, kissing my cheek, her lips cold as ice. I want to scream. I want to die. But she's not done. She wants something from me first.

She hands me a pair of scissors, her fingers lingering on mine. "Before you go, a gift," she whispers, her breath freezing in my ear.

Eight girls appear. One of them has green eyes. Eyes I want to pluck from her skull. Eyes I could give to someone in need.

I step forward, the scissors in my hand, gleaming like fangs.

I am going to do it.

But then:

Snap_________________

I'm back.

To the world.

Pain erupts across my face. Warmth spreads over my skin.

The green-eyed girl stands before me, her hand still raised from the slap. It's the girl who saved Sohee before.

"I don't know why I did that," she mutters. "Sorry."

I feel my lips tremble. Not in anger, but with a question I can't quite put into words. A question that feels bigger than me. Bigger than everything.

And then, silence....