15. V.
V.
I didn’t pack much, only a small backpack with my favorite jeans folded inside. I had already said my goodbyes to Carmen. We didn’t say much, just a few words, as she promised to visit me in a month. I didn’t tell her about the dance festival either. I only said I wanted to arrive a little earlier.
I tried to find Maria, but she was nowhere to be seen. It felt like she didn’t even want me there, and maybe that was true. Maybe one day she would find a way to forgive me for whatever I had done that made her hate me so much.
After so much pain, I had finally chosen myself. My heart was still hollow from my mother’s death, and the thought of Carlos still haunted me, the fear that he might appear again and finish what he started. But deep inside, I felt something shifting, as if all of it would soon come to an end.
A strange feeling, que no?
I stood in front of the club wearing my favorite blue jeans and a white top edged with small daisies. When I stepped inside, the music hit like a wave, so loud it seemed to shake the air itself. Neon lights streaked through the haze of smoke, making it hard to see the faces moving in the crowd.
And then I saw him.
Francisco.
He stood beneath the disco ball, the light scattering across him.
He reached out his hand, and when I gave him mine, he pulled me against his chest before spinning me around.
My silver earrings caught the light as they twisted through my black curls, and for the first time in so long, I smiled.
A real smile, one that rose from the heart.
And I felt his answer in the way he smiled back.
“Careful, 1 guapo,” I teased as he spun me too close to another couple.
2 “No me importa,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. His hand slid up to my jaw, drawing me closer.
Then another touch. A hand on my arm, pulling me away. I turned and found Maria.
“Maria,” I breathed.
Her voice cracked. “What the fuck? Why can’t you just let me be?”
“I...” The words stumbled, but before I could finish, she pushed through the crowd and left somewhere in the back, near the bathrooms.
Francisco caught my hand as I started to follow. “Hey.”
I pulled away softly. “Let’s face it. We aren’t meant to be.”
“Morena,” he called after me.
I was already moving. I had to follow her.
As I took another step, his voice chased me through the noise.
3 “Morena, por favor.”
I didn’t turn. He called again, softer this time, almost breaking.
“Morena.”
But I kept walking. Maria was the only one I could follow.
The hallway led to the bathrooms, but the line stretched out the door. She wasn’t there. Instead, one of her friends leaned against the wall, smirking when she saw me.
Her laugh cut through me, but I still asked, “Do you know where Maria went?”
She didn’t bother answering, only lifted a finger and pointed to the right.
The area was sealed with yellow tape. Off limits.
But I knew Maria. Rules had never stopped her. I slipped beneath the tape and followed the narrow stairs down.
The bass still pounded above, so heavy it made the mirrors along the walls tremble. The air was colder here, carrying the scent of dust and old wood. This used to be a ballet studio before Malorca turned it into a summer festival space. I remembered this room, all glass and echoes.
Maria sat on the floor, her back pressed to a mirror, her face buried against her knees.
“Maria,” I whispered as I stepped closer.
Her voice cracked. “Why are you even here? You don’t care.”
“I do care,” I said, confusion twisting inside me.
She lifted her head, her eyes raw and red. “You know, every time you ran to defend Mom, he came to my room.”
I froze. 4 “Que?”
“He touched me.” Her voice broke as she scrubbed tears off her cheeks. “He called me his 5 bonita. His. ”
The word split the air. My chest collapsed. Tears slid hot down my face. “I am so sorry, Maria.”
She shook her head, bitter. “Mom never believed me. She called me a 6 mentirosa. And you...“ her voice rose, “you were off with Carmen, playing happy family with a woman who was nothing to us. A woman who left Mom when she needed her most.”
Her words carved through me. I could only stand there, brow furrowed, my tears falling freely.
“And then you got your way out,” she spat, “all the way to Italy. While I stayed behind, pregnant by the man who fell in love with you.”
“Por favor, María.” My hand reached for hers.
She ripped away from me. “No. No!”
Before I could move again, she shoved me hard. My body crashed against the mirror, glass exploding, and shards rained down all around me.
I collapsed onto the floor, my body raked open by a hundred tiny cuts, shards biting into my skin and staying there like needles.
Blood seeped across my arms and neck in thin red lines.
Maria’s hands shot to her mouth, her eyes wide as if she could not believe what she had done.
She cried out, a broken sound, then dropped to her knees.
I reached my hand toward her, trembling. She took it, only to snatch a jagged piece of glass from the floor and drive it straight into my chest.
The breath ripped from me in a single gasp. My eyes locked on hers, the glass still buried between us, her hands shaking but firm. She yanked it out and plunged it in again. Then again. Three more times.
Each thrust tore fire through my chest, my body arching, my lungs seizing. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t breathe. Only wet, choking sounds left my throat.
I slid sideways, staring at the broken mirror. Fractured pieces of myself stared back, every angle showing blood spreading across my white top. Maria stood frozen, her face pale, her eyes black with shock, her hands trembling and dripping red.
She looked at me like I was no longer her sister but something already dead.
Then he appeared.
Francisco came down the stairs. His voice broke through the buzzing in my ears. 7 “?Qué pasó?”
He grabbed Maria, shook her shoulders, then dropped to my side. His hands pressed at my neck, searching desperately for a pulse.
He slapped my face, once, twice, but my body gave nothing back. No twitch. No breath.
Francisco got up and shoved her away, and said in a low voice. “Run. Go home. Hide. I will deal with this.”
For a moment, hope sparked. I thought he meant to save me. But when he turned back, his face had changed.
He crouched, picked up a long shard of glass, and drove it into me. Again. And again. Nine more times.
Thirteen.
Thirteen pieces of glass are tearing into my flesh, sliding through muscle, scraping bone. The sound of it filled my head. My blood sprayed against the mirror, painting it red until my reflection disappeared.
One tear slid down my cheek. My lips moved, but no words came. Inside, I begged.
Death, please, if you exist, take me. End this. Take me with you. I don’t want this pain.
My voice cracked out one last time.
“Muerte, si de verdad existes, arrástrame contigo; este dolor me devora, por favor, llévame.” 8
The mirror shuddered. From within the shattered glass, something stirred.
At first, it was only a shadow, tall and hunched, its edges shifting like feathers. Then it leaned forward, and I saw the mask. Black, the kind worn in the age of plague. Its empty eyes glowed faintly, fixed on me, waiting.
It raised a hand, long, black fingers tipped with claws, and pressed it against the inside of the mirror. The glass groaned beneath its touch.
Death came for me.
But I was not dead.
At least not yet.
Paco’s hand clamped around my ankle, dragging me across the shards. My blood smeared the floor as he pulled me from mirror to mirror. Each reflection shifted, showing me not myself, but something worse.
The first mirror was silent. I watched myself lying in bed, lips sewn shut with thick black thread.
People tried to speak to me, but all I gave them was stillness, my eyes wide with panic, unable to scream.
My mouth bled where the stitches tore my skin.
My chest froze. Was this the first gate of hell?
He pulled me past it.
The second mirror was hunger. I saw myself at a table, food disappearing the instant I tried to touch it. My stomach shriveled, my hands trembling, until I turned to the faceless figure beside me and tore into its flesh with my teeth. Blood spilled down my chin as I devoured the nameless body.
The third mirror burned. Flames licked across my skin, melting it into ash. In my hands, crumbling like paper, was a newspaper headline: Everything will burn in eighty years. My body writhed in the fire, but I could not drop the page.
The fourth mirror was a maze. Mirror maze. Every surface showed me as I had been called: ugly, weak, worthless. My own face laughed at me, sneered at me, called me names until I collapsed, clutching my ears. But the voices only grew louder.
The fifth mirror was a room filled with chains. A basement reeking of rot. Hooks pierced bodies that swung against the walls, their screams echoing off the stone walls. My own body was among them, arms pulled taut, metal hooks ripping through my back as I screamed until my throat tore open.
The sixth mirror was shadows. They poured from the walls, leaping, clawing, swarming me. They dragged me under, drowning me in black, again and again. Each time I clawed toward the surface, they pulled me deeper, my lungs bursting with darkness.
The seventh mirror waited at the end.
And in it, he stood.
Death.
A tall figure in the plague doctor’s mask, its long beak cracked and stained. He extended a hand. Though my body was paralyzed, my soul reached out. Our fingers touched, and he pulled me through.
I landed naked in the mud. The world was nothing but night. Crows swarmed in circles above, their cries were like knives in my skull.
Behind me, through the shattered mirror, Paco still dragged my body across the floor, leaving a red trail behind.
But Death turned my head, his black-gloved hand gripping my jaw, forcing me to look into the hollow eyeholes of his mask.
“Tell me, little corpse,” he said, his voice low. “What are you willing to give me for eternal life?”
I stared into his eyes. The hollow pits of the mask seemed to open into infinity. My lips trembled. No words came.
He tilted his head. “Then I will choose for you.”
“Yes,” I whispered, barely a breath.
“Bring me souls,” he said. “Rotten ones. Haunt them. Break them. Torture them. Tear their spirits apart and drag them to me.” His eyes locked on mine. “Do as you please, but bring them.”
“Yes.” My voice cracked, but I nodded. “But… please… one thing.” My knees buckled, and I fell into the mud, shivering. “Take my memories. All of them. I don’t want to be me anymore.”
He crouched in front of me, the weight of him blotting out even the crows. “Very well.”
Slowly, he lifted the mask away.
Beneath it, he did not have a skull or a void. He had human eyes, piercing blue, drowning. I fell into them, my breath stolen, my soul unraveling.
And as I sank, I felt myself dying and being born again.
1. Handsome
2. I don't care.
3. Morena, please.
4. what?
5. Pretty
6. Liar
7. What happened?
8. Death, please, if you exist, take me. End this. Take me with you. I don’t want this pain.