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  I saw it—I saw myself! I gazed down upon the pitiful refuse of a skeletal figure, writhing violently as blood seeped from every pore. Its hideous, malformed mouth, blistered and aflame with azure fire, was giving birth to me—the true me. Bald and grotesque, with jagged teeth and bulging cheeks, the creature was a horror to behold. I had rarely glimpsed my own reflection, but now, I comprehended the mix of fear and concern in the eyes of those who had dared to meet my gaze.

  As I watched, I still felt the agonies of death, though my long-suffering endurance, honed over nearly two decades, would not be easily overcome. I took a perverse pleasure in witnessing the demise of that wretched form. My new self emerged as a formless cloud of blue, expanding with each passing moment until it dwarfed my former body.

  The torment grew sharper as the cloud condensed, solidifying into a brilliant blue crystal. I became a floating gem, fully aware of every detail within the room I had inhabited for so long. Yet that was when I realized my failure; I had not achieved the freedom I sought. Instead, I had trapped my soul within yet another prison. The crystal completed its formation and fell beside my discarded shell, near the vile, pustulent mouth.

  It would remain there unless disturbed, and my consciousness would be bound to it, voiceless, condemned to watch and listen. Eventually, the gem would lose its spark, dimming and dying; whether that would take moments, days, or years, I could not tell. Though my connection to a physical body had been severed, I still felt pain—a pain so profound it defied description. Limbs and hands I no longer possessed burned and throbbed, my nonexistent face boiled, and spikes of agony pierced and withdrew from a body I no longer owned. Yet I could not even scream to give voice to my anguish. The crystal was not meant to feel, but at least its existence would be brief. I watched in gratitude as it slowly began to shrink, the inhuman torment drawing nearer to its end.

  As bones I no longer had were ground to dust in an unending cycle of torture, a welcome distraction entered my field of vision. The door to my chamber creaked open, and Princess rushed in, her face contorted in shock and alarm. It was no surprise she had heard the blood-curdling scream that had erupted from my forsaken body. Her own scream tore through the air as she knelt, heedless of the blood and ink-stained floor, clutching the remains of what had once been me, desperately shaking the lifeless husk in a futile attempt to revive it. She screamed again, her cries for help echoing through the chamber as she broke down in tears, repeating my name in a frantic refrain.

  “Dubart! Dubart!” she desperately shrieked in a tone I had never heard employ; it was strident and piercing.

  Never had I seen anyone so distraught, least of all the cold, unfeeling Princess. In that moment, despite everything, I pitied the poor creature, weeping over my body as if her desperate efforts might somehow restore the life I had abandoned.

  Soon, others came running—maids, guards, and Rascal trailing them. All they found was a woman, broken and sobbing, her dress smeared with blood, clutching a deformed wretch, her pleas for help incoherent. I had not anticipated Princess reacting so violently to my death; perhaps I had misjudged her, after all.

  Or perhaps not. As the servants hurried to pull her away, one of them clumsily knocked her knee against my true form—the crystal. She noticed it immediately. While the others were distracted, horrified by the sight of the young Master’s gruesome fate, Princess surreptitiously pocketed the delicate blue gem, her face still streaked with tears and snot.

  Despite being concealed within her dress, neither my perception nor my torment was diminished. The endless parade of agony continued unabated, and I could still see the room with such painful clarity that my suffering was almost worth it.

  “He’s… by the Holy Widow, he’s dead!” declared a bearded guard in thick garb, his hand pressing upon the remains of my chest.

  Until that moment, silence had reigned among the others, save for Princess’s earlier cries. Yet, as if the guard’s pronouncement had granted them permission, the maids erupted in gasps and sobs, recoiling from the grotesque spectacle of my corpse, soaked in blood and ichor. Rascal covered her face with her little hands and fled the room, collapsing outside, her voice trembling with grief. Of all present, it was Rascal for whom I felt the deepest regret—if there was anyone to whom I should apologize for my failed experiment, it was her.

  One of the guards dashed away, undoubtedly to spread the grim news. The Master and Mistress of the manor were away, visiting relatives, but my elder siblings were of age; they would now bear the weight of deciding what must be done.

  Princess rose, her tears spent, and though she regained her composure, the sight of the stains upon her dress elicited a visible shudder of disgust. She, too, departed the chamber, and as she did so, she was beset by her younger sister, who nearly toppled her with a forceful embrace. The sisters clung to each other, Rascal’s tears mingling with the blood smeared on Princess’s gown, as they whispered their fears and sorrows. Rascal was distraught, Princess frightened. Three more guards arrived and brusquely escorted the maids out of the room, barring entry and leaving the corpse to rot alone.

  Stolen story; please report.

  I assumed they were preparing the way for my brother or sister to bear witness to what remained of their youngest sibling. Though I had transcended the bounds of mortality, my perception remained limited, bound to the gem that now resided within Princess’s dress. She and Rascal descended to their shared quarters, where my dearest Fermina stood at the window, her gaze fixed upon the night’s abyss. Silent tears traced a path down her cheeks, revealing that she, too, had heard the news.

  After receiving a brief recounting of the events, Fermina offered a few tender words, saying a small prayer that her sisters echoed. Then, without further ado, she resumed her vigil by the window, gazing into the darkness. I was relieved she had no desire to behold the body.

  Princess and Rascal excused themselves to the washing room, as decorum dictated.

  Highsummit Manor, the ancestral Cafligen estate, stood at a naturally defensible elevation near the summit of Mount Sert. Pure spring waters cascaded at its base, a small creek carefully diverted to nourish the manor's gardens, kitchens, and baths. The water remained icy, necessitating the laborious task of shoveling coal to warm it for bathing. Thankfully, even past midnight, the disturbance had stirred enough servants into action, so that the sisters found no difficulty procuring one to prepare a bath for them.

  I could not deny that I had awaited, with some anticipation, the sight of the young Ladies disrobing. Yet, when they were finally bare within the copper tub, viewed with the clarity my ethereal existence now afforded, it was not the spectacle I had anticipated.

  Even as a failure of one, I had been a man in life. Men have particular needs, needs which awaken at certain times. Five years ago, I had discovered unfamiliar urges and knew with certainty that I was drawn to the female form. I knew myself incapable of performing as a lover at any level; I could have requested any woman to my bed had I wished, but the terror of not knowing how to proceed plagued me nightly, my desire remaining unsated. My predicament was exacerbated by three beautiful young ladies attending to my every need. They washed and dressed me, despite my deformities. Their tender hands constantly brushed against my misshapen form, and it was almost unbearable. I might excuse myself by saying that I endured these urges for three years without acting upon them.

  While my original intention was to ask Princess as a means of humiliating her, I became quite aroused by the passion Fermina infused into a romantic story she read to me in her angelic voice, far more fervently than I could resist. I could scarcely wait for her shift to end, and when it was Rascal’s turn to attend to me, I made that infamous, foolish request which, by now, every man and woman in the manor knew. I asked to see her naked body.

  Though initially reluctant, Rascal soon reasoned that it was only fair, having seen me unclothed many times herself. She must have also known that no request of mine could be denied, no matter how trivial.

  [The following paragraph has been removed to comply with platform content guidelines. It contains non-erotic nudity involving a minor, presented in a literary and psychological context. The full, unabridged version is available in the published novel.]

  Such close calls, for one as frail as myself, were at least a yearly occurrence. Sometimes my breathing would cease; at other times, a previously tolerable food would poison me. I could begin bleeding uncontrollably from unexpected places, and had once developed a fever that claimed all my hair permanently. Yet, of all these, nothing brought me closer to death than the proximity of my friend and servant’s bareness. The poor girl had to run for help, unable to find any until she reached the stables. She contracted a cold from running barefoot through the snow. I had heard the story countless times, and the only reason I had not forbidden anyone from speaking of it was because Rascal herself found it humorous. As my apology, I allowed that humiliating tale of my first and only attempt to satisfy my human desires to be passed around, for the amusement of all.

  [The following paragraph has been removed to comply with platform content guidelines. Though the passage is explicitly anti-erotic, it names anatomical features in a way that may be flagged under automated moderation protocols. The full, unabridged version is available in the published novel.]

  The sisters continued to converse about the unfolding events, Princess fretting over whether she might be blamed for my death, while Rascal soothed her fears. Rascal hurried to wash herself, while Princess lingered, her pace slacking. When Princess asked to remain alone in the washroom, Rascal departed in a clean gown, thinking nothing of it. Once alone, Princess emerged from the tub, ignoring the towels as she splashed across the floor to her soiled clothing. From her dress, she retrieved me—my true self. Smiling upon seeing the blue jewel stained red, she carried me into the bath.

  For reasons unknown, when I came into contact with the bare skin of her hands, the torturous pain I had endured began to ebb away. I could somehow feel the warmth of the water as she gently rubbed me with her thumbs to cleanse me of all traces of blood. Ingeniously, she fashioned a small pouch with her long, chestnut hair, securing me near her scalp in a bun. A crystal concealed within and covered beneath a robe, Princess returned to her chambers. I could only silently thank her, as her hair provided as much relief from the pain as her hands had.

  Rascal cried herself to sleep, Fermina remained wakeful by the window, and Princess, to my surprise, shed tears and muttered quiet apologies before we both succumbed to slumber.

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