[The warning is that this chapter contains a lot of blood and gore. There won't be much gore in the rest of the story, but I had to make you feel the horror so that the atmosphere would be more solid.
Thank you for enduring the gore, have a good read.]
I started running down the street at full speed. I ran, I ran, and I ran. I ran without stopping, without a break. My heels ached in a cold, unsettling way. My spleen swelled like a bloody balloon. Breathing grew harder with every inhale and exhale.
My mind couldn't process what had just happened. What was it that I'd experienced? The revelation. The divine figure. A state of delirium. There was still a strange feeling inside me. With every heartbeat, my breath surged alongside it. Was this excitement, or… before I could finish the thought, there she was again—Lady Valeria—standing in front of me.
This time, she was dressed even more simply. The white outfit she wore was absurdly outdated in style. Her eyes had lost the emotion they once held, staring at me lifelessly. This time, I asked her with determination:
"Who the fuck are you?"
She didn't flinch at my curse. The black bottle that used to be in her pocket was clearly gone. She seemed dead. An eerie whiteness radiated from her. Her nails had turned inhuman. Slowly, she raised her hands to her chest. Through the sheet-like fabric of her clothes, her nipples were visible—purple. A shiver ran through me. Yet, some strange sensation held me back from running.
Suddenly, she moved her hand to her heart and began striking her chest with her long nails. It wasn't blood that poured out—it was a dark liquid. Her blood must have oxidized long ago. When she opened her mouth, a revolting stench filled the air. As she tore at her flesh, a haunting, lullaby-like wail escaped her lips:
"A lion…
A lion meowed.
And that sound pierced your ear.
A tiny mouse roared.
But that roar was like something whimpering.
The cat didn't dare turn around.
When it looked at the mouse, its eyes began to darken.
And the cat flew away in fear.
For a moment, it seemed it might be caught.
But that cat didn't leave.
It just vanished.
And then… only silence.
A lie?
Strange?
Don't believe it?"
It was a classic folk lullaby, but in this moment, it was terrifying. I couldn't trust what I was seeing anymore. She kept ripping at her flesh with her nails.
As she pressed her hands into her chest, her fingers sank into her skin. Her flesh felt hardened, cold. Each finger slowly tore through, feeling the muscles beneath. It was like torture done with a knife; her skin writhed, forced to accept it. The first drop of blood trickled between her fingers—dark red, thick. That drop moved toward my eyes, slow, as if time had stopped.
Her hands clawed at her flesh, pulling it apart. The muscles began tearing themselves; beneath the skin, tiny invisible rips formed. Each muscle tensed, pulling back, peeling the layers apart, revealing a mix of red and white. Red veins stood out, blood seeping through. Her fingers dug deeper, gripping each muscle.
Suddenly, her heartbeat sped up. Her ribcage seemed to crack from within. She forced her hands deeper, trying to rip her chest open. What started as a thin line of a wound grew wider, deeper along her skin. It was agonizing, like the tear was drowning in itself. Her heart came into view—purple veins and blood spreading like a river's flow.
She tugged at her heart. The bright red muscle flashed before my eyes; it was still alive, beating in rhythm, spurting blood with every second. She shoved her hand deeper, gripping the bloody organ tight, tearing every unseen fiber and vein as the muscles warped.
She pushed the heart toward me. She smiled through the pain. In that moment, I felt everything crumbling. Her bones cracked slowly as the jagged edges of red flesh dangled like frayed ropes.
She looked into my eyes and let out a final scream.
She ripped her heart out with her hand. The heart was decayed, ruined by time. Its surface showed no trace of living tissue. Dark brownish-gray veins, shriveled and rotted. The texture—every muscle fiber—had dried out, brittle, like taut leather.
The flesh was blistered and cracked. The dark red, oxidized blood had faded into a lifeless stain, scattered across it. The veins, rough and dry, felt abandoned for years. The surrounding tissue highlighted the decay—dried blood had left a muddy residue, a blackened layer over every vein and muscle. The fibers had hardened, splitting apart like dry roots, losing all structure. The widening tears exposed the darkened vein marks, threatening to shatter at any moment.
And the smell it gave off was a deep rot, a weary decay. The scent of oxidized blood and digested flesh filled the air with a thick heaviness. With every breath, it was as if the heart was slowly accepting its own death—a cold remnant of something once alive. I tried to run, but some force held me in place.
She slowly reached her hand toward my mouth, forcing my jaw open until it felt like it would break, and shoved the heart inside.
The vile, metallic taste in my mouth was unbearable. Nothing I was seeing made sense. This had to be a joke, right?
Tears streamed from my eyes. Fear gripped me to my core, but I couldn't stop it. She pushed me to the ground and sat on top of me. She forced my jaw to chew the heart, as if she wanted me to. I gagged a few times but couldn't stop it. All I got was the burn of stomach acid refluxing up my throat. She shoved the heart deeper with her hand.
A strange voice in my mind told me to chew, echoing inside me. I gave up. I tried to swallow. The warmth of the blood long gone trickled down my throat. Once she was sure I'd eaten it, a hysterical grin spread across her face, and suddenly everything around me started to fall apart.
Then I saw her again—Valeria—reaching out her hand to me.
With all my strength, I slapped her hand away and ran without looking back.
She shouted after me:
"Hey! Are you okay, handsome boy?!"
Her voice carried a hint of worry.
My voice trembled and cracked as I yelled back:
"LEAVE ME ALONE!"
I ran home with everything I had. I didn't look back once. The moment I got there, I threw myself onto the bed and pulled the blanket over my head. My mind couldn't handle it. The white void. Eating the heart.
The taste of that grotesque heart hit me again, and I felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. I rushed to the bathroom and emptied my stomach completely. I puked so long that all that came up was stomach bile. The stench was unbearable, and with some of the vomit still in my mouth, I passed out by the sink.
Some Hours Later
I woke up with a strange heaviness. The dried vomit on the corner of my lip had irritated my skin. I slowly got up from the mess. What had happened? My mind couldn't grasp it. It was beyond human comprehension. I couldn't explain it. The more I remembered, the faster my heart raced. I decided not to think about it, but I couldn't shake it off. "Forget," she'd said. "Forget, you lazy bastard." What was she waiting for? Who was I? Just a whore's son. As I mulled over the possibilities, a strange smile crept onto my face without me noticing. When I saw myself in the mirror, I quickly wiped it off. "What's happening?" I muttered to myself and slapped my face. I sank to the floor, trembling, terrified of what it all might mean.
I stayed like that for hours—until my mom came home with a client.
Some stranger: "I'll fuck your whore cunt until I kill it, you dumb bitch," he said.
My mom kissed him and whispered something in his ear, but I couldn't hear it. Whatever she said, I could tell his dick stiffened. It was disgusting, but a strange rage boiled up inside me.
The bathroom was at the end of the hall, right across from where my mom did her whoring, so I reached to close the door. But the guy saw me. With some drunken bravado, he kicked my hand and said:
"What's wrong, champ? Too much cocksucking for you?" He laughed.
My mom joined in with a fake laugh. My anger hit its peak.
She tried to close the door with her other hand. I couldn't hold back. With my vomit-stained hand, I landed a solid slap across his face. He was already barely standing; my hit spun his head. It was a strength I didn't expect from myself—I was shocked too.
My mom started screaming like a lunatic:
"MURDERER! NEIGHBORS, HELP! I CURSE THE DAY I TOOK YOU IN, YOU MURDEROUS BASTARD!"
Her words cut deep, and I lost it. I grabbed her light blonde hair and slammed her head hard against the wall.
"YOU FUCKING WHORE, I'M SICK OF YOU AND THIS LIFE! BECAUSE OF YOUR GAPING CUNT, THERE'S NOTHING I HAVEN'T SUFFERED, NOTHING I HAVEN'T DONE! THERE WERE TIMES I CLEANED UP THE JIZZ OF YOUR COCK-OBSESSED LOVERS AT NIGHT—YOU THINK THAT WAS EASY?!"
She spat in my face. The spit slid down my cheek, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. You could even smell those nanobot pleasure enhancers whores put in their mouths for blowjobs.
I looked at her spit, then glared at her. She froze in front of me.
"H-Hey, Esteban, snap out of it. Let's forget this, okay?" she said.
"Lying bitch," I thought, and threw her hard onto her bed.
"Call me again, and I'll kill you and your next client," I said.
I stormed to my room. On the way, I kicked the groaning guy square in the balls. I didn't bother checking his reaction and headed straight to my room. I stuffed my clothes into my bag, threw on an old, too-small t-shirt, and left. I didn't even glance at that filthy woman's room. When I hit the street, I started to calm down.
I walked angrily toward Aunt Karen's club. I didn't have much to think about. I was exhausted—from everything, from what I'd been through. What was real? I'd even forgotten that. Yesterday felt like a warning. Or maybe the side effect of using some treasure. The figure's words through the mist, Valeria's lullaby—I wished I could forget them. The more I tried to quiet my mind, the more my inner voice replayed it all, like it was waging war against me. Finally, I couldn't take it. "SHUT UP!" I screamed into the street. Most people were busy working; no one cared. I put my earbuds in and repeated the lyrics to drown out my thoughts.
It worked a little. I reached Aunt Karen's brothel soon after.