Evelyn cast a hollow glance at the coffin resting by her bedside—a grim reminder of her impending end—and felt a fresh wave of silent tears trace paths down her sunken cheeks.

Rescue had come, but it arrived a decade too late. Ten years of subhuman torment in the desolate mountains had left her a ghost in a dying body. Now, she lay in her childhood bed, so frail that even the simple act of turning over was an impossible feat. Her breath was nothing more than a shallow, rattling echo in her chest.

Yet, hope had flickered briefly yesterday when the doctor suggested that recovery was possible, provided they could afford the exorbitant costs of the sanitarium. Evelyn knew the money existed; her father-in-law, the director of the meatpacking plant, was a man of means. But the gates of that estate remained barred to her. Instead of being welcomed home, she was sequestered in her mother’s house. Even Julian, her beloved husband, had offered nothing more than a fleeting visit, and her daughter, Mia, remained a painful shadow she was not permitted to see.

A muffled voice drifted through the thin walls from the adjacent room. Evelyn held her breath, straining to listen. It was Seraphina.

"Julian, is your 'witch' almost here?"

"Patience, darling. Why are you in such a rush?" Julian’s voice was smooth, devoid of the grief he performed in Evelyn's presence.

"Because if that old woman actually cures her, you’ll have to send me away," Seraphina whispered, a staged pout in her tone. "I’m frightened."

"Never," Julian promised. "Even if she recovers, my heart belongs to you. Look, if it makes you unhappy, I’ll send the woman away. My father was the one who insisted on her."

"No, don't," Seraphina chirped. "Since your father arranged it, let’s see what she says. I want to know exactly what kind of demon has been hitching a ride in Evelyn’s soul."

The blood in Evelyn’s veins turned to ice. The truth hit her with the force of a physical blow: the ten-year nightmare hadn't been a stroke of bad luck. Seraphina, her supposed best friend, had once boasted in the shadows of the mountains that she was the one who had orchestrated the kidnapping. Now, she was in Julian’s bed.

Heavy footsteps broke her trance. Julian emerged to greet a gnarled old woman, her forehead plastered with strange paper charms, and led her into the sickroom.

Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut, feigning sleep. The sight of them—Seraphina clinging to Julian’s arm while playing the part of the devoted, self-sacrificing friend—was more nauseating than any physical ailment.

The witch leaned over the bed, peeling back Evelyn’s eyelids with a cold, calloused thumb. After a long, unnerving silence, she straightened.

"We should speak in the other room," the woman rasped.

The trio retreated, but the walls were thin enough to betray their secrets.

"Your wife’s essence is depleted," the witch began. "She needs vitality—the warmth of a man—to anchor her soul. There is a chance for a... rebirth."

"Rebirth? What does that mean?" Julian sounded bewildered. Then, a sharp realization dawned. "Are you saying I should... sleep with her? In that state? She’s practically a corpse!"

"She is not dead yet," the witch replied coldly. "She is still your wife. Be 'gentle' with her. That is all I can say. Do as I suggest, and she may find her strength."

The door creaked as the witch departed. Inside, the air grew thick with a different kind of malice.

"Julian, I won't have it," Seraphina hissed. "I won't have you touching her. It makes my skin crawl. Why don't you just find some... commoner to do it?"

Julian didn't argue. The thought of touching the skeletal, ravaged version of the woman he once loved filled him with visceral disgust. He wanted her gone so he and Seraphina could finally step out of the shadows.

Within the hour, they returned with Axel—a local drifter with hungry eyes. For the promise of twenty dollars, he was willing to do anything.

Evelyn’s eyes snapped open as they entered. She saw Axel fumbling with his belt and tried to scream, but Seraphina was faster, shoving a foul-smelling rag into her mouth, stifling her voice.

When the weight of the man pressed down on her, a searing, white-hot agony tore through her lower body. She thrashed her head desperately, but to Julian and Seraphina, the movement was so slight it looked like the mere twitching of a dying animal.

Through the haze of pain and fading consciousness, she heard their voices—not with horror, but with a twisted, celebratory excitement.

"Look! She’s bleeding! It’s actually working!"

Darkness swallowed her. When Evelyn finally drifted back to consciousness, the room was silent. Surprisingly, a strange, vengeful strength flickered in her limbs—perhaps the witch’s "cure" had a darker price than intended. She dragged herself from the bed, trembling, and crawled toward the parlor.

She found her mother, Mrs. Ward, sitting by the fire. With a cracked, desperate voice, Evelyn began to recount the horrific violation she had just endured at the hands of her husband and friend.

The response was not a hug, but a stinging crack across her face.

Mrs. Ward’s hand remained raised, her eyes flashing with indignation. "For ten years, Seraphina was the daughter you weren't! She cared for us, she raised your child, she comforted your husband! How dare you return from the dead with such poisonous lies?"

Her mother seized Evelyn by the hair, forcing her to look up as she delivered a second blow. "How dare you be so wicked!"