I reached out to a certain underground establishment.

A place catering to wealthy women with particular tastes, where attractive men are nothing but playthings.


I paid the proprietor an exorbitant sum.

With just one specific request:

"Find twenty of the most depraved, desperate men you can. And don't stop until I give the word."


During the wait,

I returned to my private room and administered a powerful anesthetic.


Then, facing the mirror, I lifted the vial of sulfuric acid I'd prepared.

The caustic liquid splashed across my face.

Flesh sizzled and smoked.

Grotesque furrows carved from forehead to jawline.

The face in the mirror no longer resembled anything human.

Next, I swallowed another corrosive mixture.

Marcus Mitchell would never utter another word.

Finally, I retrieved the ancient crucifix pendant from my safe and cast it into the roaring fireplace.

Flames consumed the weathered leather, releasing plumes of unearthly blue smoke.

Within those ethereal tendrils,

a faint golden light pulsed momentarily.

After our initial body swap,

I'd meticulously reviewed every recent event.

Eventually, I traced the phenomenon to that strange crucifix pendant.

The day I'd visited the cathedral to light a candle for my mother,

I'd witnessed security roughly escorting an elderly Black man from the premises.

He wore a threadbare suit, his gait unsteady but dignified.

He explained he hadn't eaten in days and sought assistance.

Moved by compassion, I'd offered him my own packed lunch.

As he accepted it, his cloudy eyes suddenly sharpened, fixing me with an unnervingly penetrating gaze.

"You have a kind heart, young lady," he'd said. "Let me read your fortune."

Without awaiting permission, he closed his eyes, touched his forehead, and his expression darkened ominously.

"Within three days, your life will change forever. Betrayal comes from the one who shares your bed."

My assistant had bristled, nearly confronting the old man.

Though skeptical, I'd thanked him courteously.

Without another word, he'd pressed an ancient crucifix into my palm.

"Take this. It will protect you when darkness falls."

Back home,

I'd absently set the cross on my vanity while folding baby clothes.

While stitching a tiny monogram, I'd pricked my finger.

A single drop of blood had fallen onto the crucifix.

I hadn't noticed anything unusual then.

But when my blood touched the ancient wood, it had briefly glowed with golden light.