Mirielle's fingers trembled as she let the last of her Aspect burn out. The scent she exuded slowly faded. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't do anything more.
She sat in silence, breathing through cracked lips, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
No reaction.
Not a twitch of interest, not a flicker of judgment, not even the polite disgust she had come to expect from men who felt too good to fall for her tricks.
She spent her entire life studying people—learning how to smile at the right time, tilt her head just enough to seem soft but not stupid, how to touch an arm or a collar in ways that didn't scream desperation.
She had always known how to read the game, whether it was drinks in a lounge or whispered meetings in the back rooms.
Hostess. Escort. Companion. The name never mattered. Let them call it whatever helped them sleep at night.
Her job was always the same—make men feel seen. Wanted. Powerful.
And yet, the man in front of her was truly unreadable.
He didn't lean in. Didn't turn away. Didn't smirk or stiffen.
She couldn't read him, couldn't even guess what he was thinking.
Was he interested? Disgusted? Amused?
She didn't know.
It was as if the man in front of her was... Empty. It was as if he was only a shell.
It wasn't just that he gave nothing away. It was that there was nothing to give. He looked at her like someone might look at dust floating past a window. Present but irrelevant.
And that scared her more than any of the monsters in the dark.
A bloodied, naked man, sword in hand, eyes hollow and unfazed. He had looked at her—no, through her—as if she were just another object in the room.
And then, after a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, he left.
Just turned and walked away—up the stairs, bare feet silent, sword still hanging from his hand. Not even a second glance.
She stayed there for a long moment, speechless.
However, the pain in her legs pulled her back to reality. With much difficulty, she turned her head and watched her feet.
Her feet were split from heel to toe, and crusted with blood. She had walked for days without any sleep or food.
The aspect selection had been brutal. You move, or you die.
She wanted to survive more than anyone, so she walked with every ounce of her strength. She didn't even stop when she felt her skin split and the blood run down her ankles.
She walked, walked, and walked. Past the darkness, past the others who screamed and disappeared into the darkness. She didn't look back. She couldn't afford to.
Somehow, she made it to the end by some miracle. Just when she thought she could go home, everything went dark
For a brief moment, she thought the darkness had swallowed her.
But then she felt it. Not eyes, exactly—but attention.
Something was watching her.
No, not something—many things.
She couldn't see them, not clearly. The world around her had gone completely black, deeper than night, deeper than blindness. But in that endless dark, she could feel their presence.
Orbs. Minds. Wills. They hovered like moons around a dying star.
There were dozens? Hundreds?
Each one was unique. Some pulsed with heat and pride, others with cold detachment. One even made her stomach turn when it turned its gaze on her, as if it had been born to hate what she was. Only for it to quickly lose interest.
At that moment she knew exactly what they were... They were aspects.
They didn't speak. Not in any language she knew.
Instead, each orb slowly pressed itself against her.
A test. A judgment.
She felt her memories peel open like wounds. It felt like hands she couldn't see searching through everything she ever did to survive. It wasn't even only limited to what she did before the game. Everything about her was being exposed.
The lies. The touches. The times she laughed at jokes she didn't find funny. The nights she told men they were strong, brilliant, important.
She remembered the time when she was holding a man's hand as he cried, telling him he wasn't a monster.
He was. The worst she had ever seen.
She remembered the time when she couldn't save her child, when she cried. Even when everyone told her it wasn't her fault, she knew deeper.
It was her fault.
She remembered the time when she ran away from monsters, leaving all her friends to die.
She could still hear their pleas for help whenever she closed her eyes.
And the orbs saw that. They saw everything.
It was all there. Nothing was hidden, not anymore.
Then, she felt it, one among the countless orbs.
It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Perhaps not the biggest or the brightest of orbs, but she felt a strange connection—as if it was calling out to her, as if it was a long-lost part of herself.
Then it entered her.
The moment it entered her, she felt something stir inside her. Something primal, something deep.
The feeling was like a key sliding into a lock, turning, and opening a door. Then, without any warning, a rush of knowledge poured into her.
She knew how to use the aspect. It was instinctive.
And just like that, the Aspect was hers.
Suddenly, she was falling, no longer in that black void, no longer surrounded by the judgment of many orbs.
The feeling of having a body returned all at once. She felt like her soul had slammed into her flesh and, before she knew what was happening, was back on Earth.
However, the wounds of the aspect selection were still there, and she soon collapsed. When she woke up, she saw him—a bloody, naked man with a dead stare and a sword.
'... I tried my best,' she thought, 'I did everything I could.'
Her lips were dry as paper now. Her stomach had begun eating itself two days ago. She gave up everything she could, even the last pieces of her pride, all for the chance to not die. But it seemed it wasn't enough.
Mirielle closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.
CRACK
She stiffened. The noise came from upstairs. A beat later—another sound. A heavier one. Like something thick being thrown open.
Her head slowly turned toward the ceiling. Something was happening on the floor above.
'It sounds like... A door breaking?' she thought.
She was too tired to move, so she just sat there, listening.
A muffled man's voice followed a woman's, words coming faster and trying to sound calm. Then, some soft and desperate sobbing could be heard... It was too high-pitched to be anything but a child.
Then—she heard it. A soft crunch, like a toy being stepped on.
Finally...Silence.
As sudden as it began, it ended.
No screams. No footsteps. Just… absence.
Her hands curled into the dusty floor, nails scraping old dirt. She didn't want to imagine what had happened up there. She had seen too much of this new world already.
Then he came back.
He was slow. Descending the stairs like it was nothing. Like he hadn't just— Her breath hitched.
When the man returned, his arms were full—bags, boxes, food wrapped in old cloth, cans, crackers, bottles of water, even some dried fruit.
But more than the food—it was the blood. It was fresh.
With a fearful gaze, she slowly looked at the sword, and her mind immediately connected the dots.
It was dripping.
She didn't ask what happened. She already knew.
Blood stained the edges of one bag. Speckled the handle of a plastic bottle. There were streaks along his forearm, still wet, trailing down like vines.
Mirielle's eyes were wide, her body tense. She wanted to throw up. But before she could say anything, the man spoke.
"Eat," the man said casually as he dropped the food at her feet.