Not too long ago, in a small town with not much to talk about, there lived a merchant. He was wealthy, successful, truthful in his business and generous to those who needed his charity. To many, he almost seemed flawless. But little did they know, that sitting high on his pedestal of pride and glory, he had one unmistakable flaw. Her name was Morriga- his daughter. Unlike all of the other girls her age, Morriga wasn’t a pleasant sight to behold. With her messy, dark brown hair, her crossed eyes that seemed a bit too close together, her cleft upper lip and her crooked nose, she brought shame to her seemingly perfect father. People would withdraw at the sight of her; hesitate in their speech when she was around. She was like a black stain on her fathers perfectly white coat- always in the way. But the poor girl had done nothing wrong. She longed for someone to love her, to talk to her, become her friend and look beyond her physical features and get to know the girl inside. She yearned for a father that would actually care if she drew something nice, or wrote an interesting story. But he never did- he was too caught up in his business, in his pride. She never understood why behind every one of her fathers’ gazes, when he did bother to gaze at her that is, there always lurked a harsh scorn. It discouraged her from talking to him, and more often than not she would retire to her quarters of the room and seemingly disappear all in all, much to his pleasure; he couldn’t care less about her existence.
But that wasn’t all. Though she tried and she tried, she couldn’t make many friends, at school or in her neighborhood. Children would laugh at her, push her around and call her dirty names like ‘cross eyed crow’ and so many others that just floated around in her head, taunting her, mocking her. Some would even call her a troll and shout out to her when she passed by “Hey Morriga, how many people did you eat today?” And when she’d come home crying and complain to her father, he wouldn’t even look up from whatever he was doing.
Morriga did have one friend; Hazel. Long golden brown hair and green eyes, she was everything that Morriga wasn’t; tall, beautiful, wanted and actually loved. Why she even talked to Morriga was beyond anyone. But the girl was the definition of innocent; she didn’t give a care in the world on how someone looked or where he or she came from. And though Morriga tried, whenever she looked at Hazel, as innocent as she was, all she felt was jealousy and contempt; a dark red flame burning deep within her. She hated the way people paid attention to Hazel, how everyone loved her, held her in good regard. Why did she have t become so pretty, why did she have to be so loved? Why couldn’t Morriga be like that? What was so horrible about her? For once, Morriga wanted to be listened to and not heard- deep down, she knew she’d do anything to be like Hazel.
Day by day, the girl would be bullied, poked fun at, and made victim to the most horrible jokes. Morriga thought that maybe if she just stayed away from those children, they’d leave her alone, they’d let her be. But that wasn’t the case. The more she distanced herself, the more they’d come after her. And each day, the jokes became worse, more intense. They would make sure to steer clear of her, sit away from her in class so that she ended up alone and isolated in one corner of the classroom while others shot dirty looks her way whenever she spoke up. They would move away from her when she walked by, cringe when she came too close, as if her ugliness were contagious. One day while Morriga was walking towards a table where she sat alone every day during lunch, with her food in hand, a group of children rushed past her and sat at the table hastily. She froze, staring at them in confusion and shifting with unease as one of them stood up, smirking with contempt. “What do you think you’re doing, crow? Only actual people get a table.” He hissed, grinning with malice, before jerking his chin at some trash cans a few feet behind her. “That’s where you belong.” He stepped forward and lashed out at her, tossing her lunch to the ground. Morriga squeaked, staggering backwards and stumbling into the trashcans behind her with a crash. “You sit and eat there with your own kind; trash.” She stared at her food splattered across the dirty floor, tears welling up in her eyes, as chorus or laughter echoed through her ears and she watched his feet walk away.
With each name they called her, each laugh they aimed at her, her hatred for them grew. It spread through her veins like the deadliest poison, until she looked at them and felt her heart burn. But she was helpless against them- not even her father cared. Hazel couldn’t do much about them except for sooth Morriga after a particularly bad day- but that didn’t help to ease her pain. Another time, Morriga had been walking down the street after school when she encountered that same group of children. She lowered her heard, tried to hurry past them unnoticed- but they wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to make her suffer. “Hey- look it it is! Monster face Morriga! Why don’t you look up, growl at us? My little sister said she wanted to see a Boogeyman today, do us the favor!” One of them called, but she just kept walking.
Suddenly, someone stepped in front of her, cutting her off. “Hey! I’m speaking to you. I said, look up!” Morriga shifted, looking at the ground. “Are you deaf too, now?” another one snarled, and then suddenly, she felt something hit the back of her head, sending a sharp pain flaring through her. She yelped, staggering forward. And that set them off. One by one, they each picked up rocks from the street, pelting her with them over and over. “Stop it!” she screamed, scrambling up and beginning to run away from them. But they were relentless- “You witch!” they screamed as they chased after her, throwing stones at her until she collapsed to the floor, bloodied and unrecognizable- then finally, they left. Somehow she managed to pull herself up, and excruciating step by step, she dragged herself home. And when she walked through the doors, hysterical, crying, running up to her father, this time he looked up. But instead of seeing the worry that she desperately needed to see in his features, he smiled.
But one faithful day, that all changed forever.
That day Morriga had been chased onto a different route home by some rowdy students. As she walked down the quiet road, she saw a woman across the street, gazing as her as she walked by. “Come here, child.” The woman spoke, her long black hair cascading down her shoulders, her dark eyes seeing to throw a shadow across her face. Morriga sped up, trying not to look at her. But the woman was persistent. “I know you hate them. I can feel it in you. You just want to fit in, to be loved. To be beautiful. I know, Morriga. I know everything.” She spoke out, her voice steady and confident. Morriga froze- how did she know her name? She turned to the woman, her eyes wide. The woman smiled, “And I can help you. Just come here.” She motioned her forward, her eyes alluring. Morriga hesitated for a moment, her heart thumping wildly against her chest. ‘I can help you’ the words echoed through her mind as she tentatively crossed the street. The woman continued, her words filled with power. “You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve their contempt, their hatred- you haven’t done anything wrong. They are the monsters. They are the ones that should be ugly. They should be taught a lesson.” Morriga stepped forward, a spark of interest in her eyes. She could feel the hatred seeping through her.
“I can see great power in you, child; power beyond your imagination. You can do anything. You can be beautiful. Loved by everyone- even your father. They’d worship you, Morriga. Would you like that?” the woman spoke, her eyes glinting. Morriga nodded fiercely. “Take my hand, child. Let me show you something.” Morriga stretched out her hand, and the second her skin touched the womans’, an image flashed before her. She could see herself, standing amongst the children in her school. She was beautiful, amazingly so- people smiled at her, hugged her, and took her by the hand. They sat next to her, talking animatedly. Her father stood across the ground, waving and smiling at her. As this vision hypnotized her, the womans’ voice broke through. “You’ll be more beautiful than anyone they’ve ever seen before; more powerful. Everyone will want to be with you. You can get your revenge on all those ill hearted people. But it comes at a price. First,” the image vanished, and Morriga found herself staring at the woman.
“Tell me. What would you be willing to do to get your revenge, to get beauty?” She asked. “Anything,” She found herself saying urgently, blinded with her lust for revenge. Morriga could hear their laughter now, hear them call her ‘monster face’, ‘crow’ feel the rocks that they threw at her. Anger spread through her, lighting her blood on fire. “I’d do anything.” She repeated, clenching her hands into fists. The woman smiled menacingly. “Good.” She grinned slyly, “That’s good. To do that, you must become a witch. Like me.” She spoke slowly. Morriga wasn’t deterred- every bone in her body ached for revenge, for that image to become reality. She had nothing to lose. “How do I become a witch?” She said immediately, her eyes wide. “There are two things you will have to do, to prove yourself. First-“ The with paused, and Morriga leaned forward eagerly, hanging on to every word. “You must bring me a pound of human flesh from the purest person you know. I will tell you about the second step when you bring the flesh to me.” And as the gravity of witches words sunk in, Morriga nodded and dashed down the street, fueled by a new vigor and determination as the witches delusions of beauty and revenge flashed through her mind.
That night Morriga went into the kitchen, and when no one was looking slipped a large carving knife into her bag and disappeared into her room.
The next morning, she met Hazel outside her house to walk to school. But instead of taking the route that they usually took, Morriga led her somewhere different, claiming it was to avoid the group of students that bullied her. Step by step, Morriga led her further towards the forest, further away from any distractions. When she thought they were far enough, she stopped. Hazel seemed confused, slightly alarmed. “Morriga, where are we? We’re going to be late!” she whined, glancing around nervously. But Morriga couldn’t care less about being late. Quickly, Morriga bent down and picked up a rock, and without giving Hazel time to react, threw it at her head, watching the girl crumple to the floor. Pulling out the knife, she dropped her bag to the floor, striding up to the dazed girl as she writhed in pain.
“Morriga! What are you doing?!” she squeaked, crying as Morriga sat down on top of her, pinning her to the floor. “Stop it!” she cried. But just then, Morriga dug the knife into her arm, carving away her skin. The girl screamed, kicking and trashing, blood spilling to the floor and mixing with the dirt, but Morriga wouldn’t give way. Hazel pleaded, begged, but all in vain. “Morriga! I’m your friend!” she yelped, but Morriga was deaf to her pleas. She could almost feel herself becoming prettier now, hear the praises of the people that would love her. Layer by layer, she cut off chunks of her skin, tossing them to the floor beside her. She could hear their voices taunting her now, calling her a monster. Anger flowed through her veins. She hated them. She hated all of them- even Hazel, with her pretty face, pretty skin. Poisoned with greed new to her, Morriga tore away another strip of her skin angrily- the girl couldn’t even scream now. She just grunted. Bit by bit, Morriga cut away portions of her flesh, moving from her arms to her stomach to her thighs, her clothes red with Hazels’ blood. Finally, she sat back, standing up and gathering the flesh into her bag, leaving Hazel and incomplete, bloody mass, staining the earth with her crimson blood.
She ran fast and hard until she reached the road where she had met the witch, her breathes short and quick, her wide eyes harboring certain madness. A cool voice reached her ears. “Child- you completed the first task. Excellent.” The witch smiled cruelly, motioning the child forward. “Come. Follow me- you’re almost done.” Quickly, she led Morriga forward, winding through the trees until they came to a run down cottage. Swiftly, she ushered Morriga inside, taking a seat at a table. Candles lit the entire room, giving it a sinister glow. Morriga sat down, placing the bag of flesh on the table and pushing it towards the witch, her heart drumming with excitement. The woman smiled, and quickly opened the bag, dumping its contents onto the table before Morriga. “Are you ready fir the second step? This is the most important, child. Its where you prove yourself worth and become a witch. This is where it begins.” Morriga shifted in her seat, shaking her foot with impatience. “Yes.” She hissed, her eyes burning. “Alright. Now, for the next task… Eat the flesh that you have brought before me; consume her beauty. Feel the way they loved her, devour it.” She spoke, her words dripping with malice as she watched Morriga hungrily eye the bloody flesh in front of her.
“They hated you, Morriga. They called you a monster. Taste your revenge.” She coaxed, and Morriga reached out, digging her hands into Hazels skin. She couldn’t breathe; the hatred flowing through her was so intense, so real it made her hands shake with anger. Oh, how they treated her. How they threw stones at her. She’d prove them wrong- when she becomes beautiful, she’ll make them suffer the way she did, make them feel inferior. She brought the flesh up to her lips now, trembling as she inhaled the metallic scent of blood. She just wanted their approval. She just wanted to fit in, to have friends, to be loved. Was that too much to ask for? Her father hated her. She knew he wished she had never been born. What kind of a father would do that? But when she becomes beautiful- he’d love her, wouldn’t he? He’d say, “There’s Morriga, my beautiful daughter!” He’d like her drawings, praise her.
Morriga dug in, swallowing rapidly. She could feel the power growing within her with every bite, with every taste of blood that touched her tongue. She could feel her face becoming prettier, feel her eyes straighten, her skin smoothen and become beautiful. She ate voraciously, devouring every essence of beauty. It was a necessary sacrifice. They would love her now. She could see them, sitting at school, her table filled with children all wanting to sit next to her, all her friends. Then she could see the others- the ones that bullied her, hurt her, and she felt the contempt unfurl in her stomach, feel her eyes blaze. Oh, how they would pay. How they would suffer- blinded with the madness of revenge, she ate. She paid no heed to the witches chanting as she completed the ritual, swallowing more and more flesh, and tasting the sweetness of vengeance. And with every bite, her soul became darker and darker, aching for a new life. Before long, there was nothing left on the wooden table but blood. And as the witches’ laughter bellowed through the air, Morriga stood up, staggering towards the mirror. “Look at yourself child! You did it!” she chanted, just as Morriga stood before the mirror.
Gazing at the stranger in front of her, the crooked nose, the small, beady eyes with a tinge of insanity dancing at their edges, the frizzy, dark brown hair and dull, pale skin, she saw beauty. She saw long, silky dark brown hair, big brown eyes and a straight nose, flawless white skin. And red lips. But behind the pale white skin lurked a heart as dead, as black as coal.
And with crimson, almost black blood dripping from her lips, across her chin and trailing down her neck, she smiled, her eyes crazed.
“I’m beautiful.”
But that wasn’t all. Though she tried and she tried, she couldn’t make many friends, at school or in her neighborhood. Children would laugh at her, push her around and call her dirty names like ‘cross eyed crow’ and so many others that just floated around in her head, taunting her, mocking her. Some would even call her a troll and shout out to her when she passed by “Hey Morriga, how many people did you eat today?” And when she’d come home crying and complain to her father, he wouldn’t even look up from whatever he was doing.
Morriga did have one friend; Hazel. Long golden brown hair and green eyes, she was everything that Morriga wasn’t; tall, beautiful, wanted and actually loved. Why she even talked to Morriga was beyond anyone. But the girl was the definition of innocent; she didn’t give a care in the world on how someone looked or where he or she came from. And though Morriga tried, whenever she looked at Hazel, as innocent as she was, all she felt was jealousy and contempt; a dark red flame burning deep within her. She hated the way people paid attention to Hazel, how everyone loved her, held her in good regard. Why did she have t become so pretty, why did she have to be so loved? Why couldn’t Morriga be like that? What was so horrible about her? For once, Morriga wanted to be listened to and not heard- deep down, she knew she’d do anything to be like Hazel.
Day by day, the girl would be bullied, poked fun at, and made victim to the most horrible jokes. Morriga thought that maybe if she just stayed away from those children, they’d leave her alone, they’d let her be. But that wasn’t the case. The more she distanced herself, the more they’d come after her. And each day, the jokes became worse, more intense. They would make sure to steer clear of her, sit away from her in class so that she ended up alone and isolated in one corner of the classroom while others shot dirty looks her way whenever she spoke up. They would move away from her when she walked by, cringe when she came too close, as if her ugliness were contagious. One day while Morriga was walking towards a table where she sat alone every day during lunch, with her food in hand, a group of children rushed past her and sat at the table hastily. She froze, staring at them in confusion and shifting with unease as one of them stood up, smirking with contempt. “What do you think you’re doing, crow? Only actual people get a table.” He hissed, grinning with malice, before jerking his chin at some trash cans a few feet behind her. “That’s where you belong.” He stepped forward and lashed out at her, tossing her lunch to the ground. Morriga squeaked, staggering backwards and stumbling into the trashcans behind her with a crash. “You sit and eat there with your own kind; trash.” She stared at her food splattered across the dirty floor, tears welling up in her eyes, as chorus or laughter echoed through her ears and she watched his feet walk away.
With each name they called her, each laugh they aimed at her, her hatred for them grew. It spread through her veins like the deadliest poison, until she looked at them and felt her heart burn. But she was helpless against them- not even her father cared. Hazel couldn’t do much about them except for sooth Morriga after a particularly bad day- but that didn’t help to ease her pain. Another time, Morriga had been walking down the street after school when she encountered that same group of children. She lowered her heard, tried to hurry past them unnoticed- but they wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to make her suffer. “Hey- look it it is! Monster face Morriga! Why don’t you look up, growl at us? My little sister said she wanted to see a Boogeyman today, do us the favor!” One of them called, but she just kept walking.
Suddenly, someone stepped in front of her, cutting her off. “Hey! I’m speaking to you. I said, look up!” Morriga shifted, looking at the ground. “Are you deaf too, now?” another one snarled, and then suddenly, she felt something hit the back of her head, sending a sharp pain flaring through her. She yelped, staggering forward. And that set them off. One by one, they each picked up rocks from the street, pelting her with them over and over. “Stop it!” she screamed, scrambling up and beginning to run away from them. But they were relentless- “You witch!” they screamed as they chased after her, throwing stones at her until she collapsed to the floor, bloodied and unrecognizable- then finally, they left. Somehow she managed to pull herself up, and excruciating step by step, she dragged herself home. And when she walked through the doors, hysterical, crying, running up to her father, this time he looked up. But instead of seeing the worry that she desperately needed to see in his features, he smiled.
But one faithful day, that all changed forever.
That day Morriga had been chased onto a different route home by some rowdy students. As she walked down the quiet road, she saw a woman across the street, gazing as her as she walked by. “Come here, child.” The woman spoke, her long black hair cascading down her shoulders, her dark eyes seeing to throw a shadow across her face. Morriga sped up, trying not to look at her. But the woman was persistent. “I know you hate them. I can feel it in you. You just want to fit in, to be loved. To be beautiful. I know, Morriga. I know everything.” She spoke out, her voice steady and confident. Morriga froze- how did she know her name? She turned to the woman, her eyes wide. The woman smiled, “And I can help you. Just come here.” She motioned her forward, her eyes alluring. Morriga hesitated for a moment, her heart thumping wildly against her chest. ‘I can help you’ the words echoed through her mind as she tentatively crossed the street. The woman continued, her words filled with power. “You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve their contempt, their hatred- you haven’t done anything wrong. They are the monsters. They are the ones that should be ugly. They should be taught a lesson.” Morriga stepped forward, a spark of interest in her eyes. She could feel the hatred seeping through her.
“I can see great power in you, child; power beyond your imagination. You can do anything. You can be beautiful. Loved by everyone- even your father. They’d worship you, Morriga. Would you like that?” the woman spoke, her eyes glinting. Morriga nodded fiercely. “Take my hand, child. Let me show you something.” Morriga stretched out her hand, and the second her skin touched the womans’, an image flashed before her. She could see herself, standing amongst the children in her school. She was beautiful, amazingly so- people smiled at her, hugged her, and took her by the hand. They sat next to her, talking animatedly. Her father stood across the ground, waving and smiling at her. As this vision hypnotized her, the womans’ voice broke through. “You’ll be more beautiful than anyone they’ve ever seen before; more powerful. Everyone will want to be with you. You can get your revenge on all those ill hearted people. But it comes at a price. First,” the image vanished, and Morriga found herself staring at the woman.
“Tell me. What would you be willing to do to get your revenge, to get beauty?” She asked. “Anything,” She found herself saying urgently, blinded with her lust for revenge. Morriga could hear their laughter now, hear them call her ‘monster face’, ‘crow’ feel the rocks that they threw at her. Anger spread through her, lighting her blood on fire. “I’d do anything.” She repeated, clenching her hands into fists. The woman smiled menacingly. “Good.” She grinned slyly, “That’s good. To do that, you must become a witch. Like me.” She spoke slowly. Morriga wasn’t deterred- every bone in her body ached for revenge, for that image to become reality. She had nothing to lose. “How do I become a witch?” She said immediately, her eyes wide. “There are two things you will have to do, to prove yourself. First-“ The with paused, and Morriga leaned forward eagerly, hanging on to every word. “You must bring me a pound of human flesh from the purest person you know. I will tell you about the second step when you bring the flesh to me.” And as the gravity of witches words sunk in, Morriga nodded and dashed down the street, fueled by a new vigor and determination as the witches delusions of beauty and revenge flashed through her mind.
That night Morriga went into the kitchen, and when no one was looking slipped a large carving knife into her bag and disappeared into her room.
The next morning, she met Hazel outside her house to walk to school. But instead of taking the route that they usually took, Morriga led her somewhere different, claiming it was to avoid the group of students that bullied her. Step by step, Morriga led her further towards the forest, further away from any distractions. When she thought they were far enough, she stopped. Hazel seemed confused, slightly alarmed. “Morriga, where are we? We’re going to be late!” she whined, glancing around nervously. But Morriga couldn’t care less about being late. Quickly, Morriga bent down and picked up a rock, and without giving Hazel time to react, threw it at her head, watching the girl crumple to the floor. Pulling out the knife, she dropped her bag to the floor, striding up to the dazed girl as she writhed in pain.
“Morriga! What are you doing?!” she squeaked, crying as Morriga sat down on top of her, pinning her to the floor. “Stop it!” she cried. But just then, Morriga dug the knife into her arm, carving away her skin. The girl screamed, kicking and trashing, blood spilling to the floor and mixing with the dirt, but Morriga wouldn’t give way. Hazel pleaded, begged, but all in vain. “Morriga! I’m your friend!” she yelped, but Morriga was deaf to her pleas. She could almost feel herself becoming prettier now, hear the praises of the people that would love her. Layer by layer, she cut off chunks of her skin, tossing them to the floor beside her. She could hear their voices taunting her now, calling her a monster. Anger flowed through her veins. She hated them. She hated all of them- even Hazel, with her pretty face, pretty skin. Poisoned with greed new to her, Morriga tore away another strip of her skin angrily- the girl couldn’t even scream now. She just grunted. Bit by bit, Morriga cut away portions of her flesh, moving from her arms to her stomach to her thighs, her clothes red with Hazels’ blood. Finally, she sat back, standing up and gathering the flesh into her bag, leaving Hazel and incomplete, bloody mass, staining the earth with her crimson blood.
She ran fast and hard until she reached the road where she had met the witch, her breathes short and quick, her wide eyes harboring certain madness. A cool voice reached her ears. “Child- you completed the first task. Excellent.” The witch smiled cruelly, motioning the child forward. “Come. Follow me- you’re almost done.” Quickly, she led Morriga forward, winding through the trees until they came to a run down cottage. Swiftly, she ushered Morriga inside, taking a seat at a table. Candles lit the entire room, giving it a sinister glow. Morriga sat down, placing the bag of flesh on the table and pushing it towards the witch, her heart drumming with excitement. The woman smiled, and quickly opened the bag, dumping its contents onto the table before Morriga. “Are you ready fir the second step? This is the most important, child. Its where you prove yourself worth and become a witch. This is where it begins.” Morriga shifted in her seat, shaking her foot with impatience. “Yes.” She hissed, her eyes burning. “Alright. Now, for the next task… Eat the flesh that you have brought before me; consume her beauty. Feel the way they loved her, devour it.” She spoke, her words dripping with malice as she watched Morriga hungrily eye the bloody flesh in front of her.
“They hated you, Morriga. They called you a monster. Taste your revenge.” She coaxed, and Morriga reached out, digging her hands into Hazels skin. She couldn’t breathe; the hatred flowing through her was so intense, so real it made her hands shake with anger. Oh, how they treated her. How they threw stones at her. She’d prove them wrong- when she becomes beautiful, she’ll make them suffer the way she did, make them feel inferior. She brought the flesh up to her lips now, trembling as she inhaled the metallic scent of blood. She just wanted their approval. She just wanted to fit in, to have friends, to be loved. Was that too much to ask for? Her father hated her. She knew he wished she had never been born. What kind of a father would do that? But when she becomes beautiful- he’d love her, wouldn’t he? He’d say, “There’s Morriga, my beautiful daughter!” He’d like her drawings, praise her.
Morriga dug in, swallowing rapidly. She could feel the power growing within her with every bite, with every taste of blood that touched her tongue. She could feel her face becoming prettier, feel her eyes straighten, her skin smoothen and become beautiful. She ate voraciously, devouring every essence of beauty. It was a necessary sacrifice. They would love her now. She could see them, sitting at school, her table filled with children all wanting to sit next to her, all her friends. Then she could see the others- the ones that bullied her, hurt her, and she felt the contempt unfurl in her stomach, feel her eyes blaze. Oh, how they would pay. How they would suffer- blinded with the madness of revenge, she ate. She paid no heed to the witches chanting as she completed the ritual, swallowing more and more flesh, and tasting the sweetness of vengeance. And with every bite, her soul became darker and darker, aching for a new life. Before long, there was nothing left on the wooden table but blood. And as the witches’ laughter bellowed through the air, Morriga stood up, staggering towards the mirror. “Look at yourself child! You did it!” she chanted, just as Morriga stood before the mirror.
Gazing at the stranger in front of her, the crooked nose, the small, beady eyes with a tinge of insanity dancing at their edges, the frizzy, dark brown hair and dull, pale skin, she saw beauty. She saw long, silky dark brown hair, big brown eyes and a straight nose, flawless white skin. And red lips. But behind the pale white skin lurked a heart as dead, as black as coal.
And with crimson, almost black blood dripping from her lips, across her chin and trailing down her neck, she smiled, her eyes crazed.
“I’m beautiful.”