Morgana crashed to the floor, her head striking the cold tile. The sharp pain burst behind her eyes.
The world spun. The woman's voice echoed around her, distant and warped, words breaking apart into meaningless sound.
Her vision wavered. She could see only flashes — the old woman clutching Dorvak's arm, the nurses moving around the bed, the doctor's shadow falling across them.
Two attendants stepped forward, pulling the sheet up over Dorvak's still face.
Morgana's lips trembled. Her voice came out as a faint, broken whisper.
"Wait… where are you taking him? leave him by my side. I'm not done with him…"
She tried to push herself up. Her legs shook.
"It's not over yet… I can bring him back."
Her tone grew desperate, wild.
"I just need a few pieces… just give him back to me."
No one listened. The bed rolled away down the hall before her tearful eyes.
The light above her buzzed, the hum of machines fading as the door closed.
Everything blurred before her eyes in the room. Her body swayed once, then collapsed.
***
Two days later — past midnight
The cemetery was silent except for the soft crunch of her steps. Morgana's hair hung dry and tangled, falling over one eye. Her clothes was torn and stained, the fabric stiff with dirt and old sweat.
She looked like a corpse that had just climbed out of its own grave.
She stopped before a gravestone, raised her phone, and switched on the flashlight.
The pale beam brushed across the stone:
DORVAK KNOX
1985 – 2030
Her knees sank into the wet dirt. The light trembled in her hand.
For a moment, she said nothing—then her lips curved into a slow, broken smile. then she pressed the gravestone tightly against her chest.
"I came to get you back, my Dorvy," she whispered.
Then Morgana sat down beside the grave, her hand brushing and patting the cold stone. Her voice came out soft, cracked, twisted—accompanied by a crooked smile that revealed the depth of her unraveling mind.
"I've missed you… We should go home together, don't you think?"
Her eyes widened slightly, pupils trembling as if she'd just heard something.
"Huh? …You missed me too?" she murmured, almost giggling.
She leaned forward, rubbing her cheek against the grave, her voice lowering to a whisper.
"It's okay, honey… I'll get you out of here. I'll make you live long enough to get bored of it."
Pushing herself back, Morgana dug her bare hands into the dirt and began to claw at it, still smiling.
"Just a little more, darling… I'll have you out soon."
Her breathing grew heavy as the minutes stretched. Her hair, face, and clothes turned dark with mud; the flashlight from her phone flickered inside her lab coat pocket, casting pale light across her arms.
Her hands tore through the soil until the skin split. The nail on her right index finger bent backward and half-detached, blood soaking into the dirt.
Still, she kept digging, whispering through ragged breaths and a broken smile:
"Hm? Don't worry, sweetheart… it doesn't hurt."
Finally, her eyes went wide, a manic joy spreading across her filthy face.
"Finally…" she breathed, a trembling laugh bubbling from her throat.
Before her lay the coffin—its lid sealed shut with nails. Her grin faltered; she grimaced in frustration and scanned the ground around her for something, anything, to pry it open.
Suddenly, a beam of white light hit her from behind.
"Hey! Who's there?!" a man's voice barked.
Morgana froze for half a second, then turned. The man's flashlight caught her face—caked with dirt, streaked with blood, eyes wild and hollow.
He flinched back in horror.
"Jesus Christ… what the hell are you doing, you witch?!"
Morgana rose unsteadily to her feet, her body trembling.
"Don't you dare get any closer!" she screamed—and lunged.
Her shriek tore through the quiet graveyard.
"AAAAAGHHHH!"