Morgana stood still, her shadow sliding across his face as she tightened her grip on the knife. Her eyes, cold and unfocused, locked onto his throat.
The man stirred slightly. His eyelids fluttered open just enough to meet hers.
Before he could fully wake, Morgana straddled his lap.
The chair creaked. Her face was void of expression as she raised the blade — and drove it down.
A scream tore from him, cut short as she plunged the knife again, the metal flashing under the dim light. He fell backward off the chair, Morgana landing on top of him, her breathing sharp and mechanical.
She pressed harder, twisting the blade once before letting go. His body convulsed, a rattling breath escaped his chest… and then nothing.
The silence that followed was thick, almost solid.
Morgana stood, her hands shaking but steady enough to reach into his pocket. She fished out a small ring of keys, wiping the blood off her face with the back of her sleeve.
The door to the storage room was locked. She forced the key in with trembling fingers and turned it.
Click.
The door swung open — rows of tools glinting in the dim light. Shovels. Crowbars. Screwdrivers.
Morgana's lips curved into a tired, trembling smile.
"Finally…" she whispered.
"I'm coming for you, Dorvy."
The words hung in the cold air like a prayer to something long dead.
Morgana returned to the open grave, gasping for breath — her upper body bare, her skin streaked with dirt and blood. She had torn her clothes into strips and tied them together into a makeshift sling to carry the tools on her back.
The bundle dropped beside the coffin with a dull thud.
Her knees buckled, and she fell forward, her breasts pressing against the cold dirt and the rough wood of the coffin. For a moment she just stayed there, trembling.
Then she pushed herself up onto her knees, her face flushed, turning her gaze aside.
"It's not like I… wanted to show you them." she muttered under her breath, voice cracking between shame and delirium.
She crouched beside the pile of tools, the beam from her phone's flashlight trembling in her hand. The weak light swept across a jumble of metal — screwdrivers, shovels, wrenches, an old power drill coated in rust.
She grabbed the drill first, flipped the switch. Nothing.
She shook it, checked the back, pulled the trigger again — only a dull click.
"Tsk… No battery? of course," she muttered, tossing it aside.
Her breath quickened as she scanned the rest, the flashlight catching the screwdriver lying among the dust. Not ideal — but it was all she had.
Her fingers closed around the handle, knuckles whitening.
"Alright… the hard way it is."
She set the phone between her teeth for light, pressed the screwdriver's tip against the first nail, and began to twist. The metal refused to move.
She grunted, leaning in with both hands, forcing her weight down until her teeth ground together from the strain.
A loud creak split the silence. The nail finally turned. Morgana's arm jerked back, muscles trembling, but a broken smile flickered across her face.
"One down…" she murmured, panting. The flashlight beam shook over her dirt-streaked skin as she moved to the next nail, determination and exhaustion tangled in every breath.
skin barely showed beneath the layers of dirt and grime. Dust clung to her body where her clothes once did.
Blood ran freely from her injured palm, the other raw from friction. Her hands trembled, slipping over the handle as she worked.
When half the nails were out, she grew impatient. She wedged her fingers under the lid and tried to force it open by sheer strength.
The wood creaked, shifted—then slammed shut, trapping her hands.
"Nnghh—AAAHHH!" Her scream tore through the night. Nails bit deep into her skin, piercing the flesh of her palms.
Tears welled in her eyes as she gritted her teeth, pulling with all the strength left in her trembling arms until her hands ripped free—studded with tiny punctures, bleeding down her wrists.
"Damn it… damn it!" she hissed, voice breaking.
She ripped off her pants, tearing strips from the fabric and wrapping them tightly around her shredded hands. The makeshift bandages turned red almost instantly, but she pressed on.
"I'm not stopping here! As long as I can still move these hands… I'll bring you back!"