Her fingers barely held the screwdriver now, shaking. Every turn sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through her arms, but she kept going—one screw at a time, breath ragged, muttering incoherently between clenched teeth.
When the final nail came loose, she exhaled a broken laugh.
"There… finally…"
She lifted the lid with both arms, the old hinges groaning in protest. Then she reached for her phone, turned on the flashlight, and aimed the beam inside.
Dorvak's gaunt face appeared beneath the harsh light—pale, still, the skin faintly gray.
Morgana's lips trembled into a smile as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. She hopped into the coffin, pressing her body against his cold chest. Her arms wrapped tightly around him as her breathing steadied, soft and uneven.
"Please…" she whispered, her voice breaking apart. "Dorvy… give me the strength to bring you back."
Morgana lifted Dorvak's arm and slid herself beneath it.Her bare body pressed tightly against his cold one, her head resting over his chest. Her cheeks burned red, her breath trembling for a moment before slowing into a steady rhythm.
"I missed you," she whispered, eyes closed, her voice soft and broken.
When she opened them again, bitterness glimmered in her gaze. Tears rolled down, soaking the fabric over Dorvak's chest.
"I have to get you out before sunrise."
It wasn't hard for her to lift him—his body was light now, wasted away. She carried him on her back through the graveyard, her steps slow but unwavering.
Minutes later, she reached the car. She set him carefully into the passenger seat and fastened the belt around him. Her hands left streaks of blood over the buckle.
The engine started. Morgana gripped the steering wheel; her palms were slick, blood dripping from her fingers and trailing down the leather. The tires rolled over gravel, then pavement, as she drove through the pale night toward home.
When she arrived, she half-dragged, half-carried him inside. His body thudded softly onto the bed, the sheets wrinkling under his weight. Morgana swayed, nearly collapsing beside him. Her hair stuck to her damp face, her eyes hollow yet burning with focus.
She staggered into the bathroom. Water splashed across her skin, washing away the mud, the dried blood, the dirt beneath her nails. Steam filled the air. For a moment she closed her eyes and breathed in the warmth, as if it could cleanse her soul too.
When she stepped out, she wrapped gauze around her wounded hands, layer after layer until the red no longer seeped through.
Then she stood before the bed, staring at him—the stillness, the emptiness. Her reflection in the knife's steel trembled as she lifted it.
"I'm sorry, Dorvy," she murmured. "But I'll need a few samples."
The blade lowered. She cut into his thigh first—slow, precise. A strip of grayish tissue peeled back, the pale bone glinting beneath. She sliced deeper, took a small fragment of the bone, then moved to his abdomen.
Her breath hitched as the smell hit her—rot and chemicals and something almost sweet. The organs were dull gray, tinted violet.
"Damn it…" she muttered through gritted teeth, nose wrinkling. "I can barely stay conscious. I need to hurry."
Piece by piece, she gathered what she needed—samples of muscle, bone, heart, lung, and liver—each sealed in glass tubes. When she was done, she placed everything neatly into a cold metal case, snapped it shut, and wiped her trembling hands across her robe.
Outside, the horizon had begun to pale.The first light of morning spilled through the blinds as Morgana stepped out again, her hair still damp, her eyes wild but determined.
By the time she reached the lab, she was already dressed in her uniform. She swiped her ID and pushed the door open.
A rush of sterile air met her. The refrigerator unit hummed softly in the corner. Inside, rows of sealed vials floated in a red solution—old fragments from older experiments.
Morgana closed every door, dimmed every light until only the pale glow of the refrigerator remained. She rolled up her sleeves, revealing the white bandages wrapped around her hands.
Her face reflected faintly in the steel wall—haunted, sleepless, but burning with intent.
She exhaled slowly, her voice low, steady.
"Are you ready?… Dorvy?"