Splitting amongst rustling leaves and through the glass windowpane, the sunlight trickled onto Lapat’s face. As he opened his eyes, dark walnut beams curved above him, holding a packed-earth ceiling. He tilted his head, feeling the familiar firm pillow beneath his neck and the soft blanket at his chin.

  Rolling over, he felt the spot where she had lain was still warm. He breathed in the smell of her, sending a wave of calm through his veins. He pulled himself from the bed, his favorite tan nightshirt hanging past his knees. The floor was cool, and he reached for his slippers but remembered he had given them to her the other night. A tune floated in from down the hall, the gentle humming of their wedding song.

  Stretching down into the circular hallway, the cabinets were decorated with flowers and jars of herbs. Well-worn shelves held books and trinkets from their time together. Lapat smiled at the paintings covering the walls. Some were of landscapes they had traveled through: a valley of daisies and roses from their younger years, a lakeshore at sunrise casting, the last shadows before dawn illuminated the world during their honeymoon. Others were of dreams she had; mountains that kissed the sky and glowed white in its winter blanket, desert dunes that rose and fell like heartbeats upon the land. Every image was marked with her small white signature.

  “Rosie?” He called.

  Lapat peered into the living room, expecting her with a warm cup of coffee, but it was empty. The fireplace was bare and cold. He considered continuing to the kitchen, wrapping her up in his arms, but he knew she could catch a chill even in the peak of summer. “I’ll be right there, love.”

  Stepping out of the hall, everything looked the same as it always had. His desk was covered in scrolls and quills. Books were strewn about, filled with notes and marks. Two wooden chairs sat before the fire; their green cushions worn from many long nights curled up together. A splatter of paint still stained the floor from a particularly experimental artistic night. Everything was the same. Everything was perfect. Just how he remembered.

  “It’s good to be home.” Lapat smiled and knelt to start a flame, but something caught his eye.

  Something different.

  Hanging above the mantle was a metallic frame. It glinted and shimmered in a jade light, curving and twisting, folding into itself, trapping the air around it, dragging his eyes in.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Honey?” Lapat called, but there was no response. “Honey, is this new?”

  A low hiss whispered in his ear, tickling his neck. He jumped back, slapping it away but. there was nothing. He was alone in the room.

  “Rosie?” His voice wavered, the fear building in his chest.

  “It’s coming.” The voice ran claws down his back, itching at his skin.

  He could still hear her humming in the kitchen. He flailed backward, trying to get to her, to escape. But the ground dragged beneath him, growing longer, twisted.

  “It’s inside you.”

  “No,” Lapat pleaded.

  The entire room was distorted and warped out of place. The door once feet away was now miles out of reach.

  “No cure.”

  “No! No! I can fix this!”

  “Too late. All gone. Ruined.”

  “There is still time! I can stop it!” Gravity switched, and he was thrown to the ground. He clawed at the floor, the weight of the world dragging him down.

  “See the cost. Pay the price.”

  Lapat felt cold iron hands gripping his neck. “No! No!”

  “Look!”

  He searched the room desperately. Anywhere but that frame. Anywhere but that image inside. It writhed in place like a snake coiling and crushing, wrapping around him.

  “All your fault!”

  Lapat felt hands bore into his face, pinching his eyes. “Please! Stop!” He tried to fight it, but the fingers dug into his brain, forcing his gaze.

  It was Rosie. She was withered and old. Her body was hunched and broken; her hands were split from work and never healed. The time and sorrow had etched deep lines into her face.

  “Please don’t!” Tears ran hot down Lapat’s cheeks. “Please!”

  She turned to him, her kind dark eyes now empty pits, voids of utter loss.

  “You abandoned her!”

  The iron hands bore into his skull once more, a blinding pain exploding across his mind. Behind Rosie was another figure, a disgusting figure, someone near faded, haunting her. It was a mass of sores and tumors that oozed and bled off the painting and dripped into the room. Black-filled veins of rot pulsed through the figure, ruined eyes that failed to see. An open mouth tried to scream, but no words came.

  Toothless, tongueless, mute.

  “You did this!”

  “Please!” Lapat sobbed. “Please make it stop.”

  “She will die alone!” The voice howled.

  “I’m sorry!” He cried. “Rosie! I’m so sorry!”

  “You will rot, Lapat!”

  “Please!” He wanted to curl up and never see light.

  “Ruined, Lapat!”

  “I didn’t want this!”

  “LAPAT!”

  “I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”