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The validity of this occurrence is still in question. An unsettling sensation prior all this, perhaps played some unfathomable role in the events thereafter. Had it been a start of a waking nightmare, or some cursed demon indeed setting its gaze on a new host to torture? Regardless, the notes herein might perhaps be sporadic. I’m still adjusting to these new circumstances.
Amidst scattered individuals all bearing the fashion of the current turn of the century, an audience of talented men and women of which I had been a participating member of, stared upon a podium. A project promising everything. Stardom, fame, lucrative notoriety. The presenter’s voice had been abuzz with words of such calibre, none needed to ponder upon them more. After the lights came back, the studio filled with whispers. A heavy air of consideration as questions arose. Some left right after, seeing the pyramid scheme for what it was.
I stayed, due to the want of networking. It was when the assembly wound down, dispersed, that my eyes discerned in the sea of faces, her. A girl, about five feet and seven inches tall, dark blonde hair, bangs. Dressed in a grey sweater, a long black skirt draped down her legs, her attire only missing a little silver or gold cross hanging from her swan neck. A pair of earrings adorned her ears; Upon closer inspection, the stone set into each trinket was black. Perhaps obsidian? Her upper face was covered in a thick layer of skin, bloated and sagging. Lines suggested there must’ve been eyes underneath. She spoke to me, and her tone was clear, for the most part. Sometimes there were rare raspy tortured gasps in between pauses for breath.
She asked about a brochure, by then there were flyers passed around the crowd. She wanted to know if they made one in braille. An intoxicating glee emanated from her and the next time I looked about the place, we were alone.
I found out she was still getting used to the blindness because of her condition.
My attention went elsewhere, distracted by a flickering light or a scurrying rat in the backstage. Next I heard, she begged for help, crying about how it was a nightmare not to see. This was what I thought she screamed about, at least, because her whole face was covered in this thick layer of swollen skin. Even her mouth and nose were gone beneath the flabs. There was no way she could see, yet she grabbed my shoulders with a grip so strong I couldn’t move. When I noticed the third arm protruding from her ribcage, naked, covered in boils, grab at my kidney, it was too late.