The bathroom mirror had spider-web cracks sprawling across Alyssa’s reflection like a broken promise as she stared down at the sink. The porcelain was stained yellow-brown from years of neglect and God knew what else, while the faucet dripped a slow, maddening rhythm that seemed to echo in her skull.

  With her knuckles turning white, Alyssa’s hands gripped the edges of the basin tightly as she jerked her form and hurled herself violently with trembling arms. The poor woman felt nothing but abject misery from the unholy amount of alcohol she had consumed the night before, and she couldn’t help but wonder how in the hell she managed to get here in the first place.

  Alyssa found herself in the very definition of a shithole roach motel. Forty dollars a night seemed like an absolute ripoff for what she had to deal with in this dump, but it was all she had. Even if she didn't have the money in the first place, Alyssa managed to get a few extra days by indulging the manager with… other arrangements when she was especially broke.

  Still, this was the kind of place where the carpet stuck to your feet, and you didn't ask what the smell was. The room itself didn’t matter, but the state it was in said a lot. Gouges and water damage stretched as far as the eye could see. Hell, even the bathroom door had a hole punched in it—courtesy of some previous tenant's rage—where she could hear the TV droning on perfectly.

  Once more, Alyssa’s stomach lurched. The taste of cheap tequila and something coppery coated her mouth. Everything seemed to bring the woman abject misery as her legs wobbled like jelly, and muscles she'd forgotten existed screamed in agony. The soreness ran deep, bone-deep, in places that made her want to cry and forget at the same time.

  It wasn’t long before her body tensed and bile rose, making Alyssa's stomach heave. She barely managed to lean forward before her body expelled whatever poison was left. The blonde twisted and bucked as she let out another round of deafening retching, while her hair fell forward, threatening to dip into the mess.

  With trembling hands, she tried to pull her hair back, but her grip slipped. The blonde strands flop back into the sink, this time finally soaking in the filth.

  However, as if interrupting her misery, someone familiar-sounding echoed from the TV. "—another person of interest," the voice of last night’s FBI spokesperson cut through her misery from that massive hole in the door. "Michael Reavey, age thirty-four, last seen in the greater Atlanta area..."

  Turning her head slightly, Alyssa peered through the hole so she could see the TV screen. There, taking up half the screen, was a man's face all smiles, clean-shaven, with his arm around a pretty brunette whose face was blurred out. Normal. Safe. The kind of guy who lives next door and grills on Sundays.

  Matt's face.

  "Mr. Reavey has dark brown eyes in all known photographs," the spokesperson continued. "However, if you encounter an individual matching Mr. Reavey’s appearance but with hazel eyes containing what appears to be a crimson or blood-like discoloration that bleeds in one direction… then you are to immediately contact your local police department and—"

  Alyssa just stood there. Staring.

  Her body convulsed again, muscle memory taking over as more bile scorched its way up her throat. Her hand flailed across the sink, slapping toothbrushes and soap dispensers aside before finally finding the faucet controls. She needed water. She was dehydrated to the point of needing to wash away the taste of pure regret. Wash away the smell. The memory of—

  She froze, staring at her hand. Caked in an unholy amount of dried blood.

  For a moment, her half-drunk mind raced, confused, searching for an explanation—any explanation—for what the hell was happening. But one simply couldn’t form in her foggy mind. Shaking her head, Alyssa decided just to wash off and cranked the controls, causing hot water to gush out.

  Alyssa scraped and peeled at the dried blood, removing it in flakes as she watched pink swirls wash down the drain. She leaned over, nearly drowning herself as she drank water straight from the tap, desperate for any liquid other than tequila or bile.

  After a moment, she shoved her face under the faucet again, then looked at herself in the shattered mirror. Through wet hair smeared with blood, regret, and who knows what else, she saw them again.

  Hazel eyes staring back. Hazel eyes with crimson bleeding through like spilled wine on paper. The exact eyes the FBI spokesperson had just described.

  Not bothering to dry off, Alyssa stumbled backward into the bathroom door, opening it so forcefully that it bounced off the wall. She hobbled toward the TV against the wall and grabbed it, staring at Michael's face as the FBI agent kept talking. Water still dripped from her face as she tried to understand what was happening and why nothing really made sense—until she turned around and looked at the bed.

  It was then that her brain finally started to churn, and her memory began to resurface.

  Blood covered everything—the sheets, the walls, the cheap motel art. It was everywhere, and lying there, sprawled across the mattress, was a body.

  A body with a look of absolute horror frozen on its face. Its chest had been ripped open as if some monster had tried to get in, ribs spread wide like broken wings. The cavity where a heart should have been was empty, with chunks of flesh and bone hanging off by tendrils.

  It was her face. Her body.

  The real Alyssa's body.

  The creature wearing Alyssa's skin and Matthias's eyes stood there, water dripping onto the stained carpet, gazing at what it had done the night before. It all started to fall into place in Matthias's fractured mind.

  Matthias had gone to this woman's rundown motel for what Alyssa had thought would be a 'fun.’ It hadn’t been. At least until Matthias realized that no one would miss her. It was only then that the pleasure turned to horror as he whispered a small prayer to his patron and let the demon indulge in his next victim.

  The moans of pleasure soon turned into shrill screams of terror. Then it shifted to cries of pain as Matthias relinquished control to his patron and allowed it to gorge. He looked at poor Alyssa’s eviscerated chest and cringed. He couldn’t shake the stabbing pangs of dread, for Matthias knew that was the very fate awaiting him if this horrid thing was fed regularly.

  It was a deal with the devil that everyone would regret every moment they were awake, and Matthias was no exception. But he liked to pretend he had no choice but to cope, believing it was better for others than for himself.

  As if on cue, the demon that a devil saddled him with urged him to find its next meal. To make that faint, intimate connection. That small sliver of trust so it could feel that carnal pleasure before sating its hunger with another poor fuck’s heart.

  The previous victim—Michael Reavey—was a mistake. The man sought comfort and indulgence in other men, making him an easy target, but Michael had too many connections. Too many people who'd notice if he disappeared: a wife, coworkers, friends. But Alyssa... Alyssa was perfect for disappearing.

  Matthias looked down at her… his naked form, running a bloody hand over the stolen body, sliding across the breast until it rested over the heart. A ragged breath escaped his mouth as he wobbled slightly. In the lingering drunken haze, he had forgotten how different a female’s form was, how every nerve seemed exposed when muddled with alcohol and whatever substance this woman had abused before sharing a bed. The rhythmic pulse hammered in irregular and strained beats against his palm. It was clear that he also inherited the sleep-deprived palpitations from a body that had been systematically wrecked by its owner when the demon assumed its form.

  And when it had consumed her heart, Matthias gained fragments of Alyssa’s memory. Each one was soaked in self-destruction.

  From what Matthias was able to piece together, Alyssa had family troubles that began early, particularly with her single mother. Eventually, she ran away from home and fell into the wrong crowd in her younger years.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  And that was when her downward spiral began.

  Alyssa had gone through what could only be called a carousel of poor decisions. Rampant substance abuse resulted in temporary highs and lasting consequences that ultimately led to her current situation.

  The chemical dependencies of this body gnawed at Matthias as the tendrils of withdrawal began to slowly creep into his awareness. There was this phantom need for... something he'd never touched nor even knew what he craved.

  Matthias’ gaze drifted to what was left of the real Alyssa. The expression frozen on her face was beyond terror—it was the look of someone who'd realized, in their final moments, that monsters were real. Dried tears mixed with blood tracked down her cheeks. Her eyes, now hollow and clouded, still seemed to accuse Matthias of betrayal even though they weren’t looking at him.

  If Matthias had been honest with himself—and honesty seemed easier in stolen bodies, somehow—he would have never made that pact with that damned Devil. As exhilarating and convenient as his newfound abilities were, his patron saddled him with a demon that exhausted Matthias physically, mentally, and oddly enough, spiritually.

  Looking down at the hands that ripped open that poor woman’s chest, Matthias realized that regardless of how depraved he was, he wasn’t so far gone as to enjoy… whatever this was. He wanted to enjoy the sensations of both man and woman, to push the edges of pleasure.

  Instead, the deal he made turned him into something worse than a monster. Not quite demon, not quite mortal. One truly receives a monkey’s paw when making a deal with a devil. Instead of a life of decadence, Matthias found himself constantly running, endlessly changing identities, transforming into a horrid monster mid-intimacy and eviscerating whoever he was with.

  While not the most moral person alive, he still felt the weight of everything pressing down on him. What troubled him wasn’t so much the death—he had been noble and hanged plenty of fools—but how the death happened and who was involved. Every time he was intimate with someone, Matthias found himself wearing others' lives like ill-fitting clothes.

  Alyssia was just another notch in the completely worn-out bedpost. Shaking his head, Matthias wondered why all of it was crashing down on him right now. He couldn't tell if this deep exhaustion came from Alyssia’s battered nervous system or his own haunted life.

  Probably both.

  Regardless, he had to start moving. The hunters of this world were closing in. They knew his eyes, and somehow they knew exactly what to look for. Matthias’ eyes were the one thing he could never change during his transformations. And now he was trapped in the body of an addict, in a motel that had blood and viscera coating the walls like paint.

  Matthias wobbled there for a moment before he lazily looked around the room for anything he could use to escape this situation. But all he found was literal trash. Microwave dinner trays stacked like monuments of despair, ramen cups that were crushed and scattered everywhere, beer cans forming an aluminum graveyard in the corner under the lamp, and narcotic paraphernalia—pipes, needles, and burnt spoons.

  After spending decades on the run and living like a filthy nomad, Matthias had experienced all kinds of living situations. He had lived as a noble with untold riches and privilege, as well as a dirt-farming peasant. However, coupled with the symptoms he was experiencing and the current environment he found himself in, Matthias couldn’t help but consider this place as one of the world's most depressing living situations.

  Between prostituting yourself for the next fix and scrounging the floor for any speck of drugs, was truly the lowest Matthias had ever felt, despite this experience not being quite his own.

  The woman he had decided to possess was probably the worst choice he could have made. This useless sack of tainted flesh had nothing going for her and barely anything to her name. As he tried to delve deeper into Alyssa's shattered and fractured memories, Matthias realized she had nothing of worth. The woman was less valuable than the layer of dirt that coated the carpet.

  “How truly wonderful…” the feminine voice escaped from Matthias’ mouth as his eyes continued to wander around. But it wasn’t much longer before his gaze fell on a strange, small black rectangle right next to the microwave.

  At first, Matthias was just going to dismiss it as another useless object, but something flickered in his mind. A flicker of memory that tugged at the edges of not Matthias's mind, but Alyssa’s…

  As if pulled into a flashback, Matthias found himself in Alyssia's body, unable to control his own actions as he sat on that disgusting bed three days ago. Tears streamed down his face as he lit his meth pipe with trembling hands. When that didn't work, he sobbed hard and hurled it against the wall before crying through another pipe and then another, desperate for a high—any high.

  Anything to escape from the lowest point of his... no, Alyssia's life.

  It was always jarring to experience someone else's life and memories, and in a way, Matthias found it utterly fascinating. He always considered himself a connoisseur and collector of experiences, and if it weren’t for how horrible it was to get to this stage, he might have enjoyed it. However, the means didn’t quite justify the ends, but that was no longer his choice, considering the literal demon he shared not just bodies with, but his very soul.

  Matthias felt his hand move as Alyssia let out a shrill scream while grabbing the glass pipe. It was mostly empty, just residue, but she kept trying to light it. She kept burning it. She kept burning. She kept failing.

  Then the iconic buzz of a phone going off resounded through the room.

  With blurred vision, Matthias felt his hand fumble and stumble with the device. Alyssia dropped it and picked it up with shaky hands, almost about to toss it aside until she saw who sent her a text. Instead, Alyssa froze and stared at the screen before opening her messaging app and seeing 4 simple words: "I hope you're okay." From Mom.

  Alyssa had stared at those four words for what felt like hours.

  The shaking had stopped, and the all-consuming addiction was held at bay as a wave of emotion that flooded Alyssa also coursed through Matthias. Then, with trembling fingers sticky with resin, she responded.

  "I miss you."

  It was at this moment that Alyssa finally saw what she had become as the phone slipped out of her hands and onto the floor. This was when she realized she couldn’t do this anymore and that she had to make a real change. This was when Alyssa finally made up her mind to get help.

  The rest of the memory started to fade away in a strange haze. It was almost as if it were dissolving... like smoke cascading over the edge of a cliff. A lot of memories were like this; Matthias could only fully understand and feel the powerful moments—the peaks of emotion, the valleys of trauma—but this woman’s mind was an utter mess.

  Regardless, Matthias didn’t need much to get things started. The memory confirmed that Alyssa was in the process of getting help, and her mother was going to facilitate her recovery through something called…

  Rehab.

  The word bounced around in his skull, creating a strange dissonance that made it feel like his mind was splitting in two. He knew what rehab was—Alyssa's memories provided the definition, the purpose, the shame and hope tangled around it. But it conflicted violently with his own understanding of the world. In his time, in his place, addicts were left to rot or executed for public disorder. There was no... rehabilitation. No second chances funded by concerned mothers or government grants.

  The two knowledge bases fought in his mind. Alyssa's fractured, drug-addled memories—full of terms like twelve steps, sponsors, and meetings—clashed with his own sensibilities. It was like trying to read two different books at the same time, in two different languages, while drunk. And the books were upside down…

  His head throbbed. Was this what madness felt like?

  Matthias regained what control he could over motor functions that felt alien and poisoned. This was enough. Enough to understand the opportunity. He stumbled toward the microwave, nearly tripping over empty bottles, before grabbing the device.

  These communication devices weren't part of his understanding of how the world communicated. Sure, there were similar gadgets that let people talk across great distances with anyone and everyone, but it was never this... all-encompassing.

  His fingers moved on autopilot as muscle memory that wasn't his guided them across the glowing surface. The bus ticket appeared on the screen. Departure: 11:47 AM. Six hours.

  This was his way out.

  His fingers—her fingers—glided across the device, tapping through messages. Weeks of worried texts from a mother who'd never stopped loving her daughter, and just couldn't bear to Learn that she might be dead in a ditch.

  Each message was powerful. The emotional reconnect, the arrangement of transport, and the plan of action. The hope. The heartfelt final exchange.

  Matthias set the phone down and looked up at the dilapidated ceiling. He was about to be Alyssa's last connection before she boarded the bus and fixed her life.

  It was in this moment that everything crystallized. The decision wasn't just practical—it was fundamental. He wasn't going to pretend to be Alyssa. He wasn't going to wear her skin like a costume.

  He was Alyssa now.

  The knowledge settled into his bones like lead. Her memories weren't things he'd stolen… No, they were his, now. Her mother wasn't a mark to fool; she was his mother, who'd been worried sick. The addiction clawing at his nerves wasn't inherited; it was his own addiction he needed to confront and dispel.

  In order to survive, Matthias had to die. The identity of Matthias had to dissolve completely into this broken woman that was seeking redemption. Every gesture, every word, every tear would have to be genuine because anything less would see him caught.

  …

  Alyssa opened her eyes and looked back at the corpse on the bed one last time. She'd wanted to get clean, to go home, to try again. In a twisted way, she would.

  Just not quite how anyone expected.