Echos of Humanity

1

Chapter 1

Skin n' Bones

Arabella stood in front of the shattered mirror, a patchwork of broken glass held together by brittle glue and frayed ribbons, a grotesque mosaic on the decaying bathroom wall. The dim light flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows that danced across her gaunt face. With trembling hands, she lifted her tattered shirt, revealing a hollowed-out belly, a barren landscape of protruding bones and sunken flesh.

Once, in the innocence of youth, she had longed for a slender figure, but now she wished only for the sustenance she had so desperately forsaken. Days had passed since her last meal, and her emaciated stomach protested with every movement, contorting like a twisted knot of despair. Each rib stood out starkly against her pallid skin, a cruel testament to the merciless grip of starvation.

Bruises and cuts marred her fragile frame, a symphony of pain and suffering that whispered of untold horrors endured. The weight she bore was not her own; it was a burden imposed upon her, a burden she clung to with desperate resignation. If it were truly hers, she thought bitterly, she would have fought to keep it, but in this desolate place, even the echoes of her own anguish seemed to fade into the abyss.

Her eyes darted away from the mundane expanse of walls adorned with a tapestry of unfamiliar pictures. Whose memories hung there? She couldn't care. Arabella ambled by, and in a sudden moment, her attention was ensnared by a lone can, nestled amidst the chaos.

"'Jack's Beans', Butter Beans in a can," Arabella murmured to herself, tracing the faded letters on the label of the rusty can. She spoke to her reflection, a melancholic figure in the dim light. Her brown locks, unkempt and oily, were haphazardly gathered into a neglected bun. The weariness in her eyes betrayed a restless spirit, their dark green hue reflecting a depth of emotion. Despite her diminutive stature, her cheeks still carried remnants of fullness, casting a shadow of larger proportions upon her figure.

As her fingers traced the familiar path to her pocket, she retrieved a weathered pocket knife, its scent tinged with memories of the Carnimortis beasts she had dispatched with it. Just the thought of those creatures sent a chill racing down her delicate spine, prompting a reflexive shake of her head. With determination, she forcefully plunged the knife into the can's lid, breaking the seal and unleashing a tantalizing aroma of butter that stirred her hunger.

Raising her gaze from the can in her hand, she found herself engrossed in a brief contemplation over whether to indulge in its contents. As she hesitated, her eyes were drawn to a small scrap of paper affixed to the wall nearby. There, in handwritten script, the word "Carnimortis" stood out, intriguing her with its mysterious allure. Its meaning, shrouded in enigma, hinted at something macabre and foreboding, stirring her curiosity and leaving her pondering its significance.

Her mind, a swirling abyss haunted by the grotesque specters of cannibal parasites, teetered on the brink of madness. With trembling hands, she clutched her last lifeline, a can of sustenance. The memories clawed at her sanity, threatening to shatter her resolve. Yet, with a desperate determination, she managed to pry open the lid, revealing the meager contents within. Each bean, a relic of despair, coated in a film of earthy grime, was a testament to her grim reality. Ignoring the filth, she shoveled the morsels into her mouth, feeling their gritty texture against her tongue. In that moment, there was no repulsion, no revulsion—only the primal instinct to survive at any cost. And amidst the darkness that engulfed her, she found a glimmer of certainty: starvation would not claim her, not yet.
Arabella's trembling fingers reached for the last remnant of comfort, a bandage now encrusted with dirt and grime. With a heavy heart, she brought it to her lips, feeling the jagged edges scrape against her teeth, stained yellow with neglect. Slowly, agonizingly, she tugged at the fabric, coaxing it to unravel in her grasp. Each thread seemed to cling desperately to the others, forming a tangled web of memories and pain.