The room was dark.
The hand resting on my shoulder
wasn't gripping me—
yet the touch
had slipped beneath my skin.
I couldn't breathe.
Slowly, the hand moved
from my shoulder toward my neck.
The fingers were neither cold
nor hot—
they carried a searing warmth,
the kind that lingers.
My body shuddered on its own.
"Stop…"
I whispered.
But before the word could even reach my own ears,
the voice inside me laughed.
"The body does not lie."
The mark on my chest
suddenly flared with violent heat.
My breathing grew heavy.
A strange pressure gathered low in my abdomen.
I understood then—
this wasn't only fear.
It was something else.
Something people hesitate to name,
yet cannot deny.
I turned slowly.
There was no one in the darkness.
But I knew—
she was there.
Inside me.
Near my neck,
I felt breath against my skin—
but it was not mine.
My lips went dry.
As I tried to moisten them with my tongue,
I froze.
Because in the mirror,
my reflection
was not moving the way I was.
The version of me inside the glass
pressed her lips together softly,
eyes half-closed,
breathing slow and heavy.
I swallowed.
"What are you doing to me?"
The voice answered from very close—
"Your body remembers
what your mind tries to forget."
The muscles in my thighs tightened.
My knees trembled.
I lowered myself onto the edge of the bed,
trying to steady myself.
The air in the room felt thick.
My clothes suddenly became unbearable.
The friction of fabric against skin
was too much.
I unfastened a button.
Then another.
When the burn mark on my chest was exposed,
a faint red glow spread like light through smoke.
I lifted my hand
and touched my own chest.
The skin was hot.
The moment I did,
a shiver ran straight up my spine.
I closed my eyes.
And then the voice inside me
spoke softly—slowly—
"They looked at me the same way…"
"…not with fear—
with hunger."
Images surfaced behind my eyes.
Men's eyes.
A woman's body
lit by firelight.
Chains.
Sweat.
Breath.
I drew in a sharp breath.
"Stop…"
But my body
was no longer listening to me.
I could feel it—
The fire inside me
didn't only want destruction.
It wanted sensation.
Touch.
Response.
My fingers pressed into my own thigh.
I froze.
"No… this isn't me…"
The voice replied gently,
almost tender—
"Not you.
But your body."
My breath broke.
A soft sound slipped from my throat
before I could stop it.
I stood abruptly
and moved to the window.
Snow was falling outside—
white, quiet, untouched.
Inside me,
everything was burning.
I turned to the mirror.
This time,
she stood fully behind me.
Ales.
Her hair loose.
Skin marked with burns.
Eyes deep, watching—hungry.
She placed her hand on my back.
This time,
it wasn't imagination.
I felt it.
The touch moved slowly,
down along my spine.
I bit my lip hard
to keep from making a sound.
She whispered—
"You know…
fire is most beautiful
when the body fears it
and desires it—
at the same time."
Tears filled my eyes.
I knew—
this feeling was dangerous.
But the body
does not understand morality.
Suddenly,
a sound outside the door.
I startled.
Ales's shadow vanished instantly.
Panting,
I pulled myself together.
Outside the door—
only the silence of the Cortez.
I sank to the floor.
My body trembling.
My mind unsteady.
The fire inside me
was still alive.
And the voice spoke one last time—
"Tonight is only feeling.
Tomorrow…
more."
I closed my eyes.
Because I finally understood—
This fire
is no longer just fear.
It is becoming addiction.