Here, the girl stands with marks across her back. They’re new, crisp in their unplanned design, and they echo when you look too long. The marks dig deep into pockets of flesh, the skin sucking into gashes too large to be quickly searched. You cannot see the marks without staring, and staring isn’t recommended.

Each pocket digging deep into ribs and breaking through to a heart is inhuman.

“We found six dead. She ate two. The beast is trying to escape her body, we believe.” Here, they murmur.

Here, they ask what happens to let the beast in. And the answer is always the death of a loved one. The beast waits for love to drown in sorrow, and then it appears. It is always easy to gain entry when the worst takes over. From there, it grows within, eroding the girl from the inside until she is nothing more than it.

They ask what needs to be done to keep these beasts from eroding such dainty girls.

But there is no answer.