Danielle woke up face-down in a pool of her own blood.


Her stitched feet twitched against the cold floor. Her pulse fluttered in weak, wet jolts beneath the silk thread wound tight around her skin. For a moment, she wasn't sure if she'd blacked out for minutes or hours. Time had melted in the studio, dripping down the mirrors like fat off roasting meat.


Her lips peeled apart from the floor with a sick, sticky smack.


She smiled.


Her teeth were red.


She tried to sit up, but a loose ribbon from her chest snagged against her fragile frame. The ribbons had dried into the wounds overnight, silk fused with flesh like scar tissue. She could feel the pull of the thread inside her body—like something living, tugging against her tendons. Tiny pinpricks of heat flared in her shoulders and elbows where the needle had punctured deepest.


Her breathing was shallow, ribs fluttering like trapped birds under her skin. She pressed her hand to her chest and felt something wriggling beneath the surface—like the ribbons had rooted themselves inside her lungs.


Danielle coughed and a thin string of pink slipped from her lips.


The mirrors watched her as she crawled across the floor, leaving a trail of blood and ribbon scraps behind her. Her reflection had multiplied overnight. Dozens of Danielles squatted in the dark glass, their heads tilted at odd angles, eyes bulging, their mouths stretched into too-wide smiles. Their ribbons writhed like worms. Some were no longer wearing their skin properly—cheeks sloughed off like wet paper, necks sewn closed with thread.


The next step of the transformation wasn't optional Her hands—shredded, trembling, purple beneath the nails while search for the thread and needle. Her breath came in little gasps as she added more ribbons to her wrists. 


The needle sliced through the first layer of skin followed by the thread. Her flesh unfolded like silk ribbon itself—pale and slick, a ballet of meat. Tendons gleamed beneath the cut, shining like raw shrimp in the fluorescent light.


Her fingers worked fast now, carving new openings along her arms. She spread the flesh apart like petals, revealing the wet, glistening red beneath. Her muscles twitched, little solos of movement without her permission. Blood pulsed in tiny arcs, decorating the mirrors in sprays of crimson confetti.


Danielle screamed, but it came out musical—high and operatic, a soprano note that echoed through the studio, bouncing off mirrors smeared with gore.


Her body shook, spasming as the ribbons dug in as the mirrors clapped for her.


Danielle grinned as she basically could taste silk in her throat now. She swallowed hard.


When she stood again—if it could be called standing—her feet were fused to the pointe shoes. The stitches had burrowed into her bones overnight. Every step sounded like cartilage snapping, but she kept dancing.


She twirled, leaving long red spirals on the floor.


Her reflection followed, hundreds of Danielles spinning in unison, eyes hollow and skin open.


She reached down with her mutilated hands, fingers trembling, and unstitched her own belly. The thread slipped through her abdomen in wet loops, pink silk sliding through muscle and fat. Her stomach unfolded like a costume change, revealing her organs—glistening, pulsing, moving without her consent.


Danielle laughed, clutching her intestines like ribbons, wanting to tie them into bows.


The music swelled again, the warped, crackling strings of Swan Lake bleeding from the studio speakers. Only now it wasn't music at all. It was screaming. Screams arranged in time signatures, stitched into melodies, a choir of pain echoing off the walls.


Danielle bowed low, intestines swinging like tassels from her waist.


In the corner of the room, someone shifted while watching her. 


"What have you done?" He whispered. 


Danielle tilted her head. Her ribbons writhed, tightening inside her skin. 


At first it was small, a purse of the lips as her mouth stretched too far, skin cracking, jaw unhinging.


Danielle's feet were fused into the pointe shoes, stitches long since buried beneath layers of swelling. Her stomach hung open in ribbons, intestines looped into bows around her waist, her liver swinging loose like a grotesque ornament. 


"Danielle?" He whispered.


Slowly he approached with caution, treating her like she was a deer caught in headlights. Once in front of Danielle, he caressed her ribbons, stroking them with intent and care. 


"Brilliant... Absolutely stunning." He marveled. 


He wanted to become a part of her, so he took the needle and thread in his hands. "Shall we begin?"