Sarah jolted awake to the sudden flash of nerve-wracking lightning that lit up her room. She had fallen asleep at the desk. Her head had been resting on her arm, and as she sat up, a tingling sensation ran through her stiff neck and shoulders. Her eyes adjusted to the dim glow of the desk lamp. She blinked a few times, disoriented. The clock on her desk read 2:47 AM. The city was quiet, and the rhythmic dance of raindrops on the glass window was oddly soothing, despite the occasional flicker of lightning outside.



Sarah then felt the familiar tingle in her spine—the pull on her spirit that she knew all too well.


She looked around one last time. With a faint smile and sleepy eyes, she said goodbye to the life she had lived for the past three months. During that time, Sarah had been living in the body of a well-known news anchor, experiencing the life she had once dreamed of from the inside out. She had attended glamorous events, mingled with influential people, and enjoyed a lifestyle that was worlds apart from her own. She had been fortunate to inhabit this body for so long. Typically, her possession of another's life was fleeting, disrupted by the whims of nature. Only lightning had the power to call her spirit back to its original form, and the weather had been unusually calm until now.

Sarah’s vision blurred, and a rush of energy surged through her body. In an instant, she was back in her own shell of a body. The familiar sounds of the countryside night greeted her—the rustling leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, the patter of rain on the roof.


Sarah Miller, a 25-year-old woman, lived alone in the old farmhouse her parents had left behind. Nestled in a secluded valley, the air around her was alive with the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves—a stark contrast to the bustling city life she desperately longed for. Her wild auburn hair mirrored the untamed look in her brown eyes—eyes that held both the mystery of the unknown and the heavy burden of knowing too much. They gleamed with sharp observation, yet remained hollow, as if yearning for something far beyond the ordinary. Her cheeks were laden with freckles that she abhorred. There was nothing spectacular about her countenance, save the beauty mark on her right cheek, which was somehow the only feature that caught her attention.


Sarah Miller rarely spoke, except to Mrs. Miller, the family’s neighbor—a distant cousin and an aging spinster. Trapped in this isolation, she yearned to escape—not just from the farm, but from a life that felt like a cage.

Her childhood had been a mosaic of dreams and aspirations. She wanted to be a lawyer, fighting for justice in a courtroom. She envisioned herself as a news anchor, delivering the day's stories with poise and confidence. Most of all, she dreamed of being a writer, weaving tales that could transport readers to different worlds. Her imagination was boundless, and her future seemed bright and full of possibilities.


But when she was ten years old, something inexplicable happened. One morning, Sarah’s mother found her unconscious, and her mother was terrified. Sarah remained that way for two days. Those two days were shrouded in mystery. From that day on, her mother never let her out of her sight, constantly fearing that something terrible would happen again and that no one would be there to help. Thus began her confinement in the farmhouse.

The incident was never spoken of, and its true nature remained a secret known only to her. She was afraid to tell her mother what she had experienced, fearing disbelief or dismissal. Yet, the memory was vivid and haunting. She remembered every detail of those two days.


As a child, she often wondered why she was in her own body and not someone else’s. She would observe others with a sense of curiosity, imagining their thoughts and lives. This curiosity grew with her, and on that fateful day, as she lay unconscious, her spirit entered the body of her schoolteacher. Bewildered and scared, she remained that way until a lightning strike occurred two days later and returned her to her own body. That was when she discovered that her spirit could leave her body and enter someone else’s.

But it never happened again, for Sarah never wondered about people’s lives and thoughts again.


Until the death of her parents.


With the recent passing of her parents, she had unearthed a dormant gift long forgotten, and it was proving to be a delightful interlude in her otherwise mundane life. That night, after long and thoughtful contemplation, and still reeling from the sweet taste of life as a news anchor, Sarah devised yet another possession. This time, she had in mind the body of a prosecutor as her next host—someone she knew was working on a murder case. The allure of such a case piqued her curiosity—so much to uncover!


To become an attorney—ah, the very notion stirred her longing soul. This, her most coveted ambition, promised power. She envisioned herself wielding the law like a double-edged sword, dispensing justice with one hand while, in her darker and more sinister musings, manipulating the law's loopholes to her advantage. For she knew all too well, as did those of a similarly corrupt mind, that the law was riddled with imperfections. And as a lawyer, she would unearth every buried flaw, every hidden vice, to bend the world to her will...


In the background, a news anchor Sarah had recently possessed was presenting. She looked lost, her brows furrowed, her eyes wary, her voice without emotion, her cheeks gaunt. A small price to pay for Sarah’s invasion.


Sarah wasn't paying full attention to the TV, but snippets of the news report drifted into her awareness. Something about an elusive killer and a rare plant toxin caught her ear. Words like "nervous system," "convulsions," and "paralysis" floated by, painting a chilling picture. She also vaguely registered that another victim, a man in his 40s, had been found last night—the fifth one so far—and a warning for the public to be cautious. The news continued in the background, but Sarah was already lost in thought…


What was fascinating about Sarah's unique ability to enter someone's body was that the mere act of concentration granted her access to the person's thoughts and body, no matter the time or place.


Satisfied with her next plan, she turned her attention to the television to lull herself to sleep. On the screen, the news anchor's voice, distant and hollow, spoke of a movie adaptation—a grim tale of a woman born from the pen of a famous reclusive author. "Interesting," Sarah murmured.