Blake was never the type to believe in curses. He thought them to be nothing but old wives’ tales, something to scare misbehaving children with. Superstitions didn’t bother him either, but ever since he met that woman, that witch that spoke in a peculiar way, with the braided raven hair and wicked grin like no other person he’s seen before, he couldn’t shake away the eerie feeling possessing him lately.

Of course, he didn’t pay attention to the little spell she cast on him. Why would he? It was all made-believe, a poor attempt to scare him, nothing more. Or was it?

Every time he looked at the mirror, it was as if a stranger was staring back at him. Was it the curse that made him feel this way? Had he always felt such discomfort when it came to his body? His own flesh was suffocating him, and he felt it getting worse each passing day. Every breath, every blink, every touch, every smell, every taste was excruciatingly overwhelming. The position of his tongue in his mouth was too uncomfortable. His lips were too dry. His nails were too fragile. Every moment was a nightmare.

He wished to break away from the confines of his mortal flesh, to transcend the limits of the human body. It was too unbearable having skin, too inconvenient. No amount of therapy was able to cure him of this compulsion, from his wish to break free from his prison.

One night, he sat in the bar near the clinic where he worked in. One hand was wrapped around his liquor bottle while the other was fidgeting with a scalpel. Just a single cut, he thought, eyes spellbound to the sharpness of the blade. It was then he heard the voice of a woman, making him flinch as he broke away from his trance.

“What brings you here, stranger?” she spoke to him with a bitter smile. “You have the expression of someone who’s here to drown his demons. Am I wrong?”

“What does a pretty thing like you know about demons?” Said Blake, sparing her a glance before downing the contents of his bottle.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve seen one?”

Her bizarre question, coupled with her unique beauty, was enough to spike his interest. She had long, blonde hair; eyes like diamonds; and rosy lips like those of a model. It was more than a little suspicious that a girl like her was interested in talking to him.

“My name is Sylvia,” the woman introduced herself, shaking his hand. “I believe we’ve met before.”

“Have we?” Blake looked at her, stunned. As if it were ever possible to forget someone like her. “Are you perhaps one of my patients?”

“No,” Sylvia shook her head. “I’ve seen you in Melbourne, on a trip I took with my fiancé nearly a year ago.”

“And?”

“Do you remember a girl with raven hair who spoke in rhymes?”

He was suddenly washed by a cold wave. This description sounded oddly familiar to him, to the point it made him gag. He remembered, of course, he did. It was the last time he ever felt normal. The girl she spoke of, he remembered mocking her, though briefly. It was her curse that was plaguing him. Her sinister grin was edged to the back of his mind every time he went to sleep.

“What do you know about her?” Blake questioned the woman, this time more sternly and with all of his attention aimed at her.

“You made a remark about her way of speaking, and so did I, and so did my fiancé, Theodor. She placed a curse upon you, hadn’t she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Blake shook his head, still unwilling to admit there were such things as curses.

“Yes, you do,” Sylvia leaned in closer. “There have been strange things happening lately. People have gone missing, human-shaped holes began appearing all over the world, a whole town is being plagued by beings known as “angels”, it cannot all be a coincidence.” Her voice trembled. “If you have any clue about this girl or whatever she is, you need to share it with me. I’m begging you! “She pleaded while grabbing his arm, eyes filling with tears.

“You’re insane!”

Those were the last words that left Blake’s mouth before he fled the bar. They lingered on his lips like poison.

That same night, he was suddenly possessed by that strange feeling again, pacing back and forth, trying and failing to shake it away. He clenched the scalpel tightly in his hand. A glance at the mirror told him he wasn’t himself anymore. There was only a single thought that invaded his head – the desire to break free from his prison.

It took a copious amount of sedatives. There was no way he could have gone through with his plan without them. As he sliced away, it felt as if he was cutting into someone else. The fingers were the hardest, but he peeled them off one by one nonetheless until there was nothing else but veins and muscle.

He was free now, consumed by his compulsion, truly naked in a bath of gore. His desire was at last fulfilled.

But it didn’t last forever. Somehow, the next morning, he woke up again inside the confines of his flesh. He once again felt uneasy. He once again sought to escape this suffocating agony.

And so the cycle continued.