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February 20, 2025
A.I. Generated
Lena had always loved the ocean, so getting a sketch-style starfish tattoo on her shoulder felt like the perfect tribute. The tattoo artist worked in eerie silence, the needle humming as the design took shape—dark lines, delicate shading, almost too lifelike. “It’s like it’s sticking to you,” he muttered, but Lena just laughed. That night, as she lay in bed, a strange itch crawled across her back. She rolled her shoulder, trying to shake the sensation, but it only worsened. A cold, wet feeling seeped into her skin. Dragging herself to the mirror, she gasped. The tattoo—no, the starfish—had moved. Its limbs were shifting, wriggling just beneath her skin like it was trying to crawl deeper. Panicked, she clawed at it, but the ink had sunk too far. The more she scratched, the more it spread, dark veins creeping up her neck. And then she heard it—whispers, faint but unmistakable, from somewhere beneath her skin. By morning, Lena was gone. Just a pile of damp sheets and the faint outline of a fresh starfish tattoo—now sitting in the center of her bed, waiting for its next canvas.
