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February 20, 2025
A.I. Generated
Lo, had I been but a lesser man, I might have ignored the subtle signs of my undoing. That first quiver in my neck, that ceaseless and infernal itch—a whispering herald of ruin. But as with all men who deem themselves masters of their fate, I dismissed it as mere folly. The hours bore forth a slow and terrible truth. My skin, once mine, betrayed me. It bulged, rippled as though something primeval yearned to be free. Then came the rending—a sickening, visceral parting of flesh, and with it, the emerald horror of my undoing. A fist, knotted and monstrous, tore through the sinew, its green knuckles slick with my own betrayal. The mirror bore witness to my terror—a face, writhing in new birth, splitting me asunder to make way for its own dominion. "Mine now," the beast hissed, its lips curling with triumph. O cursed fate! O treachery of flesh! For I was but a vessel, a nameless carcass adrift in the tide, and this thing—this alien harpooner—it had finally come to claim its prize.
