In hindsight, it was obvious the plan could never have worked, not when she'd been channeled by that weakling. Maya Fey. Failure was the inevitable outcome. Nor would Pearl have been any better. For all her mothers delusions, Dahlia had managed to keep a level head. Her half-sister was certainly a talented medium, but her spirit? Weak. The child was soft and just brimming with feelings.

And sure, Dahlia had been willing to play along with Mother Dearest's absurd plans. It's not like she had anything better to do: her metabolic processes were of interest only to historians, after all.

But now, now that she'd graciously, dutifully played the willing daughter for the last time, she was finally ready to collect her reward. Unbeknownst to Maya, Morgan had modified the hopeful energy of the channeling ritual to carry a hint of darkness. She'd twisted the words of the summoning chant, altered a key rune from see to keep. The nuns were none the wiser. And thus did a sliver of Dahlia's soul remain among the living.

Untethered, she was far more ruthless than Morgan Fey had ever been, and a better strategist besides, and willing to make sacrifices. With neither sister nor mother obstructing her plans, she would best her twerp cousin Mia Fey, once and for all.

- O -

For years, the scrap of Dahlia's soul lay dormant in the underbrush, anchored in the roots of an old tree, the sturdiest host she'd found in that one, hurried night. She lay in wait, and she pondered.

But who would be a suitable host? From her short life amongst humans, Dahlia was sure that mortals were all alike: all soft, squishy, and far too easy to manipulate. A beast, then. She'd have an easier time hiding from prying eyes as well.

One day, she allowed her spirit to slip out of the tree and into the body of a tiny termite taking a nibble. And from there, she traveled from bug to bird to grizzly bear.

She might have stayed a bear forever. It was unlike anything she'd been in her past life. No longer was she a frail, delicate slip of a girl. In her new body, she was stocky, hefty, and powerful. She trampled the underbrush, relishing in the snapping branches and rocks crushed under her paws. She tore into her prey with sharp claws and teeth, savoring the splattering blood and destruction. It was euphoric in its simplicity, whereas deception had been a tightrope, each pawn and victim a hook catching at her attentions from all sides, every minute of every day, forever.

For a time, she was—if not quite happy, she was calm. But one monster finds another, and ambition caught up to her in the end.

- O -

They all thought Tenma Taro a children's tale: a myth, a metaphor, a man in a mask. So when the creature appeared before Dahlia's very eyes, she seized her chance. She pretended to stumble, and as her bear's body was torn apart and devoured, she bade it farewell with a touch of regret.

Her soul passed into Tenma Taro's body and found a hostile yokai spirit.

Unlike the spirits of simple animals, Tenma Taro's was cunning and fierce. Tenma Taro had no intention of relinquishing its body. For weeks on end, Dahlia battled with its demon spirit. Tenma Taro fought with cruelty and intent, for it had endured countless attempts to exorcise it from existence. It had become a master at shredding souls into tiny fragments, until nothing cohesive remained of the self.

Tenma trapped Dahlia's mind in horror-filled mazes, where the bodies of her devoted victims lay around every corner, rising with bloodless faces and milky eyes and lurching forward to possess her and to love her. And as each shade reached for her with grasping hands, it sought to carry a piece of her away.

Had Dahlia cared for her victims at all, she would have been lost. Had she spared the barest hint of affection for Doug Swallow's burnt corpse, or for Terry Fawles with the scars gleaming silver on his purpling face. If she'd had any love for pink-clad Feenie, then the bloody, shambling shade of him would have grabbed hold, wedged his clingy fingers into the cracks in her spirit, and never let go.

There were none. She was hard and flawless, her spirit now barely human. She suffered the grasping, the melting flesh embracing her own. She promised the shades affection in exchange for her bidding, loosed them on Tenma Taro, and watched impassively as they tore Tenma apart. And when at last Tenma Taro ceded its body to her, its spirit torn to ribbons, what was left of it bowed deeply in respect.

"I cannot exorcise you," Tenma said. And as Dahlia devoured the creature's dying spirit and melded it to her own, she mused that she'd been exorcising herself from the day she'd been born.

- O -

She expected her visit to Tenma Town to be met with fear. Perhaps screaming? Groveling? What she didn't expect were the cheers.

Sure, there was screaming aplenty: performative, gleeful shrieks of excited villagers. They even threw confetti at her! Dahlia frowned, wracking her human memories. Weren't the townsfolk supposed to be afraid of Tenma Taro? Had times changed so much since then?

How many years had it been since she'd last walked the Earth? It might have been tens or hundreds, she couldn't tell.

She was abruptly startled from her musings. A burly wrestler in a stupid fox mask was charging right at her. She braced her hind legs and raised her front paws—only to discover her familiar grizzly bear body was no more. The masked stranger barreled into her, straddling her with sweaty thighs until she could barely breathe.

Dimly, she wondered if she could die again, and what would become of a twice-dead spirit.

She wasn't about to find out. When at last her opponent stood, she fled from the town and into the woods, where she hid, panting for breath.

No, this body would not do at all.

- O -

Four times she'd been devoured, and one time executed. Six different forms she'd taken. She'd lived as a branch, a bug, a bird, a bear, and now as a beast. And once, long ago, a human girl with a sweet face and a beautiful smile, and a streak of ice in her soul.

Being eaten was never pleasant, but she would suffer it one time more.

On the banks of Gourd Lake, she swallowed great mouthfuls out of a pale green bottle. Spirits to harden her spirit, absinthe to absent the sting. When her head was floating and fuzzy, she raked her great claws over her chest and arms. Black, sticky blood welled up in the gashes and dripped silently into the lake.

As she dove into the water, she hoped it would be enough to disperse the scent of fresh prey. An offering to a legendary behemoth.

- O -

Legend has it that deep within Gourd Lake, in the heart of the still waters, lives a monster with no equal. Good little boys and girls dare not go near, for they are known to vanish without a trace.

But once in a long while, to one whose heart is cold and true, to one whose angry spirit dares not waver, as if summoned she will appear.

She has long forgotten her purpose, but perhaps she will grant yours.