The Perfect Trinity
The thin brass bell chimed with a dry, metallic clink as I shoved the heavy wooden door of “L’Éternité” open. The smell of this tailor shop always made me nauseous—a cloying mix of fresh silk, stale candle wax, and something metallic, like the faint scent of copper, or iron.
I stumbled inside, cold sweat soaking through the hand-stitched shirt the merchant had tailored for me just last week. I slammed the Polaroid photo onto the polished black wood of the counter.
“What did you do to her?” My voice was jagged, breaking at the edges. “Look at this! This isn’t Linh!”
In the instant photo, Linh was sitting on my sofa. She was beautiful—her skin like porcelain pearl under the amber lamp, her red lips slightly parted.
From behind a rack of magnificent, sombre suits, the Tailor emerged. He wore a flawless tuxedo without a single crease, his hands encased in white silk gloves as he toyed with a silver needle. He didn’t look at me; he looked at the photo, his eyes narrowing with appreciation.
“Is this not what you craved?” he asked leisurely, his voice smooth as velvet but cold as night mist. “You wanted her to belong to you. Completely. Absolutely. Not a single thought of hers was to stray from you... Did she not?”
“I wanted her to love me!” I screamed, my fist thumping the table. “Not a breathing corpse!”
“Love?” The Tailor let out a short, dry laugh. “You’re mistaken. You didn’t bring love into my shop. You brought hunger. You used this camera to capture her soul. And you...”
I collapsed onto the cold wooden floor. The image of Linh sitting motionless in the dark room flashed through my mind, haunting me.
I had held her, kissed her, but it felt like clutching a warm block of plaster. There was no response.
Only a terrifying, echoing silence.
The Tailor stepped closer, leaning down. His scent—the smell of ancient tombs—hit my face as he placed a gloved hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t be so dramatic. You still have two chances left.”
I looked up at him, trembling. “Two chances?”
“Indeed,” he smiled, revealing teeth that were much too white. “The incense stick and the red string. You have only spent the camera. You can still use the scent to draw another, or the string to bind a new one."
He stood straight, turning his back to me to pick up a roll of crimson silk. "I gave you the perfect trinity, did I not?" he stopped, the sound of his shears cutting through fabric making a noise like a demon grinding its teeth.
“Go. Return to your beautiful doll. Or find a new target."
I staggered to my feet, grabbing the photo and the old camera. As I stumbled out the door, the rhythmic snip-snip of the scissors chased me still, into the humid street.
I began to walk, my feet leaden, my hand clutching the Polaroid so hard the edges crinkled. I didn’t want to go back to the apartment. I didn’t want to see her sitting there, waiting for a command I didn’t have the heart to give.
But a sharp, insistent pinch at my skin, pulling me.
I broke into a run, toward the apartment, where my “doll” waited. I burst through my door, gasping for air, and slammed it shut.
And there, sitting exactly where I had left her, was Linh.
I approached her slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Linh?” I whispered.
She didn’t turn.
Her chest rose.
Her chest fell.
I reached out and touched her cheek. It was warm, terrifyingly so, but there was no flinch, no leaning into my palm.
Her eyes... God, those eyes were hollow.
There was no spark of mischief, no resistance, not even life.
She was breathing; her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but when I touched her, she didn’t blink.
She was a gorgeous shell, a doll made of meat and skin.
I had two chances left.
The incense to draw them in.
The string to keep them close.
I looked at the incense stick, and then back at the empty vessel of the woman I supposedly loved.
The Tailor was right. I hadn’t brought love into his shop. I had brought a hunger so vast it had eaten the very thing I wanted to keep.
I sat on the floor at her feet, pulling my hand onto her lap. She didn’t move to hold it.
“I’ll fix this,”
I reached for the incense and lit it, the flame of the lighter was a tiny, violent sun in the gloom. As the loneliness of the room pressed in on me, the “Gift” was the only thing I had left.
The smoke flowed over the edge of the porcelain dish like heavy silver milk, pooling around my ankles before climbing the sofa in slow, ghostly ribbons.
I leaned back against Linh’s knees. Her silk skirt felt cold, despite the warmth of her skin.
I breathed in, expecting the sharp sting of sandalwood, but there was nothing.
The air was suddenly, terrifyingly tasteless.
“Linh,” I whispered
My voice didn’t come out as sound. It came out as a ripple in the air, a visible distortion that shimmered toward her face like heat rising off a highway.
I looked down at my hands.
They were glowing.
I moved my fingers, and they left “tracers” behind—ghostly after-images of my hand that lingered in the air for seconds, like a smear of oil on water.
The silence I had feared was gone. Now, everything had a sound.
The light from the streetlamp hissed like steam. The scent of the incense—now finally hitting me—sounded like a low, vibrating cello note that shook my marrow.
Outside, I heard a soft scratching at the door.
“Linh,” I whispered, looking up at her frozen face.
“Someone is here for us.”
I tried to stand, but my legs felt like they were made of tall grass, swaying in a wind I couldn’t feel. I reached out to steady myself on the coffee table, but my hand passed right through the wood.
I collapsed as the floor turned to liquid beneath me.
The floral pattern on the wallpaper began to bloom in real-time, the petals stretching and curling with a soft, wet sound I could hear behind my eyeballs.
The door handle rattled violently, then the lock groaned and snapped.
The door swung open, and a woman in a business suit stumbled in.
Her eyes were bloodshot, her pupils dilated until they swallowed the iris.
She didn’t look at the luxury of the apartment or the strange, doll-like woman on the sofa.
She looked only at me.
“I couldn’t... I couldn’t stop,” she gasped, her voice thick with a terrifying, primal hunger. “The air... it tastes like..... I need... I need to be near it.”
She collapsed to her knees a few feet away, her hands clutching at the rug, crawling toward me with a desperation that made my skin crawl.
I looked at the stranger, then back at Linh’s vacant stare.
A dark, jagged thought took root in my mind.
If Linh was a shell, perhaps I could fill the void.
“Come closer,” I commanded. My voice sounded different—deeper, hoarse.
The stranger didn’t hesitate. She threw herself forward, her fingers brushing my ankle. The moment she touched me, the incense flared, the cherry-red tip of the stick glowing like a dying star.
The stranger’s fingers trembled as she unbuckled my belt. “Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “I need to taste it. I need to feel it.”
Her head turned up—slow, mechanical—her lips parting in a silent "oh". Her eyes were wild, the pupils blown so wide they swallowed the brown completely, reflecting the strobing neon of the room.
I looked at her, then at Linh, still as a statue across the room. Her empty gaze made my pulse spike.
I didn’t stop her. The moment her mouth wrapped around my cock, I groaned, my fingers tangling in her hair.
She took me deep, her throat fluttering around the tip, her moans vibrating up my shaft.
Fuck, she was desperate—her hands gripping my thighs, her nails digging in, trying to anchor herself.
Linh watched, her chest rising and falling faster now, but still unanimated.
The woman's fingers curling into the armrest of the couch, shredding the fabric.
“You like this?” I grunted, pulling the stranger’s hair just enough to make her whimper around my dick.
She nodded, her eyes watering as she took me deeper, her tongue swirling over the underside of my cock.
From the corner of my eyes, Linh rose from the sofa—an agonizingly beautiful unfurling, a void so deep it made my soul ache.
I reached for her, and as we collided in that sea of melting silk, Linh stood abruptly, her silk dress slipping off her shoulders as she crossed the room like a predatory cat.
She knelt beside the stranger, her fingers tracing the curve of her jaw.
“May I?” she asked, her voice soft, almost polite.
The stranger pulled off me with a wet pop, her lips swollen and eyes glazed. “Yes,” she hissed, looking at Linh. “Please.”
Linh kissed her—deep, slow, like she was savoring something rare. The stranger moaned into her mouth, her body arching as Linh’s hands slid down her waist, unbuttoning her blouse with practiced ease.
I pulled free of the stranger’s grip, watching as Linh’s fingers teased the stranger’s nipples through her bra.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” I muttered, stepping closer, my cock still hard, still dripping.
The stranger’s breath hitched as Linh’s mouth trailed down her neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin just above her collarbone.
“I want to feel you both,” she gasped.
Linh’s eyes flicked to me, dark and knowing.
I didn’t need to be told.
