The Vixens

My brain, if science is right, weighs about 3lbs. If standard body ratios are to be trusted, each of my limbs weighs approximately 1/6th of my body weight respectively, which totals about 101lbs depending on if I’ve recently eaten or not.

For the normal person, the width and weight of their body are no concern, unless they are overweight or a closet anorexic like my mother. For me, however, the problem wasn’t the direct amount of pounds I shuffled around when alive, but rather, what to do with the remains after I’d gone.

I decided to die a long time ago. Philosophers have argued for ages about the meaning of life but for me, the reasons to choose death were always clear. I won’t wax poetic about my reasons for leaving this earth, as that’s not the main problem here. I’d already made up my mind.

Dying was the easy part. I even knew, roughly, how I’d prefer to leave the world.

Ever since I was a child, I was fascinated with death, long before I decided my goal was to die. While other teenagers quietly looked at pornography late into the hours, cellphones hidden under their bedsheets, I was browsing secret forums of self harm and mutilation. It’s easy to find photos of dead bodies on the internet if you know where to look, and you can search by the cause of death. These communities, hidden just below the surface of the internet, drawn to the darker realms of reality, educated me but also presented new issues.

When I first decided I wanted to die, the method was romantic. A bottle of pills, a warm bath. Slit wrists to seal the deal. All I had to do was wait until a weekend when my mother was away, or inattentive, which during the early 2000s, was often. It wasn’t until I found The Body Forum that I learned how bad of an idea that was.

Do you know what happens to a body left in water? Left to decay, and rot, and bloat? If you’re left long enough, you simply turn into a soup eventually. A sludge of disgusting, putrid mess. As revolting as that may be, it’s the middle stages that are even worse. The body, left in water, bloats and swells like a balloon ready to explode toxic fumes.

The Body Forum ruined my first concept of suicide. It was the place that presented the issue for the first time: the remains.

The thought of disappearing in the woods was equally romantic! However, photos taken by surprised hikers and nature explorers ruined that aspect as well. What if someone found my partially discarded body, not yet picked clean by animals? Eyes, pecked out by carrion birds. Extremities and soft parts dug into by other scavengers. It would take a long time to dissolve into a forgotten pile of bones, draped with my best sunday dress. The bow in my long, braided hair would remain intact until it mixed with the dirt and other fallen debris from the trees to become part of nature.

I may have been demented, but that didn’t delude me into thinking I wanted to take anyone down with me. And so, the search continued.

Every day after acting lessons, I researched death and the cleanest methods of disposal by scouring photos on the The Body Forum and looking for the simplest, easiest way to die. The pills were ready, I’d already ordered them online. Knowing my mom would find them on her weekly searches of my room, I hid the pills in the garden out back next to the petunias, marked with a single gray, ordinary looking rock. I’d ordered them from a sister site of The Body Forum that would sell anything people could get their hands on. However, it has since closed down.

Methods of disposal would come to mind, and then be dashed against the rocks. Hanging seems like a popular method of death, and has been tried and tested throughout the ages. The Body Forum taught me what happens if you’re left undiscovered for too long. The liquid in your body, all the blood that worked so hard to keep you alive, simply stops moving. However, that’s not the end. Once it stops moving, gravity takes effect. The fluids move downward and pool in the lower extremities, bulging and distorting the skin until the deceased looks like half of a swollen balloon animal. That wasn’t a good choice either, and I couldn’t risk accidentally being discovered before the suffocation was complete.

Death itself was beautiful. Why was rotting so disgusting?

It was one evening after a particularly heinous session acting on set, when I was perusing The Body Forum that I was nearly discovered. My mother caught me off guard and saw the title of the website on my screen.

“What’s that, what are you looking at,” she said, and grabbed my phone.

I closed the incognito tab in surprise. “Nothing,” I said. But she grabbed the phone out of my hand, the one she always reminded me I was fortunate enough to be allowed to have. Technologically illiterate, she tapped at the screen for a moment, unable to bring up the closed webpage.

“Body something? You better not be posting nude photos online.” Her face was starting to turn red and I readied myself for her signature slap to come again. Though she never hit me on the face, never the face. Always some part of the body that would remain clothed during my television shoots.

“I have an eating disorder. It’s about anorexia,” I said, trying to think quickly.

The red on her face faded as she thought it over. “Good,” she replied. “That will help you lose a few of those pounds.” She reached out and pinched the skin on my waist, failing to grab any fat simply because there wasnt any there to grab. I was already on a very strict and routine diet, and had been since I was five.

After that point, I became more obsessed with the forum. I started using my phone more often in front of my mother, under the guise of discussing my disorder in the community. I was always sure to use a secret browsing page so she couldn’t see the true content, and I made up lies about diet tips I’d read, like drinking lemon and tabasco sauce in water to speed up the metabolism.

Shortly after, is when the sub community started.

The Body Forum always had its niche communities, groups that gathered to discuss certain methods of death or decay, but this was a new subsect. They were called The Wolves.

I joined their section one day out of curiosity, and it was what led me to make my final choice.

The Wolves section of the website was like any other. It was adorned with the standard dark gray color theme of the site, and flashy blue hyperlinks. However, the discussion was dedicated to one topic: the consumption of human blood.

At first, I was disgusted, which took a lot to do. After years of seeing corpses in various stages of decay and self ruin, I couldn’t imagine actually partaking in eating any part of a body. It was hard enough to accept during my nightly maintained meals, that the weighed and barely seasoned chicken breast I was eating had come from an actual once-living creature.

I clicked away from their section, and vowed to never return. I considered myself demented by thoughts of death, but not insanity.

Over the next few months, The Wolves became more popular on the The Body Forum and their curiosity spread. They split into various sections and gained more discussion members. They were truly taking The Body Forum by storm.

It was then, on a November evening, that I saw the first advertisement.

Interior website advertisements were a normal thing. Various subsections of the website would be featured on banners displaying colorful text. Drowning Victim Subforum! Join us and GET WET! Get SHREDDED in the OSHA Violations Community!

This ad, however, was different.

“Do you want to die?” it said simply, in red text on a gray background.

Of course, I did. I checked where the image would link to by hovering my mouse over it, to preview the url so I didn’t end up on some porn site. The image linked to a subject of the wolves forum. I clicked.

It was a locked forum subtype, which was rare. The text box prompt asked one question: Do you want to die? Another text below said a moderator of the subforum would review the answer. There was a list of rules such as NO DOXXING and I skimmed those, it was the same for every subforum.

I entered my answer, ‘yes.’

The next day, I got a notification that I had been rejected. This only heightened my curiosity. I joined in on The Wolves forum, and made a post.

“Does anyone know about the password protected subforum? I got denied,” read my question.

The post was not approved by a moderator, so no one would see my query.

Perhaps there was some sort of secret answer? But, why would they advertise if no one would be allowed to join?

I went back to the box entry and with relief, saw I wasn’t blocked. I would be allowed to try again. This time, I read the rules, which included a brief description of the group’s contents I’d missed before.

“This subforum is only for the most curious, demented, and enlightened subsect of The Body Forum. If you wish to enter, prove your worth and desire for death. A moderator will review your answer. Include your date of birth, and your email address.”

I tried again. I typed at length about the buried bottle of pills with a name I couldn’t pronounce in my backyard, and added two years to my birthdate, making me 19. I had learned some time ago not to claim to be 18, but to add a year or two to make it more believable. Then, I clicked away to browse some photos of remains that had washed up on a beach in South America after a cruise ship caught fire. I was sure I’d never think of it again.

The next day, I got a notification.

I had been approved. And, even more than my choice to die, this group would change my fate.

With a hastened heartbeat I went to the group. There was a welcome post, it was the only post on the forum.

It read: “Welcome. If you are reading this post, it is because you’ve seen our advertisement for a special kind of person who wishes for death. Our goal is simple: We are a subset of The Wolves that seeks to take your desire for death, and turn it into new life for others. I will contact you shortly. - The Vixen”

I tabbed out and went back to the forum, disappointed at the lack of content. Knowing what The Wolves were all about, I had expected something truly dark. Something wild. Something inspirational, perhaps.

Maybe it was just a scam to get my email address and personal information so they could social engineer my facebook password and send sex bot spam to my 372 friends.

I received the email the next day.

HELLO FROM THE VIXEN read the email title, and I clicked it. Inside was a simple link, highlighted in blue. THECHATCOVE. It sounded like a chatting website, but I’d never heard of it. After a quick google which returned no results, I decided to try my luck.

I clicked the link. A prompt from GMAIL popped up. This link will take you to a page outside of our website, are you sure you want to continue?

I wasn’t sure, but I clicked the YES anyway.

What opened was a simple chat prompt. NAME? It said, followed by a text entry. ‘Luna’ I wrote in the box, and hit enter. THANK YOU, THE VIXEN WILL BE WITH YOU MOMENTARILY.... Was the website’s reply.

I sat for a few minutes, looking at the dialogue box, waiting. When nothing changed after several minutes, I opened another tab to peruse The Body Forum. To my surprise, there was a new notification about the secret subform, and I clicked. A new post had been added.

SUBJECTS WILL BE CONTACTED. THANK YOU FOR YOUR INTEREST IN DEATH!

Reading the words gave me a small thrill of excitement. Surely, this was just some type of roleplay. The Wolves, though they boasted of meetups where they conned drunks into sharing their blood, were widely doubted across The Body Forum for being fakers and role players, just out to have a laugh.

PING!

A new message.

VIXEN: Hello, are you ready to die?

I stared at the message for a moment, unsure of what to reply.

LUNA: Yes. Who are you?

VIXEN: Good! Where are you located?

LUNA: Colorado.

VIXEN: Are you able to travel? We are in Albuquerque. We will pay transport costs.

LUNA: What is this? Who are you?

VIXEN: You want to die, do you not?

LUNA: Yes, but what is this?

VIXEN: We have a way to make that happen. We can take your body, and transform it into new life for those that need it. The gift of life you no longer want, will be passed on.

LUNA: Can you tell me more? I can’t just fly to New Mexico to meet a stranger.

VIXEN: What’s the worst that could happen? You already seek death.

After a few moments she sent another message, which caught me off guard.

VIXEN: :)

The smiley face made me uneasy. However, I was desperately curious.

LUNA: How do I get there?

Over the next several messages we exchanged plans. The following weekend, I would get on a flight. An uber would pick me up at the airport and bring me to an undisclosed location, where I would die. The details, however, ‘Vixen,’ wouldn’t specify. My need for a clean death with no remains left behind pushed all thoughts of fear from my mind and replaced them with excitement. Finally, things had been taken out of my hands, all I had to do was participate.

The flight wasn’t until the evening, but I left Saturday morning so my departure wouldn’t be discovered. I was wearing my Sunday best, a pink, frilly dress I’d ordered from a Japanese designer website. At 7am, I walked out the door of my family home on the hillside without looking back, and got into the waiting Uber. I had no possessions with me except that which would fit in a small, pink, Hello Kitty purse: my phone, and my wallet, which was freshly bestowed with $500. VIXEN had transferred it so I was sure to have a comfortable flight. My death would be that evening, so there was no need to pack a change of clothes. I left my house keys on the bedside table, convinced I wouldn’t be returning.

At the airport, I had a long wait. I ate at various restaurants and wasted time shopping, the $500 reminding me of its presence. However, dead people didn’t need luxury goods or cheap knick knacks from airport terminal shops.

The flight was pleasant, and I was surprised with a business class ticket. The attendant, a handsome woman in a ruffled apron, gave me a small bottle of white wine with a wink, neglecting to check my ID. I downed it and had to fight back a sour grimace, it was a far cry from the luxurious beverages I’d been served at afterparties by TV station entrepreneurs in ties and overcoats. Though usually by the second or third bottle, the taste didn’t matter, nor did the executive’s hands as they grasped my breasts through my blouse.

Drunk partially from the wine I’d inhaled and the excitement, I stumbled off the plane a short hour later, Hello Kitty purse grasped politely in my manicured hands. I had spent the flight thinking about the possible outcomes.

The best result was that I would arrive at the doorstep of a small house in New Mexico, be taken down the basement by a kind woman, VIXEN, and shot in the head before having my body disposed of in a way that wouldn’t leave any remains to traumatize a hiker in the Albuquerque desert.

The worst, was that this was a roleplay like The Wolves. I tried to push down thoughts of grinning, cheesy faces and the fat, pudgy stomaches of middleaged men who only wanted to sip spilled blood from the slit wrists of young, beautiful women, convinced it would help them live forever and attain sexual prowess.

The house was larger than I expected. It was white and stately, with columns supporting multiple levels of overhang. When the Uber pulled into the circular driveway, a woman opened the front door and stepped out onto the step.

“You sure you want to get out here?” said the Uber driver, looking over at the smiling woman in her heels and sleek, silver dress. “I gotta bad feeling about this place.”

I smiled awkwardly at him and stepped out of the car to meet the woman, who was approaching. No matter what the driver thought, I was relieved. Relieved VIXEN had turned out to be a woman instead of a disgusting, balding man in a suit with too big of a smile.

The woman put her hand out and grasped mine, then gently pulled me into a polite hug. She smelled delightful, of some strange foreign perfume that was a mix of herbs I couldn’t imagine.

“I’m The Vixen,” she said, but you may call me Vixie, everyone does.” She complimented my dress and my sensible footwear, a pair of white ballet flats I’d worn so as to not tire my feet on the journey through the airport. “And you’re Luna, do you prefer to be called that?”

I nodded.

She led me up the steps and into the house which I, at that point, considered to be a mansion, or at least mansion-esq. I knew what a real mansion was, having been traded between the bedrooms of many of them.

Inside, was a grand foyer with marble floor and a thick, plush, red rug with Persian spirals. Her heels clicked as she led me through several smaller sitting and dining rooms, then up a narrow hallway to a large door.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t let you have a rest first, but time is short and we have been anticipating your arrival.” I had no time to consider who the ‘we’ was, before she pushed open one of the wooden doors and led me into a room.

The ceiling arched up above us with thick, rectangular glass panels. The walls were also glass and beyond was a thick, dense garden fading slowly into darkness as the sun sank in the other direction. Along with the fine furniture and table settings was a collection of women, also respectably dressed.

Again, I was relieved there were no men in attendance.

The women made their way over to me, and I counted eight of them. Heels clacked on the shining, warm, wooden floor as they moved across the room, smiles spread on their faces and earrings dangled, and glittered in the light.

“This is Luna,′ The Vixen said to the gathering women. “She’s come for her death experience, and we should all thank her for the opportunity she’s given us.” The women who had crowded close, began to clap softly as if they were attending an opera and a singer had just done remarkably well on a solo. For once, it felt good to be the center of attention. These women were to be the end of me, I was sure of that and every bone in my body knew death was coming.

We sat around a large table, and The Vixen placed herself at the head. There was a small stack of papers in front of her. Each seat had a glass of red wine in front of it, except for mine. No one offered me anything to drink. Instead, a slender knife sat in front of me on a red cloth napkin embroidered with roses.

The women in the room looked at me, and The Vixen began to speak. “I’m sure you’re curious about the proceedings we will undertake tonight.”

I nodded, hands folded in my lap.

“You see,” she said, looking over the women at the table. “We are a unique group. We need a willing participant, someone who wishes to die. A young woman, preferably, who seeks death.”

“A sacrifice?” I interrupted.

The Vixen’s mouth stiffened for a moment, then she frowned. Her eyes went to a brunette lady who stared at me with large eyes. “We don’t like to use words like that here,” she said.

“I’m sorry I-”

The Vixen’s smile returned. “Worry not, it’s not important. We can use your word. Sacrifice. It’s not exactly wrong. What will happen here tonight is that you will die, exactly as you’ve been wanting for some time, is that right?” She continued without waiting for me to nod. “However, we have to make sure you are a willing participant.” She looked briefly at the gathered women. “Here, we only deal with willing participants, sacrifices, whatever you wish to call them. Do you truly wish to die?”

“Yes,” I said.

A serious look came across The Vixen’s face. “I won’t ask your reasoning, your logic is your own. Now that you have confirmed your participation, I need you to sign a contract in confirmation. Be careful, once you sign, the events will move forward and you’re not able to take back your commitment. The events cannot be stopped.” She passed a pile of paper over to me. A delicate, cursive script was scrawled across it. I hadn’t read cursive in years and doubted I could make out the words, but I didn’t need to read them to understand their meaning.

There was no pen. I looked at the knife.

“There will be pain,” she said, noticing my hesitation. “Quite a lot of it. More than you’ve ever experienced in your short life. However, it’s worth it for what you desire, isn’t it?”

I took the knife and sliced at my finger. Never in my life had I harmed my own skin, lest my mother find out and punish me. For the briefest of moments I thought it would feel pleasant, but the pain began as the blood welled forth.

“No need to write. Just let a drop fall wherever you please, that’s enough.”

I did as she bid. A drop fell onto the paper, blotting it with red, then another. When I was done, she took the paper and handed it to the brunette woman to her right, who was smiling at me. No one offered me a bandage. Blood dripped down my hand, and arm, landing in droplets on my pink, ruffled dress. That was fine, I knew I would never wear it again.

Formalities over, I was led to the seating area. A white, lace tablecloth was draped over a large, low coffee table. It seemed like a normal tea setup, however, there was no seating. The women busied themselves lighting candles and placing them on the floor around the table.

“Please undress, then lie on the table,” said The Vixen.

I felt panic for the first time since I’d left my house that morning, and she put her hand on my shoulder. It was warm.

“No harm will come to you sexually. That, I can promise.”

With a swallow, I stepped out of my sensible heels. I pulled my expensive, specialty ordered dress off over my head, then removed my bra and stepped out of my underwear. A woman with curling red hair and a long, blue dress took the clothes from me.

“We won’t need those again,” she said with a smile. It was a warm smile, and though I was naked in the presence of strangers, not for the first time, I felt warm and welcome.

I lie on the table, lace pressing against my shoulders and the skin of my butt and legs.

When all of the candles were lit, the lights were turned out. I faced upward toward the high, glass ceiling. The panels, dark, showed the night sky beyond, and candles flickered. I could see our blurry reflections.

The Vixen began to speak. Her words were slow and rhythmic in a language I didn’t recognize. The rest of the women joined in, standing, surrounding me. I stared at the ceiling, waiting for the pain to begin, waiting for the death to begin.

When they finished chanting, The Vixen moved forward. She kneeled beside the raised table. I stared upwards, trying not to meet her eyes, wanting her to move faster. This had already taken so long.

I flinched when a light touch hit the spot right above my navel, and moved upwards. It was sand, black sand, and she drew a line.

“Head back, please, and do not move. Though it will be hard, do your best not to move.”

I stared back at the ceiling, and I imagined I could see my reflection clearly instead of just a blur, up on the panes of glass with the warm glow of all the candles.

The Vixen drew lines over my body in sand, and I closed my eyes, feeling the soft touch and tickle. I breathed in, deeply, then let it out, slowly.

The first cut was above the navel, and I gasped. I’d read before about being able to feel the cold of a blade, but all I felt was pain. She cut again in a parallel line above the first mark, longer this time. I clenched my eyes shut and my hands grabbed the lace tablecloth.

“There will be more, many more. Try to relax, and you will get your wish when we are done.”

I breathed out again and tears welled at my eyes, and she cut. Each new incision brought a cry of pain and deepened the well of pain in my abdomen and felt hot, red hot with a burning sensation, likely from whatever was mixed in with the sand. After the abdominal cuts were done, tears freely streamed down the side of my face, dampening my hair and threatening to pool in my ears. She moved upward toward my breasts. For a brief moment the vision passed of her slicing them off like a sex killer, however she simply sliced the surface as she did before, a single time across each breast. I clenched the lace harder.

The cut between my breasts was different, it was a winding, circular pattern as the blade traced and ripped over my skin. The pain was more intense and I held my breath before letting out a gasp. I raised my head and tried to look at my chest, but The Vixen stopped me, placing her hand on my forehead and lowering it back to the table.

When the slices on my legs began, I was more mentally prepared. Still, I grit my teeth and made a sharp exhale with every slice. Cut after cut, horizontally, she moved up one leg and down the other until she was had returned to my feet. Blood was now flowing freely all over my body, pooling, and dripping off the sides of my torso in thin tendrils that felt cold on my hot flesh.

The chanting began, led by The Vixen. I tried to focus on the words to distract me from the pain that came in waves, radiating from my navel. Each time I moved or adjusted, pain raced from the lacerated skin. I cried out when someone touched my face and tried to move my head, but hands held it steady while the chanting continued. A soft paste was rubbed on my forehead in a circle, and then the hands went away. I opened my eyes, the women were closer now, surrounding the table, hands held together. The room darkened as the candles were extinguished. The red of my eyelids darkened until there was near black, and the chanting began to increase in speed, taking the beating of my heart along with it. This continued on for several minutes as my heart raced and my blood pooled and dripped down to the white lace. I was sure I would bleed to death. Was this how they planned to end me? Chant until my heart beat the last of my blood from my body?

Another touch came to my face, gentle, on the cheek.

“Lift your head, and drink this,” she whispered. I leaned my head forward and looked into the cup, but it was too dark to see the color of the contents. Her hand pressed the cup to my mouth, tilting it, and I opened my mouth to drink. The concoction burned and I choked, but her hand held the cup firmly to my lips. The taste was sour, and revolting.

“Drink! You must,” she whispered under the chanting.

I choked the rest of it down until she lowered the cup and took it away. Relieved, I lay my head down. The burning of the concoction covered the pain on my skin as it moved down my throat and into my stomach, where it sat heavy and began turning the wine I’d had previously. My stomach began to bubble, and the contents threatened to rise. Instead, I breathed deeply through my nose and focused on the chanting. They had all joined in now, and the sound was hypnotic. The rhythm moved through the room, ebbing and flowing in a pattern I couldn’t quite follow as if they each took turns speaking a single word, moving in a circle around me. I opened my eyes but my vision was blurry, and the single candle reflecting on the ceiling glass wobbled and shook. My stomach heaved again and I breathed in hard, trying to suppress it.

The women’s chanting became quiet, and The Vixen’s voice stood out among them, leading the group. Her voice was commanding, and shivers broke out across my hot skin under the pooling blood.

I leaned my head forward to look at my body, and someone’s hand reached out, pulling my head back, holding me steady. I wanted to look at her, I wanted to look at The Vixen as she chanted. I tried to look again but the hand pulled my head back, harder this time, forcing it against the table. I stared at the ceiling and watched the candle flicker until it seemed to multiply. My breathing sped up without my control, and my pulse hastened, pumping through my body while I tried to force myself to relax. I began breathing in hard, near gasps, the movement of my chest disturbing the blood on my chest and making it trickle down my skin in new patterns. On the ceiling, the blurry figures that had been shining there multiplied slowly as if a hundred women filled the room, all chanting together. My sight went in and out of focus,

I began to see clearly. More and more women were in the room, I could see them in the glass panels. Their forms waved and flickered like the candle light. The Vixen’s chanting grew louder again, bringing my focus back to her. I tried to look, and a hand reached out, grabbing my head and forcing it back to the table with a thunk. There was no pain. For the first time, I realized there was no pain anywhere. Eyes wide with fear and exhilaration, I stared at the panels. I could see my reflection now, and all of the figures surrounding me waved and undulated, shifting. A candle flickered to life, winking with a shine, as did the one next to it. One by one, the candles lit themselves, making the reflection clearer. I could see the women around me, they were dancing, spinning and dancing. Their voices joined The Vixen’s as they chanted and spun. Ghostly figures joined them, shaking and twisting as they moved on unsteady joints and uneven limbs. Pale, they were pale in the candlelight, spirits of the damned come to join in on the show. I could see myself, see the blood painting me red like an expensive gown from the downtown store my mother used to take me to, so she could make me try on the dresses and pinch my ribs and my ass and comment on my unsatisfactory figure. You’d land better jobs if you were more beautiful. Now, I was the most beautiful I had ever been, draped in red that dripped down onto the lace surrounding me, horizontal slashes covering my body, depths unknown.

I could see The Vixen, her arms in the air, chanting louder. Her arms held steady as she chanted and her words shifted to song and she lifted her hands higher above her head, pointing toward heaven, pointing toward me, staring at her in the reflection. She knew I could see her. She knew I was watching her.

I could see the slices on my body, each one deep enough to cut through the layers of skin I’d been so afraid to touch. Through the outer layer, down through the beans. Beans is what they called it, the bumpy layer of fat beneath the skin. Beans is what they called it, the cutters from The Body Forum that would post photos of their self mutilation and post photos of their hospital wristbands and grippy socks.

I could see the blood drip down my sides, down the sides of my legs and my torso, and my chest. The smudge on my forehead, it was red, it was a powder, something red. I looked closer, trying to see what it was, and looked beyond my reflection by mistake. I stared beyond my reflection and the spirals of the jittering forms with elongated limbs and uneven movements. I looked at the sky and the thin layer of clouds, the cusping layers of atmosphere. Past the satellites and the orbiting space trash. Past the moon and the gathered planets and sun, until I could see the entire universe. It was shifting, and rotating on an axis I could feel and I knew I was the axis it rotated on.

The Vixen’s words grew louder but I was no longer there. I was now just outside the universe. I wanted to lie, I wanted to lie down amongst the constellations and drape myself with the universes in the distance, their soft, shining coats and wavering forms. I was dying. The women drew near my body as it bled and held hands in a circle while the entities danced and moved in patterns around them. One of the women placed a rose on my forehead, it was an eye, an eye looking toward the stars, toward me in the beyond where I lie, looking down at them from the above. She took out a vial, and using a dropper, put three drops of liquid into the center of the flower. A small tendril of smoke rose from the center, and it brought with it the smell of roses throughout the room, and the rooms next to it as it seeped under the door and passed through the air vents and down the corridors. Couples going about their evening business in the luxurious houses lining the street with their manicured gardens would ask each other if they could smell roses, but they would forget the experience before dawn.

The rose continued to burn from the center, outward. Had I been in my body, I would have felt a sensation of warmth on my forehead where the flower lay. The petals blackened but did not turn to ash as the fire crept across it. Instead, they held their form, now darkened, until the last petal had turned black.

This began the end of the ritual.

From my view above, things began to change. The constellations of distant galaxies that spun about me slowed to a halt, and I cried out. The movement of the universe stopped, and I grasped around me, trying to pull the stars to my naked chest, but they faded at my touch and began to dim. The galaxies, all the entities of the universe, started to rotate in the opposite direction. They moved in closer together, mixing and collapsing, stars crashing into stars and planets into planets. I fell downward, back through the constellations while I wept and grabbed for the stars which collided and exploded above.

I fell until I was in the center of our universe, the particles moving about in a furious circle, a circle in reverse.

I fell to earth, and landed in the sea, but it was empty aside from the push and pull of the currents. Around me, lifeforms began to spring forth. I spent lifetime after lifetime moving and shifting with the water before I was pulled to land. Trees grew and burned, then fell, and from their roots grew new saplings that would also burn. I lived a hundred thousand cycles of birth, love, sickness, and death as the world grew and expanded, continuing to reach back to the stars where I once wished to spend forever laying. With each birth the cycle started again, with each love I felt the passion of the universe and with each death I felt the sorrow of the deepest infinity, until I came to me.

I saw myself, as I grew inside my mother. Simple cells, growing inside a secret, safe haven. An unwanted surprise. I spectated the hospital birth as my mother pushed and my father who would soon leave, held her hand and tried not to faint. I saw myself clasped at the breast, dependent on my mother’s body for sustenance, and felt her pain as I slowly weaned and existed less as a tumor, a growth, and became a consciousness. I felt her sorrow as she looked at me with my new hair bows on the first day of preschool, and her jealousy at the way the male teacher’s eyes turned to watch the hem of my school skirt flip while I played. I experienced my entire life from the beginning until the present movement in the room on the table covered in lace.

I watched from beyond, while the brunette woman removed the burned rose from my forehead. Her hands passed over my open eyes. She tapped my lip to open my mouth and when I didn’t respond, she lowered my jaw with her hand and put the ash of the rose into my mouth.

The first sense brought back to my body was the smell of roses. I coughed as the dust hit my throat, and each pull of air dragged me back toward my dying body, toward the sliced, bleeding mess on the table, sliced to beans. Each cough brought forth a new sense that had lay dormant since the beginning of creation. The prickles on my hot skin from shock and loss of blood. The sweat in the air from the dancers who now stilled to watch me return to myself. They’d all shed tears and layers of their teir dresses had been into piles on the floor. The room was silent among the flicker of the candles, warmth of each shining across the panes of glass and the bodies of the women.

It hurt to breathe. My chest ached, and each time I drew a breath in, the dust went deeper, bringing the pain back to life. Bringing me back to life. My heart beat harder, awoken from its brief period of slowness.

With deep, dry eyes I looked around the room. The women surrounded me, naked. Their bodies were covered in shining scars. Horizontal up the legs and torso, with different winding patterns between their breasts. The scar tissue, light against their skin like painted marks. One of the women, the one who had taken my clothes earlier, was adorned with large red scaly stitches from fresh wounds trying to heal.

The Vixen knelt beside me.

“You’re taking your final breaths,” she said, and I knew it was true. The blood loss during my eons away had been substantial.

“Your purpose has been fulfilled. We thank you for your gift of life,” she said. “Through your process of living all of life, so we have grown in power given by the universe. Most pass on before the rose has finished burning. You have not. So, I will give you one last offer, one last chance. Die, now, cleanly, at my hand. I’ll slit your throat and the last of your low blood supply will flow. Or stay, and be reborn, with us. Join us, learn our ways, and curse those that have set you about this path. Die in your mortal soul, but rise again after your death, as a Vixen, immortal. In that case, I will slit your throat all the same, but I will light another rose, and you will join us. What is your decision?”

I tried to speak, but my throat was raw and all that ushered was a puff of ash. Instead, I moved my head slowly to signify her answer.

With a smile, The Vixen grabbed a knife from the waiting woman, and sliced it cleanly across my throat.