This old place—so many memories. So much pain lingering in every corner. Three stories tall, reachable only by a set of creaking wooden stairs. Six apartments filled with rotten people who ignored his screams—people who stole his food when he hadn’t eaten in days. A place where the water tasted of copper and sometimes blood, especially when the upstairs neighbor beat his wife in the boiler room and used the pipes to dispose of the evidence.

In other words, it was his sad excuse for a home.

He stepped into apartment number two and saw his reflection in the hallway mirror. He stopped, turning slightly to see his full reflection.

He hadn’t looked at himself in years—it was part of his training.

“Seeing yourself makes it harder to distance yourself. And when you see yourself as human, you’ll start to see everyone else that way,” his love had once told him.

He was right. The only downside was that once you stopped seeing the human in people, leaving behind only their shadow, you’d never truly see their outside again.

Looking in the mirror now, he saw it had gotten worse. Most of his face was already a shadow. His right eye—still that piercing blue his father had loved—was the only feature left untouched. His long blond hair was the only thing giving his head any shape.

It was clear he had lost much of his essence. He didn’t need to read his own shadow to know why—it was obvious. He knew exactly how and when he’d lost it.

What did his mentor see in him? If he’d dared to ask, the answer would’ve been: “Look at me! What’s left of me? I gave everything up.” It was true. His mentor had given up everything. Outwardly, he had achieved great heights. Inwardly, he had fallen deeper and deeper.

Finally, Nick stepped inside.

Standing in the dining/living room, emotions crawled up his skin, tightening his throat. This was a place of so many bad memories.

It had been a cold Sunday, like all the others.

That week, Nick had stolen food for himself and his infant sister—a loaf of bread and two potatoes from the market. He had been so happy for a fleeting moment, but it was destroyed when a homeless man jumped him, beat him up, and stole the food. Bloodied and broken, Nick returned home, crying in front of his sister because he knew she needed it more than he did.

By Sunday, Nick could barely move. His arms were stick-thin, his ribcage painfully prominent. His skin was bruised, his hair matted. He thought death had come knocking.

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But it wasn’t death. It was his father. He came home with a piece of meat—a rarity so special Nick thought it couldn’t be real. For a brief moment, it seemed like things would turn around.

Then he saw her. His baby sister, silent. She had stopped crying two days earlier. Nick had tried everything he could, but two weeks without food and poisoned water had been too much for her little body. She was gone.

A year later, Nick got the chance to ask his mother why she was never there to feed her own child. Her answer?

“The customers pay more when the boobs are bigger, and they can have a drink.”

Disgusting.

Nick’s mother had always been like that—choosing money over everything, even her own children. Maybe that’s why his father hung himself in this very room, leaving behind a sign that read:

“Just another dead one.”

Nick had fifteen siblings over the years. He tried so hard to save them all, but he never succeeded. One after another, they slipped through his fingers. All except one—his youngest sister. His mother had finally grown older and taken care of this child. Or maybe she’d simply run out of options.

Nick closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Brother?” a voice called out, equal parts happy, angry, and sad.

“Sophie?” Nick replied, his voice light with a joy he hadn’t felt in years.

Her face still looked pure, but her upper body was already shadowed.

“You’ve grown,” Nick said softly.

“I’ve grown? You’ve grown! You’ve got a beard now—and you’re still so tall!”

It was true. Nick had left when she was four or five, and he was just fifteen. Her memories of him were vague, but she had recognized him instantly. He was now a grown man—1.8 meters tall, far taller than her childhood memories could’ve made him seem.

Twelve years had passed. Sophie was now sixteen, nearly seventeen. She had inherited their mother’s beauty, but her spirit hadn’t been corrupted. Somehow, she remained pure, not yet wasted away.

How had she kept her essence?

Nick doubted their mother had suddenly become a good parent. It wasn’t in her nature.

He wandered into the small bedroom. The wooden floorboard was still broken—one of many signs of his mother’s neglect. Twelve years, and his sister had to avoid a hole he’d created when he’d stomped too hard in anger before leaving.

“Sophie and Nick, dinner’s ready!”

Nick froze. He didn’t expect to hear those words. His mother had never made a real meal before.

Curious, he stepped into the dining/living room and was shocked. There was a table set with meat, vegetables, and sauce. Sauce!

Still unsure if it was real, he sat down.

Then, something else caught his eye. His mother.

She had a golden glow in her body. She had essence.

Nick exhaled, and the dream shattered.

There was no meal. No sister. Nothing pure.

Only black mold. The overwhelming smell of rot.

And his mother, standing behind him, breath reeking of beer.

His sister had died here. No—she had been killed. Like his father and all the others.

All for his mother’s lust for essence.

But she couldn’t take his. Not anymore.

She collapsed. Nick’s face, a mirror of her past, had shattered something within her. Her shadow began shrinking, her essence dissolving. She hadn’t eaten or slept in days.

Nick stared at this once-human figure and felt nothing but disgust. You can love someone who isn’t there anymore, but you can’t love someone who only exists to hurt you.

He turned away, leaving her to die slowly.

Finally, he climbed into the old, moldy bed. It was the only place left for him to sleep.