The way back was extremely quiet, not because I couldn't think of what to say, but because I failed to find the right words to say to her, and the right time to do so. The whole time the girl had been walking two steps behind me, without opening her mouth or making any other noise beyond the rhythmic clicking of her heels on the concrete, which sounded like the second hand of an old clock. Every hundred meters or so I would turn my head slightly, to check if she was still there, out of fear that she would disappear at any moment, in the same way she had arrived. On the other hand, she looked as if her head was totally elsewhere, immersed in her thoughts.

It took almost half an hour to get back, in which we were fortunate not to encounter another living soul. Unlocked the door, I took a few steps inside, inviting her in with a broad hand gesture, but the girl remained in the doorway, swinging in on herself, shifting the weight of her body from the tips of her toes to her heels. She looked around, then at the inside of my house, then at her reflection in the mirror placed at the entrance. Surely she must have felt uncomfortable entering a stranger's house in the middle of the night. For all she knew I could very well have been an ill-intentioned individual. I tried to force myself to come up with a line that might reassure her, although it seemed an impossible challenge.

I opted for the most natural thing to say in that circumstance, although there was very little of normality. If I could not give her a sense of safety, at least I would not alert her further.

I was initially somewhat puzzled at her response, so much so that I instinctively turned my head a few degrees to the left side. I had heard that this was a fairly common behavior in the animal world, as tilting the head can help to better locate the source of a sound, as it changes the relative timing and intensity of the sound in each ear. This allows for better processing and understanding of ambiguous auditory signals. In addition, it can alter visual perspective and provide a different angle to examine a confusing visual stimulus. I thus got a better look at that girl, for the first time in bright light. She was in even worse shape than I had noticed before. She was covered with encrusted mud from head to toe, still damp, perhaps from the previous day's rain. So much so that every now and then a drop of water, reddish from the blood, would drip from the folds of her skirt or from her frizzy, disheveled hair, which was not too vaguely reminiscent of Sadako's. Retracing with my eyes the path I had taken, I noticed brown footprints on the asphalt, leading directly to my door.

I couldn't help but wonder what had really happened to her in the previous days to get her that way, and I was surprised that, despite everything, her greatest concern at that moment was to avoid causing trouble for others.

I said, trying to force a friendly smile, but it probably looked like one of pity.

She responded to my smile with hers, and for a moment I thought I caught a glimpse of the face of the Lily I remembered. We used to take the same train to the university, albeit from different stops, so it happened often that we passed each other. She was resplendent, always surrounded by people, laughing and joking, loud in some respects. She was an easy person to notice and hard to forget. We had spoken only once, at a party, thanks to a mutual acquaintance who had introduced us. However, several months had passed and I was sure she had forgotten about me. I was genuinely happy to know that she remembered my name instead. That made everything a lot easier. I felt my body relax and the tension I had built up in my muscles lighten a little, perhaps this was also thanks to her smile.

She went straight for the bathroom, while I moved like a spinning top all over the other rooms, looking for something for her to put on. Not an easy task at all as she was much smaller than me. I would say that, in heels, she would come up to my shoulders; therefore, any dress of mine would have been almost comical on her, and very annoying to wear. In the end, I opted for a sweatshirt out of my high school days and tracksuit pants.

Since she was taking longer than expected, to quell the sense of anxiety I felt, I decided the best choice would be to make something to drink. Given the cold air that was blowing that evening, I opted for a cup of hot chocolate, hoping Lily would like it too. I was proud of my hot chocolate. On cold winter afternoons I used to make it, so I am not ashamed to say that I had become a pro. By dint of trial and error I had found the perfect amounts of milk and cocoa, the right amount of thickener to make it creamy and pleasant in texture, and managed to balance the sugar to make it sweet but not too much. I began that dance behind the stove, whose steps I knew by heart, until I heard a door open behind me, and saw a girl approaching, barefoot and her hair still slightly wet.

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As a good host, I made her sit on the couch, in front of the steaming mug of chocolate resting on a wicker coaster. She sat down near the right armrest of the sofa, with her knees together and her feet apart, making herself small. She leaned forward slightly, picked up the hot cup with both hands, and began to sip slowly. I tried to lift the cup as well, but had to give up because I felt the sensation of burning my fingertips.

I began to expose all the doubts I could no longer keep inside, hoping for a reasonable answer to put my mind at ease.

He said looking up, as if searching for the answers written on the ceiling. Not only had I not gotten what I hoped for, now it was my turn to explain instead.

I began in a somewhat annoyed tone:

I saw her smile begin to falter, as if the mask she was wearing was beginning to crumble.

Before I could even finish speaking, my body reacted as if it had stepped on a landmine, so I stopped immediately. I was zapped by a look that I couldn't quite decipher, but it looked like one from a predator watching its prey.

She retorted, lowering her tone of voice, as if she were talking to herself.

Then she continued, as if resigned to her fate, while with her right hand she lifted the strands of hair that covered her forehead:

She squinted her eyes, stretching as far as she could, arching her back slightly and standing on tiptoe, in a movement that inadvertently had highlighted the curves of her body, despite the sweatshirt several sizes larger.

image [https://imgur.com/a/KxVrp7E]

I slowly approached her pale face, following her instructions, until I rested my forehead on hers, as if to check if she had a fever. The smell of my shampoo brushed my nostrils, mixed with a strong whiff of disinfectant. I felt a slightly disturbing sensation: my heat was spreading toward her, going away, but receiving nothing in return. It was not that different from making contact with any surface of wood or metal, rather than a living creature. I interrupted that unpleasant touch and saw her ice-blue eyes blossom like a flower in the night. However, they were made of glass; in fact, although our noses were only a few inches apart, I was not at all sure he was looking at me.

As if to dismiss all doubt, she grabbed my arm, pressing my palm firmly against her sternum.

This time she clutched my arm so tightly that I felt her nails piercing flesh. Her hands were red, burned by the boiling cup, but she seemed not to notice, too focused on something else.

“A monster,” something that should not exist, incompatible with the very definition of life. No doubt in my mind that was the right answer, yet I couldn't bring myself to say it. I remained silent, looking at the girl-shaped creature in front of me.

She said in a detached tone, passively accepting whatever would happen to her.

In my heart I had always been aware of the truth, ever since I had first laid eyes on her. However, I had pretended not to see.

She began to scream, tears wanted to come out but physically could not. She was angry and suspicious, but I preferred her like this compared to the little doll I always saw, only able to smile and nod. In some respects I felt incredibly similar to her.

I told her, trying to replicate her fake smile to the best of my ability, to provoke her and spur the more twisted part of her personality to come out.

She had no choice but to accept the proposal, because she had nowhere else to go even if she wanted to. So she turned her back on me as if she couldn't stand my presence for another second and locked herself inside her new bedroom, slamming the door. I sat on the couch looking at his cup of hot chocolate still practically full, a little disappointed.