Without the slightest hesitation, I swallowed all of them.

When I finished, I curled up quietly on the bed, waiting for the monster to die.

But I felt so awful. I couldn't breathe. My heart seemed to shatter—it couldn't beat anymore.

Powerless, I clawed at the wall, leaving streak after streak of blood.

In the final moment before my consciousness scattered, I wished so desperately that Dad and Mom and my little sister would come see me. I wanted to tell them I had finally killed the monster.

Could they take me home?

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in midair.

On the bed below, a thin, small body lay curled up, spine arched.

It was me.

So ugly.

My face had turned bluish-gray. Dried white foam crusted the corner of my mouth. My eyes were open—two dead glass marbles coated in dust.

Was I dead?

The monster was dead, and I was dead too.

When I realized it, I wanted to cry. I felt so lost.

Would I never get to eat Mom's braised pork again? Would I never go home?

My soul wailed. I tried to rush out of the room, but I couldn't get out.

I said to the moon: could you let me go home? I want to see Dad and Mom and my little sister.

The moon agreed. It took me through the thick concrete walls of the psychiatric hospital, through the barbed wire. Wind howled past my ears, city lights turned into flowing streaks, and then it set me down at The Golden Dome Theater downtown.

I panicked. The place I wanted was home, not here.

The moon didn't speak. It just yanked me inside.

Tonight it was packed. The main stage blazed with light, and every seat below was filled.

Under the gaze of hundreds, a girl in a white gown stood on the awards platform.

It was Rose.

She was so beautiful.

Did she win an award? She was always this amazing.

I flew over proudly.

Then an image appeared on the big screen.

I stopped cold—how could the rainbow little snake I drew appear here? Wasn't it the monster? Why would the monster appear openly in front of people?

Next to the little snake, in large gilded letters:

Annual Overall Champion, Emerging Fantasy Art Competition—"The Serpent of Eden"

Designer: Rose Donaldson.

All at once, I seemed to understand something.

I flew to Rose and stopped in front of her, wanting to reach out and touch her.

Rose won an award using the little snake I drew. I was so happy. Did this prove the little snake wasn't a monster? That I wasn't crazy? That my illness was cured?

But I still didn't understand—why would she use the little snake, while still saying it was a bad thing?

Where were Dad and Mom? Where were they?

In my confused gaze, the host happily handed Rose the trophy and asked, "Miss Donaldson, this work has been praised by the judges as 'a beautiful dream from God.' What was your inspiration?"

Rose took the trophy. Her eyes reddened.

She held the microphone, voice choking: "Actually, the inspiration for this piece comes from my love and redemption for the world."

She paused, as if steadying herself.

"I have an... older sister who is sick."

"She's mentally ill. We sent her to a psychiatric hospital."

"As her younger sister, I have never given up on her. I visit her often, listening to her say those incomprehensible, crazy things."

"I often wonder—in my sister's eyes, what kind of world does she see?"

"I thought about it for a long time. 'The Serpent of Eden' is my answer."

Rose cried. "I want to tell my sister, and everyone in the world trapped in a mental prison: don't be afraid. Love can grow flowers. Love can nurture life. Walk out bravely. We have always been here."

The venue erupted in thunderous applause.

The audience was moved to tears.

"So touching—what a kind sister."

"Not just talented, but a heart of gold."

I wanted to cry too, moved by Rose's words.

Even though Rose used my little snake, she drew it so beautifully and gave it such a lovely name—she really does love me.

The applause went on and on.

I spotted Dad and Mom in the front row below the stage. They sat side by side, dressed impeccably, clapping along with everyone else.

Dad's back was ramrod straight, his face full of pride.

Mom was in tears, overcome with emotion.

After the ceremony ended, they went backstage to find Rose, then drove away together.

I wanted to go home with them, so I followed the car.

Rose looked exhausted. She tossed the trophy aside, and the smile slid off her face.

"When's the deadline for the next batch of designs?" she asked Mom.

Mom turned around, beaming. "End of next month. Rose, the response to 'Eden Garden' was phenomenal. The investors added another five million and want the full series."

Rose's expression soured. She bit her nail. "It's already the end of the month. That's barely four weeks. Way too rushed."

Dad drove, relaxed. "What are you worried about? There's still that lunatic."

Rose's eyes lit up. "Right. Didn't she mention seeing fairies last time? Add a few more elements and we can cobble together a whole series."

Mom nodded. "Perfect. We're free tomorrow—we'll swing by the hospital."

"Didn't you say last time you'd bring her home?" Rose hesitated. "What if she makes a scene about wanting to leave?"

Mom's expression stiffened. She was about to speak when Dad cut in, his voice dripping with disgust. "Bring a lunatic home? The Donaldsons can't afford that kind of embarrassment. Let her rot in there. That's where she belongs."

"As for the drawings—as long as she's still breathing and her hands still work, as long as she draws what we need, that's enough. Don't bother with anything else."

"Good." Rose exhaled. "I just hope there's something decent. Not garbage."

So it turns out that even after death, you can still feel fear. Still feel cold.

I curled myself into the darkest shadow in the farthest corner of the car, apologizing to them over and over.

I'm sorry, Dad. Mom. Rose.

It must have been that when they came to see me last time, monsters took over their bodies.

Because clearly, when they visited before, Rose told me worriedly that as long as we burned the monster away, I would be fine.

Mom cried so hard, promising she'd bring me home to eat braised pork.

Dad was harsh, but I believed he must love me.

He loves Rose so much. I'm his daughter too—how could he not love me?

So they must have been affected by the monster.

I wanted to help drive the monster away.

I wanted to help draw the monster too.

But I'm already dead.