Two weeks later, I went to the hospital for my first facial reconstruction.
Atlas and Briar were in the same inpatient building.
I hadn't originally planned on seeing them, but before the surgery, a nurse brought me a box.
Inside was my father's video camera, along with the last memory card.
Atlas's note asked me to come to the ward; he said he would tell me the whole truth about my parents.
I stood holding the camera for a long time, but in the end, I went.
When the ward door opened, I almost didn't recognise Briar.
She could only lie flat in bed. The Spirit‑Guiding Lotus on the side of her face had festered open, pus constantly seeping into her pillow.
Below her neck, her body was covered in dog heads and black words; there was hardly any intact skin left.
A mirror lay by her be
