But if you truly loved someone, how could you ever look for a substitute?
The question lingered in Dorothy’s mind, but no answer came.
After a long, silent wait, Dorothy finally left the hospital, the weight of the day pressing down on her. It wasn’t until she was home that she remembered that she had forgotten the blueberry muffins for Portia. By then, the night had settled in and the snow was falling thick and fast.
The house was shrouded in darkness. Dorothy stepped inside her heart racing. As her eyes adjusted, she saw him, Kyrie, sitting motionless on the sofa.
A cigarette dangled from his lips, a haze of smoke swirling around him. Empty bottles of alcohol lay scattered at his feet, the remnants of a long, lonely evening.
When he heard her footsteps, his head snapped up, his eyes cutting through the gloom like a blade. "You finally decided to come back?"
Dorothy’s fingers curled tighter around the hem of her clothes. "My brother’s condition... it flared up. It’s serious. I couldn’t leave, so I..."
Her voice faltered, but before she could finish, Kyrie was on his feet, closing the distance between them in an instant.
With a grip like iron, he seized her neck, his fingers digging into her skin. "Didn’t I tell you something today? Did you not understand me?"
As his words left his lips, Kyrie pressed the burning cigarette onto Dorothy’s chest with brutal force.
Dorothy screamed, the searing pain shooting through her and tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. "Please, don’t!"
In a flash, Kyrie’s expression shifted, panic flooding his features. He quickly flicked the cigarette away, his face twisted with distress as he looked at her. "I’m sorry, Dorothy! I didn’t mean to…"
Dorothy’s eyes shot up to meet his, filled with pain and confusion. "Kyrie, you..."
But before she could finish, his eyes turned cold again, his gaze filled with rage. Bloodshot and burning, they locked onto hers. "Why did you come back? Give me back, Portia! Bring her back to me!"
Her body trembled, her lip trembling as blood leaked from it, a result of her desperate bite. "But this is my body!"
Kyrie’s fury erupted like a volcano. "I don’t care!"
In an instant, he shoved her out the door, his hands firm and cruel. "Go find the blueberry muffins now! If you can’t, don’t bother coming back!"
Dorothy struggled, her heart racing. "Wake up! They’re not the same person!"
"I don’t need you to remind me!" he snarled.
As panic gripped her, Dorothy caught a glimpse of Portia standing at the door, watching her with a cold, twisted smile. The door slammed shut before she could speak.
The snow kept falling, heavier now and Dorothy trembled in the biting cold. Tears mingled with snowflakes streaked down her face as an absurd thought suddenly flashed in her mind.
Portia had been the one to occupy her body for six long years, part of the manipulation. Could it be that Kyrie had only been a puppet in all this?
Her phone buzzed, breaking her train of thought. It was a message from Portia.
[If you don’t bring back the blueberry muffins, your brother will be discharged from the hospital tomorrow!]
With a growl of frustration, Dorothy gritted her teeth and plunged into the snow, determined to find the shop.
But when she arrived after what felt like an eternity, the shop was closed.
She pushed on, searching through the snow-laden streets, until, finally, she found a dim sum shop still open, a dim light glowing through the window.
She had just paid for the items, ready to head home when another message from Kyrie buzzed on her phone.
[Portia doesn’t want the blueberry muffins anymore. Go buy her shortbread cookies instead.]
Frustration gnawed at her as she searched for the new item, but the shop didn’t carry shortbread cookies. So Dorothy pushed on. By the time she found a store that sold them, Portia had changed her mind again.
Back and forth, like a pawn in their game, Dorothy was tossed around for what seemed like forever. By the time she made it home, it was late, her clothes drenched with snow, a mess of exhaustion and frustration.
She knocked for what felt like ages, but no one answered. Her call to Kyrie went unanswered and she hung up before it even rang twice.
Finally, the servant, unable to watch her torment any longer, spoke from the other side of the door. "Madam, the Master and Miss are already resting. Miss Sandoval says the cakes aren’t fresh and doesn’t want them. She wants you to throw them away."
At that moment, Dorothy nearly crumbled. Her hands shook, the cakes tumbling from her grip with a resounding thud.
