Beverly awoke to a searing pain in her abdomen. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, before the events of the past few weeks came rushing back. The rings, the mottled skin, the fleshy growths around her waist…

Groaning, Beverly tried to sit up, only to collapse back onto the bed as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She looked down at her body and let out a choked sob at what she saw.

The growths on her waist had continued to lengthen, now resembling thick, ropy tentacles that coiled around her midsection. They pulsed and twitched with a life of their own, as if straining to break free from her skin.

But even more alarming was the state of her legs. They looked thin and atrophied, the muscles wasted away to almost nothing. As Beverly tried to stand, she found that they could no longer support her weight, buckling uselessly beneath her.

Panic rose in her throat as she clawed at the sheets, trying to pull herself upright. Her skin felt tight and itchy, flaking off in large, papery sheets as she moved. The sensation was maddening, an all-consuming discomfort that left her feeling raw and exposed.

Desperate for some kind of relief, Beverly began to crawl towards the bathroom, dragging her useless legs behind her. Each movement sent shockwaves of pain through her body, but she gritted her teeth and pushed on, driven by an instinctive need for water.

When she finally reached the bathtub, Beverly hauled herself over the edge with trembling arms. She fumbled with the faucet, her fingers clumsy and uncoordinated, until finally, blessedly, water began to flow.

As the tub filled, Beverly slumped against the cool porcelain, her eyes fluttering closed. The water rose around her, lapping at her skin like a balm, soothing the incessant itching and burning.

Time seemed to blur and stretch as Beverly drifted in and out of consciousness. The world narrowed to the sensation of the water, the gentle slosh of it against the sides of the tub, the way it buoyed her aching body.

She was only dimly aware of the sound of the water overflowing, spilling onto the bathroom floor in a steady stream. It mingled with the pounding in her head, the rush of blood in her ears, until all of it faded into a distant, meaningless hum.

Beverly had no idea how long she lay there, hovering on the edge of oblivion. But gradually, another sound began to penetrate the haze – a sharp, insistent knocking, coming from the direction of her front door.

She tried to call out, to respond in some way, but her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth, her words slurred and unintelligible. The knocking grew louder, more urgent, until finally, Beverly heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.

Footsteps echoed through the apartment, accompanied by voices – unfamiliar at first, then shockingly, blessedly recognizable. Angele. Joanna. They were here. They had come for her.

But as the bathroom door swung open, as the concerned faces of the building management and her beloved friends came into view, Beverly felt a surge of shame and horror so intense it stole the breath from her lungs.

“Don’t look at me!” she screamed, her voice raw and ragged. “Don’t look at me!”

She cowered in the tub, trying to cover herself, to hide the grotesque changes that had ravaged her body. But it was too late. They had seen. They knew.

Beverly was only vaguely aware of the flurry of activity that followed – the gasps of shock, the hurried phone calls, the arrival of the EMTs. She slipped in and out of consciousness as they lifted her from the tub, her waterlogged tentacles trailing behind her like macabre streamers.

As she was strapped onto the gurney, Beverly’s gaze locked with Angele’s. In her friend’s eyes, she saw a swirl of emotions – fear, confusion, but also something else. Something that looked almost like…recognition. Understanding.

It was a fleeting impression, gone as quickly as it had come. But as Beverly was wheeled out of the apartment, as the world began to fade away once more, she clung to that look, to the faint glimmer of hope it represented.

Not. The. End.