She couldn’t finish.

Because in that exact moment, she understood.

Not with her mind — with her body. Her skin. Her heart, pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.

Behind the glass, it wasn’t just meat.

It was… a piece of her past.

The same mark. The same line on the skin she had hated since childhood. Hidden. Memorized. Impossible to mistake.

— “No… no… this can’t be real…” — she stepped back until her spine hit the cold display case.

The butcher didn’t stop.

He moved slowly. Confidently. Like someone who already knew there was nowhere left to run.

— “You didn’t come here by accident,” he said quietly. “No one ever does.”

— “I… I was just looking for a shop…” — her voice trembled, cracked, dissolved into the silence.

— “You were looking for an answer,” he cut in. “And now you’ve found it.”

He stopped right in front of her.

Too close.

She caught a strange scent — not blood, not meat… something familiar. Almost comforting. Like home… but twisted, spoiled.

— “Look closer,” he said, nodding toward the display.

She didn’t want to.

Every part of her screamed: don’t look.

But her eyes drifted back anyway.

And then…

She saw more.

Not just one piece.

An entire display.

Fragments.

Remains.

Moments.

There — her hand clenched into a fist the day she screamed at her mother.
There — her lips forming words she never apologized for.
And there — her eyes… cold, distant… on that day.

— “This isn’t… real…” she whispered.

— “It’s the most real thing you have,” the butcher replied calmly. “Your choices.”

He touched the glass.

And it… rippled.

Like water.

— “Every piece is a moment when you could have chosen differently,” he continued. “But you didn’t.”

She began to shake.

— “Why are you showing me this?..”

He smiled for the first time.

But there was no warmth in it.

— “Because you came for it.”

— “I did NOT come for this!”

— “Didn’t you?” he tilted his head. “Last night… didn’t you think about it? About how things could have been different? That conversation… that call you never made?”

She froze.

The world seemed to collapse inward.

— “How do you know that…?”

— “We know everything people are afraid to face,” he said softly.

At that moment, the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

And when they came back on…

He was no longer behind the counter.

She was.

Standing there.

Same clothes. Same eyes.

But the expression…

Empty.

— “What’s happening…” she whispered, feeling her legs weaken.

— “Now you understand the price,” the butcher’s voice said… but from behind her.

She turned sharply.

He stood by the door.

Closed.

— “You can leave,” he said calmly. “Right now.”

She took a step.

Then stopped.

Because she heard…

Her own voice.

— “Wait…”

She turned back.

Her double behind the counter stared straight at her.

— “If you leave… nothing changes.”

Silence.

Heavy. Alive.

— “And if I stay?..” she asked, barely audible.

The butcher leaned slightly forward.

— “Then you can… choose again.”

Her heart stopped for a second.

— “But…” he added.

And his face… shifted.

Twisted. Wrong.

— “…you’ll have to give something in return.”

She slowly looked at the display.

At the pieces.

At the memories.

At herself.

— “What do I have to give?..” she whispered.

The butcher didn’t answer right away.

He simply opened the glass.

And gestured inside.

— “Pick one.”

Her hand trembled.

She understood.

The moment she touched it…

There would be no going back.

And then the lights went out.

Completely.

In the absolute darkness, she heard only one thing:

— “The choice has been made…”

…and fingers closed tightly around her wrist.