Terminal Paradise Seamstress
In the final stages of a terminal illness, my family abandoned me and threw me into a horror game.
[Another one here to die. I bet she won't last the first night.]
[Just listen to that cough. I'm scared she'll die right inside my phone.]
On the first night, the head nurse made her rounds, prepared to execute any player whose heartbeat was abnormal. My heartbeat remained steady only because my body was too weak to fluctuate—and I even helped her sew up the tear in her uniform.
"Miss, your clothes are torn. You'll get cold. If I mend it for you, you won't be cold anymore."
On the second night, the surgeon swung his scalpel, determined to cut away anything imperfect.
I handed him a wrist