My Mother's Crimson Data

Laughter pierced the tranquility of death, and I awoke.

I opened my eyes. I was floating near the ceiling.

Below, my body was still slumped over the desk, the bracelet on my wrist pulsing with that lonely red light.

The front door opened.

"Tonight's party was an absolute triumph," Isolde's voice drifted in, brimming with satisfaction. "The federation president was so impressed with the results of our Vance Method."

She kicked off her expensive heels and glided into the living room.

Her magnificent evening gown shimmered in the moonlight.

Now a spirit, I instinctively floated toward them.

I wanted to greet them as usual, to play the part of the good daughter. It was a conditioned reflex carved into my very soul.

"Mom!"

I opened my arms, wanting to hug the woman who had brought the night's chill in with her.

"My vitals are stable now. I'll be good, I promise. Please don't be angry anymore."

But my hands passed right through her, like smoke.

She shivered and rubbed her arms.

"Strange. Why did it suddenly get so cold?"

I froze, staring at my transparent hands. I couldn't feel a thing.

Of course. A ghost can’t hug the living.

Richard followed her in, loosening his tie.

"It's probably just the air conditioning." He paused. "We should check on Wren."

My heart leaped.

No, I don't have a heart anymore.

But something like hope flared in my chest.

Dad was going to check on me. He would find me.

I looked at my mother, a wave of grief washing over me.

Would she cry? Would she collapse, realizing her mistake?

"Check on what?" Isolde snorted dismissively, striding toward my room. "Let her reflect."

She pushed open the door.

The room was dark, save for the rhythmic flash of the bracelet's red light.

My body was motionless at the desk.

"Look at her," Isolde's voice was laced with sarcasm. "Eighteen years old and still resorting to these pathetic ploys for attention. Does she think pretending to be asleep will change the bracelet's color? This desperate need for validation is all because I was too soft on her."

No. It's not like that.

I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

My sister, Hailey, peeked from behind our mother, the blue halo on her wrist as gentle as an angel's blessing.

"Mom, look. Her bracelet is still flashing red," she said, her voice cloyingly sweet. "Wren's out of control even in her sleep."

"Just as I thought," Mom said, staring coldly at my corpse. "I've said it before. For a severe case like hers, isolation is the only way. Otherwise, her competitive edge could completely collapse, and she'll ruin her career."

She walked toward me, her shadow falling over my body.

"The flashing red light means she's still in a state of extreme resistance. She hasn't reflected at all."

I screamed in her face, waving my hands. "I'm dead! Can't you see? I'm dead! Come closer! Touch me!"

But she couldn't see, couldn't hear.

She only believed in that damned bracelet.

"Leave her," Isolde said, turning to leave. "Let her stay in there until she learns to control herself."

"But she hasn't eaten all night…" my father said, hesitating.

"Richard," my mother's tone sharpened. "Do you want to ruin her? Strict discipline is the only thing that can save her. Your weakness will only make her worse."

My father fell silent.

The door closed again.

The electronic lock clicked into place.