Checked the intake slot at the new hive because the little red flag was raised. A municipal envelope had been folded until it fit through the grate. Form numbers were printed across the front in very small, very bored type. Every page inside concerned relocation, affiliation, and recovery compliance. Hive assignment: Unit 27-C, Inventory Terrace, East Foundry Ward. However, the name field had been corrected twice. Someone wrote ANIKAH CIKUYO first. Green ink struck that out. Household asset name: BUCKET CUMJAR. Felt designation: utility, provisional, non-voting, non-heir, nonessential. No box was provided for member. Had there been one, I believe it would have remained empty. My hand started shaking when I read that. I placed the papers on the ablution trap counter and waited for the shaking to finish. Hemolime collected beneath my left audio duct while I waited. Head wounds should not respond to paperwork. Regardless, the seam began to weep again. Officially, I am still listed as rust. Every record agrees about that. Good records are supposed to agree. Even poor records usually attempt it. The mirror did not agree. Very slowly, the color reached my jaw. Lime is difficult to misread on white ceramic. Miss Megido must have known. That thought arrived, opened its mouth, and then became harmless. Whatever she left in my pan continues to close doors after I touch them. Headache. Blank. Breath. Smile. Scratch would call that mercy, I think. He would be wrong, probably. Every time I approach the sentence, the seam tightens. The sentence is simple. Even damaged things can preserve simple shapes. My coat is Felt green, but it hangs on me like borrowed skin. Ledger ink says I was assigned, not accepted. Something under the stitches says that distinction matters. Something else tells me not to finish writing why. #cwBodyHorror #cwBlood #cwLobotomy #medicalHorror #identityHorror #unreliableNarrator #blood #bodyhorror #horror