Fun fact: This was going on quotev, but it didn't work out because whenever I went to edit the chapter, my book would act as if it was possessed by a demon itself and refresh the story. Annoyingly, too. And whenever I tried to save it before it happened, it happened anyway. I'm so insulted. And when I tried to copy and paste it back here, it just didn't work. I call hacks!
~~~
It was an Itch. Something that resonated deep inside her since she was roughly six years old. Gina Artisan, a young and upcoming ballerina, cut her palm open in the middle of the dance studio. It was all silent.
There was a pentagram of sorts drawn on the ground with chalk. God, now she felt like a Satanist.
She wasn't, I swear! No matter if it looks bleak. She wasn't a catholic, Christian, or anything like that, but she believed that whatever religion you followed was where you'd end up. Of course, it doesn't matter if you consider yourself a Satanist or not when you draw a summoning circle on the ground and light candles all around it.
She was standing the center of the evil circle of doom, and momentarily she felt strange. Like something, the Itch, had left. She let out a huff as she realized that this was weird and pointless.
The blood that had spilled on the shiny wooden floors was a bit weird, she knew. A sacrifice and everything? God, how insane could you get? She sighed and ran her bloodied hand through her hair without thinking. Wincing, when she felt the wetness in her ragged bun, she turned to the mirrors that lined every wall.
Do you see me?
It was the Itch's voice. A voice that her entire family told her wasn't really anything. She insisted that it was evil and trying to harm her, but nobody believed her. Not even when it told her to jump off the roof of her treehouse.
It once even said something like, Itch? Is it because I don't go away until you fulfill what I ask you to do? I like it.
Oh, you can't? That's a pity.
"Shut up..." she mumbled, tired.
Oh, I know! LOOK. LOOK. LOOK. LOOK. LOOK. LOOK. LOOK. LOOK. L O O K. l O o K.
She stared at every mirror, and all she could see was a young girl with a messy bun, lively brown eyes turned droopy, once athletic body turned unreasonably skinny with what she had to assume was anorexia that she had attained over the ridiculously unappetizing year.
"Shut up," she said, a little louder. "Please, oh, please... Shut up!"
LOOK. LOOK. LOOK. LOOK. LOOK AT MEEEEE. LOOK WHAT YOU BROUghT. UPON ALL THESE MORTALS. LOOK. LOOK. L O O K. LOOK.
"Shut up!" she cried, slamming the side of her good fist into the nearest mirror. She let out a cry as it shattered all around her.
Then she saw it.
Well, she didn't see it, itself, and it would be weird if she did. But she saw herself, her corpse, convulsing as something pushed into it's mouth. Then the body got up. How? How? That wasn't her. Who?
"Oh, boy," the corpse mumbled. No, that wasn't her voice, it was the Itch's. "It's been a long time since I've been in one of these bad boys." It stood with a clumsy kind of shuffle. It wasn't at all graceful like what she'd practiced to be her whole life. "Whoa! Beans, you're tall, you know that?"
"What... What are you?!" she screeched.
"I think you called me the Itch. You know, I gotta say, I'm pretty chuffed you didn't assign me a gender. Aren't those things so stupid? I don't like they, either, but it is pretty good," it rambled. "Oh, I'm sorry. You're probably pretty shocked, right?"
Reluctantly, Gina nodded her head.
"Well, sweetmeat! You're dead!" it giggled, giving enthusiastic jazz hands.
"What?!" Gina cried out, even more shocked by this revelation. "Why?! Who?!"
She watched as the demonic thing went to a janitor's closet within the sight of the studio. She stared as she scrubbed the chalk off the ground, put out the candles, and put it all away.
"Sweetmeat, let me know if I'm wrong; You're name is Gina Rain Artisan, right?" it asked. When it received no response, it smirked. "I am the Itch, I already knew. Now, by your silence, I'll take it I'm right! Welp, no matter... I'm headin' out of here. Out of state. Bye for now, love!"
"What?! No, no! Please, give it back! Give my body back!" Gina screamed.
"Sorry, girly, but you're the one who decided to listen. You shoulda sat unsatisfied. Besides, you're the last Artisan left. Someone's gotta carry all'a this," it gestured to itself. With that, it walked away and out of the room. When Gina went to follow, she felt herself confined to the walls of the studio.
"Oh my God..." she whispered. "That's a demon."
