"Watashi, kirei? Am I pretty?"
Primed by countless yōkai horror stories from drunken Tokyo sararimen, Eddie panicked. He shoved the Kuchisake-onna. She tumbled from the shadowed platform. Scissors clattered on vibrating tracks.
A hurtling bullet train obliterated the masked creature as she stared at him.
Eddie shuddered in relief.
Days later, Eddie thought he had cancer. But it was breasts, growing. He cowered in the corporate apartment, frightened.
His hair lengthened.
His body grew soft. Willowy. Feminine.
His scissors gleamed; her crimson smile stretched ear-to-ear.
She’d merely delayed the yōkai’s curse.
Mouth dripping blood, Eddie asked the mirror, “Watashi, kirei?”
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