Something was wrong, terribly wrong, in fact, but Katrina couldn’t figure out what it was. She had such a difficult time concentrating on even the simplest of details these days. Fortunately she had the voice to take care of things for her until she got better. Still, there was always that part of her that was afraid of the voice. She’d been unable to find any reasons not to trust the voice though, and so she generally ignored those wary thoughts.

Katrina got herself slowly out of bed, concentrating heavily on each movement. It was a terrible chore to move around and she often had to remain still for minutes at a time to rest her mind from the strain. The only reason she was getting up was so that she could feed the plants.

Don’t do it, the cautious part of her warned. Let them wither and die.

Katrina brushed the thought aside and picked up the pitcher and began pouring the curdled milk onto the first plant. It was such a beautiful plant and the scent of it filled her home. She couldn’t even smell the curdled milk anymore. She repeated the task on the other plants she’d gathered up for the voice. How many did she have now? Counting them was too much to ask of her and so she didn’t bother. Katrina couldn’t quite remember what the voice had done for her in return for her gathering them, but she knew it had always done something. That was the arrangement, wasn’t it? Her mind fogged over and she stood motionless for some time. Eventually she came back to herself and she put the pitcher back down on the shelf now that she’d fed them all.

Where am I getting the milk? She wondered as a brief moment of clarity opened up in her mind.

She stared down to the pitcher. She didn’t remember going to the store recently, and it had been, what, a couple weeks since she’d taken ill? The pitcher was practically empty now that she’d fed all of the plants, and it seemed to her that the pitcher was usually empty after she finishes feeding them. Yet she had no memory of ever refilling the pitcher.

YOU MUST BE HUNGRY, the voice cut into her train of thought.

Katrina looked around briefly as though expecting to see the source of the voice.

She’d seen it before, hadn’t she? Or maybe that was a dream. She couldn’t remember.

YOU SHOULD EAT SOMETHING, the voice said.

Katrina wandered over to her kitchen and began looking through her cupboards and pantry. There wasn’t really anything there that interested her. She just wanted to sleep, or at least to sit or lie down and do nothing for a while. She turned and began to make her way back to her bedroom.

YOU COULD EAT ONE OF THE FLOWERS, the voice suggested.

Katrina hesitated. That was something new, wasn’t it? The voice had always wanted her to take care of the flowers.

THEY’RE GROWN NOW AND THERE ARE SO MANY THAT ONE FLOWER WOULD NOT BE MISSED.

Katrina had stopped beside one of the plants, or perhaps she had just walked over to it without noticing. She wasn’t sure and she hardly had the mental space to consider it.

The flowers were lovely, wide and fragrant. If they tasted anything like how they smelled then it would be delicious indeed. She reached for the flower but her hands lacked coordination. It felt as though she was watching herself move, rather than directly controlling herself. Her hand bobbed and wavered as she tried again to grab the plant again and again.

I COULD HELP YOU, the voice offered.

“Would you?” Katrina asked, relieved even as that small part of her still resisted. “But I’m so tired, I don’t think I can do anything for you.”

THERE IS, the voice corrected her. IN ORDER FOR ME TO HELP YOU, the voice went on, I WILL NEED TO TAKE CONTROL OF YOUR MOVEMENTS. THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS I COULD ACCOMPLISH IF I COULD CONTINUE TO CONTROL YOUR MOVEMENTS.

Katrina tried to think about this offer. She was hungry, now that she thought about it, and the flower seemed like such a wonderful thing to eat. It was so difficult to get anything done these days, and the idea of just letting go and having the voice take care of moving her about was akin to a tired child being offered their favorite blanket.

She was about to say yes when the feeble, rebellious part of her mind stirred and fought to be acknowledged.

Don’t do it, it seemed to cry out in her mind. The voice can’t be trusted.

But why not? She could never seem to come up with any reason not to trust the voice. Sure it was a strange thing, to have this voice that would offer to help her in exchange for her doing it a favor in return, but all it had ever asked of her was to take care of these wonderful flowers. How bad could that be? It had mentioned before that there were things only she could do, that it was powerless to do on its own, and so what was it to her if she lent it the use of her body? It wasn’t as though she was doing anything particularly important at the moment. She wanted to do nothing, and letting the voice handle things was all the more tempting the longer she thought about it.

The resistance in her mind wavered.

She was so tired. So what if it turned out to be a bad idea? She just wanted to close her eyes.

“Okay,” Katrina said before she could second guess herself again.

She felt a strange sensation, beginning at the crown of her head and running down her body like water until it reached her arm. She watched as her hand moved dexterously, grasped the flower, and brought it up to her mouth. The same strange sensation moved now to her face and her moth opened to receive the flower. It was delicious, at first. She chewed and the sweet, earthy flavors swirled around. But then she began to notice a bitterness. It was slight at first but with every chew it grew in intensity.

She would have screwed up her face against it but she had no control over her facial muscles. She found herself longing for the voice to make her swallow, but still it just made her chew, grinding the flower into a finer and finer pulp. The bitterness was so overpowering that she should be gagging but, again, she had no control over her body now.

At last she swallowed after what had seemed to her an eternity but she felt no relief. To the contrary, her stomach immediately began to protest. What was more horrifying to her was the fact that she was now watching as she moved over to the next flower, plucked it, and began to eat it as well. There was no sweet flavor to the second flower, just more bitterness

That’s enough! She thought. I think they’re making me sick.

YOU NEED TO EAT, the voice told her.

She reached out and plucked a third flower.

I think I’d rather eat something else.

WE MADE AN AGREEMENT, the voice said. I CANNOT GO BACK ON IT.

I’m full, she thought, you can stop feeding me.

She was chewing her way through a fourth flower now. Her eyes were watering and her sinuses burned with the intensity of the flavor, not to mention the excruciating pain in her stomach. She wanted to throw up, to scrape the flower from her tongue, to just make it stop.

YOU ARE NOT FULL, the voice said. YOU WILL NOT BE FULL UNTIL YOU HAVE EATEN THEM ALL.

NO! Katrina protested. They’re awful! I think they might be making me sick.

WE HAVE MADE AN AGREEMENT, the voice said resolutely. I WILL FEED YOU, AND THEN I WILL TAKE FULL CONTROL OF YOUR BODY.

The shock and ordeal of eating the flowers was clearing her mind and she only now saw how terrible a deal she had made. What was more, she was beginning to remember all the little, and in some cases not so little, things that she had been forgetting. Foremost among them was the memory of that night, weeks ago when she still only had one of the plants to tend, when she’d seen the voice. Or at least seen its impression or shadow or whatever it had said. The terrible, shifting, and unnatural thing that had sat, crouched, predator like in her room. She had meant to throw out the plant, to get rid of it, but she had gone to bed instead and by morning she’d forgotten all about it. That was when she’d begun to forget things, to grow tired.

You did this, Katrina thought. You’ve been making me sick. Making me forget.

YOU WERE GOING TO BREAK OUR AGREEMENT, the voice said, SO I DID WHAT WAS NECESSARY.

I don’t want to do this anymore,Katrina pleaded. I want out of the deal.

She was stuffing her face with the flowers now. There was hardly any pause between bites for her to breathe. Her stomach felt like it was going to burst from the pain and her mouth was afire as the bitterness reached heights Katrina thought impossible. As her hand came away from her mouth she saw blood on her fingers.

What are you doing? You’re killing me!

I AM FEEDING YOU FLOWERS, the voice stated. AND YOU WILL NOT DIE, BUT YOU WILL BE REBORN AS MY NEW VESSEL. THE FLOWERS WILL AID IN THE TRANSITION.

It was only then that Katrina realized that they’d never set a duration for how long the voice would have control of her body.

What have I done?

Her vision was beginning to blur. She could feel, like tendrils, or perhaps roots, thin creeping lines beginning to wind their way through her, beginning at her stomach and reaching outward. As they spread, they grew thicker. At every moment she expected them to start bursting out of her skin and flowing outward yet they remained contained within her body.

Why are you doing this? Katrina demanded as she fought to remain aware of herself and her surroundings.

I TOLD YOU ONCE BEFORE, the voice said, THERE ARE THINGS I CANNOT DO WITHOUT YOU. I NEED YOUR BODY TO CROSS OVER.

The edges of her vision darkened and her thoughts were becoming muddled once again. There was only one last flower left and her hand was already reaching out for it.

What…do you want to…to cross over for?

I TOLD YOU, I AM THE HUNGER. I AM THE DESIRE. I COME BECAUSE I MUST FEED AND THIS EXISTENCE, LIKE THESE FLOWERS, IS RIPE FOR THE HARVEST.

She swallowed the final bite of the purple flower and knew no more.