Wings of Decomposition: The Human Cocoon

It was not a disease.
It was not an invasion.

It was a harvest.

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It started with a smell.
Something between damp rust and forgotten flesh.
Something he tried to ignore.

But it was already inside him.
Growing. Pulsing. Feeding.

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The stain on his chest was not a tumor.
It was a promise.

Every dark thought.
Every guilt buried alive.
Every fear he refused to face.

For years, it fed.
Silently. Patiently.

Until the thing inside him became too large to remain hidden.

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This is not a story about a monster tha...