Elena had always been obsessed with beauty. She spent hours in front of the mirror, examining every imperfection, the faintest wrinkle, the tiniest blemish, the barely-there pores. No cream was too expensive, no treatment too extreme. But time was cruel. No matter how many serums she slathered on, no matter how many laser treatments she endured, the signs of aging crept forward like a shadow she couldn't outrun.
And she hated it.
Then she heard about The Renewal Clinic.
There were no advertisements, no website, only whispers in exclusive salons and hushed conversations at high-end spas. "They make you perfect," someone had told her. "It's like… being reborn."
Elena had laughed it off at first. But after another morning of picking apart her reflection, her fingertips tracing the fine lines forming around her eyes, she gave in.
She called the number, and a woman with a calm, robotic voice answered.
"Elena Lancaster," the woman said before she could even introduce herself. "You have been chosen for Renewal. Your appointment is tonight. Do not be late."
Then the line went dead.
Elena stared at her phone, unease prickling down her spine.
But she still went.
The Renewal Clinic was hidden beneath an upscale spa. Elena was led through a back door, down an impossibly clean white corridor, and into a waiting room so pristine it didn't feel real.
No magazines. No clutter. Just a single, leather chair in front of a mirror that reflected her image too crisply, as if she were already part of something unnatural.
A door slid open without a sound, and a man in a stark white coat stepped in. Dr. Aldric. His features were almost sculpted—cheekbones sharp, his skin too smooth, too perfect.
"You are very lucky, Miss Lancaster," he said, his voice smooth, practiced. "Not everyone is chosen."
Elena's lips parted, questions on the tip of her tongue, but the way he stared at her face, the way his eyes seemed to measure her, sent a shiver through her.
"Let's begin," he said.
The operating room was cold and smelled of antiseptic and something else, something metallic. Elena lay on a sleek, silver table, her heart pounding as a mask was placed over her face.
"This will be painless," Dr. Aldric assured her.
Darkness swallowed her before she could protest.
She awoke feeling… tight.
Her skin burned, stretched too thin over her bones. Every nerve tingled, raw and electric.
"Elena," Dr. Aldric's voice was soothing. "Welcome back."
She sat up, her body sluggish, heavy. A mirror was placed in front of her.
And she gasped.
Her reflection was flawless. Her skin was porcelain, smooth as glass. She looked airbrushed in real life, every trace of imperfection erased.
Tears welled in her eyes. She was perfect.
Dr. Aldric handed her a small, velvet box. "A gift," he said.
Elena's fingers trembled as she opened it. Inside was something soft, pale, folded neatly.
At first, she didn't understand.
Then she realized.
It was her skin.
Her old skin, removed in a single, delicate sheet, like a discarded mask.
Elena screamed.
Dr. Aldric only smiled.
"You no longer need it," he said. "But if you ever change your mind… we can always put it back."
At first, Elena ignored the unease curling in her stomach. She was gorgeous, and that was all that mattered.
But soon, things went wrong.
Her skin never bruised or bled, but she felt pain beneath it.
She couldn't feel warmth or cold.
When she showered, water beaded and rolled off her skin, as if she were covered in plastic.
Then she cut herself by accident.
Or, at least, she thought she did. The knife sliced through her palm, but no blood came out. No wound formed. Nothing.
The cut remained, frozen in time, never healing, never changing.
Her skin wasn't alive.
And then… it started shrinking.
One night, Elena woke up gasping, her body burning from the inside out.
Her skin felt too tight, like it was trying to crush her. Her veins pulsed beneath the surface, screaming for release.
Desperate, she rushed back to the clinic, pounding on the hidden door until her knuckles split, except they didn't.
The door slid open, and Dr. Aldric stood there, smiling.
"I was expecting you," he said.
Inside, the clinic felt colder. Emptier.
She saw the other patients then. The silent women sitting perfectly still in the waiting room, their faces frozen in unmoving, flawless masks.
One woman reached for her, but her fingers cracked and crumbled into dust.
Elena stumbled back, horrified.
"What… what's happening to them?"
Dr. Aldric's smile never wavered. "They, like you, wished to remain beautiful forever. They simply stayed too long in their new skin."
Elena's breath came in shallow gasps. "Make it stop. I want my old skin back!"
Dr. Aldric tilted his head. "Oh, Elena… I told you. If you ever change your mind, we can always put it back."
The blood drained from her face.
The box.
Her old skin—she had thrown it away.
There was nothing left to go back to.
Dr. Aldric's gaze softened, almost pitying. "There is another way," he said. "A full-body transplant."
Elena's stomach twisted. "A… what?"
Dr. Aldric gestured toward the hallway. Behind him, a row of bodies lay on silver tables—fresh, unblemished skins waiting to be worn.
"You must simply choose a new one."
Elena's hands trembled. "Where do they come from?"
Dr. Aldric didn't answer.
But in the dim light, she could see a tear slipping down one of the faces. The body wasn't dead.
It was waiting.
Trapped.
Just like she would be if she stayed here.
Elena didn't run.
She couldn't.
Her skin was already hardening, her breath slowing.
She stepped forward, staring at the empty bodies.
Dr. Aldric placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You are very lucky, Miss Lancaster," he murmured.
And then he led her to the table.
Days later, a new woman emerged from the clinic.
She was radiant. Beyond perfect. Not a single flaw marred her skin. Her complexion was as smooth as porcelain, her lips full and sculpted, her hair thick and shimmering. Every step she took was graceful, effortless—like a living work of art.
She walked out of the clinic with confidence, her flawless face catching the light just right, her movements controlled and refined. A masterpiece of beauty.
Her name? Elena Lancaster.
Or at least, that was what she would tell people.
The real Elena?
She was gone.
Somewhere deep within the clinic, in a sterile, dimly lit backroom, a fresh body lay on an operating table. A woman's figure, untouched, preserved.
She had Elena's eyes, Elena's mouth, Elena's bones.
But no one would ever call her Elena again.
She was now just a spare.
Waiting.
The real Elena's mind thrashed inside her unresponsive body.
She couldn't scream.
She couldn't move.
Her body was paralyzed, her eyes frozen open, locked in a blank, unblinking stare. Her perfect skin was still flawless, but it was no longer hers.
She had been discarded.
A leftover.
A shell.
The clinic was silent, save for the soft hum of machinery and the occasional whisper of footsteps gliding across the pristine white floors.
The room was filled with others like her. Lined up on tables, their bodies motionless but very much alive, their chests rising and falling in slow, mechanical breaths.
Their souls?
Trapped.
Dr. Aldric entered, his polished shoes clicking against the floor as he moved between the still forms. He reached for a clipboard, glancing over the inventory list.
"Elena Lancaster. Status: Stored."
He ran a gloved hand over her frozen cheek, tilting her chin slightly.
"Still perfect," he murmured. "We'll keep you for now."
A breath of something close to relief stirred inside Elena's trapped mind.
For now.
That meant she was safe… right?
Dr. Aldric turned away, unfazed, and moved to the next body.
The woman beside Elena had once been someone too. Someone with a name, a life, dreams.
Now, she was nothing but an unclaimed vessel.
Her label read: Available.
Elena's horror deepened.
Available for what?
Outside, the clinic's waiting room was as pristine as ever. A woman sat with her hands folded in her lap, beautiful but unsatisfied.
She was too aware of her imperfections, the fine lines creeping near her eyes, the slight asymmetry in her lips, the way her hands trembled with age.
She had heard the whispers.
She had followed the rumors.
Now she was here.
The receptionist smiled. "You're very lucky," she said in that same calm, robotic voice. "Not everyone is chosen."
The woman exhaled sharply, tension melting from her shoulders.
She was chosen.
She was worthy.
And soon, she would be perfect.
*
Back in the storage room, Elena screamed inside her own mind.
But no sound escaped her lips.
Her body remained still, her eyes unseeing.
Time passed slowly, marked only by the occasional flickering of the overhead lights.
Then-
Footsteps.
Dr. Aldric returned, flipping through his clipboard. He paused beside Elena's table.
A slow smile stretched across his lips.
"Ah," he murmured, tapping the paper. "You've been selected."
Elena's frozen blood turned to ice.
She wanted to fight, to run, but her body refused to obey.
She was helpless as masked attendants began rolling her table down the long, sterile hallway toward the Operating Room.
This was it.
She wasn't Elena anymore.
She was just a body.
And soon, she would belong to someone else.
Days later, another flawless woman walked out of the clinic.
Her name? Madeline Monroe.
But her eyes…
Her eyes were Elena's.
And somewhere, deep inside, the real Elena was still screaming.