Dear Brother, You Never Protected Me

My brother Gael was a talented bone sculptor.

When I was in danger, I called him for help.

He thought I was deceiving him and told me to die.

The reason why I was found by the murderer was because of the bones he had sculpted.

Three days later, an unrecognizable corpse appeared in the suburbs.

Little did he know, that corpse waiting for him to sculpt was me.

After he sculpted my appearance, he went mad.

***

On the third day after being dumped, my body was discovered by a fisherman. He was so scared that his face turned pale and he ran to the police station to report it.

When the police arrived at the scene, even though they were accustomed to various cases, they were still shocked seeing me. Some of them who could not withstand the shock even vomited.

"The deceased was a female aged between 20 and 25 years old, and she had been dead for no more than 48 hours. Her face was severely decomposed, her left hand was missing, and her right hand had burn marks.

"She had multiple injuries on her body, including a severe blow to her heart on the left side of her chest. It is suspected that the multiple blows led to cardiac arrest and death. She was in unimaginable pain before her death.

"The lower body was torn apart, and the wound should not be more than 24 hours old, which means..."

The coroner didn't continue, but everyone present understood what he meant and was shocked.

"The deceased had a camellia tattoo on her body!"

The police officers glared angrily.

"Camellias! It has been over a decade. The Disability Admirers Organization is resurfacing again. This is clearly a provocation towards us. What should we do now?"

"The DNA comparison was unsuccessful. Her fingerprints and palm prints have been corroded by sulfuric acid, leaving no clear identity features. And they don't match with any reported missing persons."

The detective captain took out his phone and said, "Get Gael here."

When I heard this, I jumped up with joy. He would definitely recognize me at once.

Because he was my brother, I had features that were very familiar to him. He was also the most exceptional bone sculptor. By observing and touching the skull of the deceased, he could create a replica using materials, and then restore the face of the deceased.

As everyone waited in silence, I looked into the distance expectantly, eagerly waiting.

Finally, my brother Gael arrived.

After nodding to the captain, he put on white gloves and approached my corpse with a stern expression.

After carefully examining the condition of the face, he frowned and said, "I can't sculpt the bones. This person's facial region is highly decomposed, and the corrosive substances are still actively affecting it. There is a possibility of corrosion reaching the skull.

"I can only sculpt the bones if the skull remains intact. I suggest that the coroner clean the facial flesh and corrosive substances first."

For documentation purposes and out of respect for the deceased, facial reconstruction is generally not directly performed on the skull.

Instead, the bone sculptor uses plaster to recreate the appearance of the deceased based on the touch and observation of the skull's shape.

The captain ordered the body to be taken back to the police station, but Gael firmly stared at my body and raised his hand to stop the police from taking action.

He approached slowly, his gloved hands lingering over the camellia tattoo.

I frowned and held my breath in anticipation.

Was he going to find out?

But at that moment, his phone rang. Gael glanced at the caller ID, and his expression softened. His voice took on an unintentionally gentle tone.

There was no need to guess, it must have been Yara Lewis.

After he hung up the phone, the captain asked, "You were staring at the body intently. Did you find anything?"

"No."

He had put his suspicions behind him and was only thinking about rushing back to celebrate with Yara.

I gazed at him in a daze, a wave of sadness washing over me.

He had forgotten.

He had said more than once, "Rose, the five connected red moles on your arm are so unique. No matter how you change, I will always recognize you instantly."

The red moles were right beside the white camellia tattoo, such a prominent contrast of colors, yet he didn't remember.

My hopes were dashed, and it felt as if the world had lost its last hint of color.

Suddenly, a ringtone broke me out of my desolation.