Either death makes you hysterical or the interior of this castle—hospital is meant to mimic the corridors of a stadium. Why does it have to be AccorHotels Arena? Why are the walls the same gunmetal grey and have the same tiles on the ground? Why must I feel like I'm about to die again? I haven't been dead for that long. Haven't I endured enough torture by now?

    "Are you okay?" Erela asks, shooting me a concerned look. "You look kinda queasy, Parisa. Are you sick?"

    "N-no," I quietly stutter. I hang my head in shame and sigh. "I died here. Not exactly here, but it looks like we're walking thr—"

    "AccorHotels Arena. Yeah, I know. I promise you're not seeing things."

    "I-I'm not? I'm not hallucinating this at all?"

    "No!" she laughs. Erela wraps an arm around my shoulders and shakes her head. "It's perfectly normal for you to see that. When someone new enters the hospital, it mimics the scene of their death. That's why you see AccorHotels Arena and not, say, the interior of an actual Gothic castle."

    "That's not morbid at all!" I grumble.

    "You have to understand it's part of the coping mechanism, Parisa! The castle is enchanted to tailor each patient's needs. Everyone who is admitted didn't die naturally. Their souls need therapy to heal and properly be at ease before they reach their final destination."

    "Heaven or Hell? They really exist? They're not some fabricated bullshit to get people into religion?" I wonder.

    Erela chuckles, flashes a small smile, and nods. I never noticed she was leading me to a holding room. I was wrapped up in the AccorHotels illusion that I forgot this is supposed to be a hospital—more likely, a mental institute. But this doesn't appear like a typical hospital waiting room.

    Lavender paints the walls, giving the room a soothing and accuillant vibe. Chairs with white cushions and matching sofas are scattered, and a massive flat screen hangs from the northern wall. Mortal news is on, and it's about the Paris attack—my concert.

    "Don't pay attention to that, Parisa," Erela orders, shooing me away from the flashing images of my death scene and towards the reception desk. "That's not important. Let's get you checked in so you can see your room, then you can meet Viktor."

    Erela doesn't give me time to speak, as there's nobody in line. The woman behind the counter stymies me. She speaks to Erela in some language I can't understand—I'm certain it's Hebrew—yet resembles someone near and dear to my heart. If she had blue eyes instead of hazel, she'd look exactly like Giovanna. Now I'm sure I'm going crazy.

    Moments later, the receptionist slides over a pair of fairy tale pink keys. Coincidence they're my favorite color, or they just know?

    "Welcome to the Hospital for Souls," she warmly says, flashing us a smile as I pocket the keys in my dress. "When I heard you were arriving, I c—"

    "She hardcore fangirled," Erela interjects. "Marya lost it once your name slipped Viktor's lips. Everyone lost it. We're all huge fans, Parisa. We were devastated to see your life cut so short, but we were also really excited you'd be coming here."

    "Which reminds me...can I get a picture with you?" Marya asks with a face I can't refuse.

    "Um...y-yeah. Sure," I allow. "But wh—"

    Marya zooms out of her seat and stands before me in the blink of an eye. I think she apparated, but I'm not sure if that's the technical term. An iPhone appears in her hand and she ushers me into position. On the count of three, she snaps a selfie of us.

    Before I can ask Marya about social media in the Afterlife, Erela shoos her away. She must be a massive fan if Erela is this adamant about separating us. Girl is serving looks by glaring Marya back into her place.

    "I didn't want to keep you waiting," she explains once we mobilize. "Marya would quiz you for hours on end about your mortal life if she had it her way. Of everyone who works here, she's your biggest fan."

    "She also looks like my manager," I comment. "It's freaky. Her resemblance to Giovanna so uncanny, I thought it actually was her until I saw her eyes. Gi has blue eyes and Marya has hazel ones."

    Erela doesn't comment on this observation. She just carries on, making a left on the next fork down the corridor as if it was nothing. Maybe I am growing hysterical and she's trying to be nice by dropping the topic. The hospital is an enchanted castle; seeing things could be a side effect.

    Or Marya actually is Giovanna's doppelganger, I ponder. Erela knows how hard it is for you to think about your mortal life. You felt something when you saw the news. You may be dead, but what happened is real. It's haunting you here too. How else can you explain the effect "Beautiful Mess" had on you back there?

    We continue walking a few hundred meters and stop before a fairy tale pink door. A heart-shaped wreath adorned with pink carnations and orchids hang from the door. In its center is a golden name plate, and my name is spelled out in tiny emeralds, opals, and rubies.

    Every personalized detail stings. They're symbolic to my identity on Earth. I don't know if I can handle walking in and out of this door! Its colors and the flowers are one thing, but those gems are the crème de la crème of triggers.

    Kristian. He's all they remind me of from what I left behind. I feel like an idiot for what I've done to him. It's not my fault; I didn't ask to die that night. I just can't help feeling like I abandoned him. He deserves so much better than me!

    My fans, too. They stan me, and I let them down. My fans and everyone who voted for me in Eurovision believed in me. I disappointed them. I disappointed anyone who bought tickets and anyone who cares. They trusted my message and my platform, and I FAILED THEM!

    Whenever I walk through that door, I don't doubt for a moment those thoughts will run through my mind. Anyone would think they're nice decorations, but every aspect of that door is a stab in the heart.

    "Don't just stand there!" Erela exclaims, bringing me back to reality. "C'mon, Parisa. Go see your room."

    I grip the golden knob and take a deep breath. I turn it clockwise, but it doesn't budge.

    "Try the keys Marya gave you," she suggests.

    I forgot I have keys. How stupid of me to be that forgetful! I reach for one key and it glistens—no, sparkles in my palm. I admire it for a few seconds, noticing the glitter effect from the lighting, then place it in the keyhole. Perfect. A single clockwise turn, and it's open sesame.

    My eyes widen, nearly bugging out of their sockets during the big reveal. I don't know what to say. I honestly have no words!

    "I'll let you settle in," Erela comments, pushing me through the doorway into the room. "You've had a long journey. You deserve to chill for a bit. I'll check on you later, kay?"

    She closes the door, leaving me to ogle at my room. I have nothing against how it's set up, but this is an exact replica of my room in America. The pink and white walls, the posters, bed, shelves...it's all there! Everything is placed in the exact location of my actual room too.

    "Just relax," I tell myself. "Maybe this familiarity is part of the healing process. You have to admit it's nice to have something familiar that isn't triggering. It's not like there a—"

    I run towards my bed and sit to look at the wall opposite it. Hanging on it are five of my biggest accomplishments: Italian and American mutli-platinum certifications for both albums, and an Italian diamond one for "Un'ultima volta." On a shelf propped against that wall sits my Eurovision trophy, Italian MTV Awards, Billboard Awards, and GRAMMYs. I can't deal with these accolades staring me straight in the face.

    It's everything I've left behind—my family, my fans, my team, Kristian. Two years of fulfilling my dreams to make people happy, and this is how it ends. My life already flashed before me when I made the transition; I don't need more reminders of those years gone to waste.

    I groan and fall back into the mattress, frustrated by myself. I'd angrily kick my shoes off if I were wearing some. I'm just so infuriated and hurt about my death, I scream at the top of my lungs and shout profanities in Italian and Persian. IT'S SO NOT FAIR!

    "Are you okay? Am I interrupting something?" questions a voice that doesn't sound like Erela or Marya. The voice isn't even female. "I was passing by and I saw your key in the lock. I just wanted to return it so nobody can steal it."

    His accent, Eastern European, perks my attention. I don't want to say he has a certain accent, but he sounds Bulgarian to me. Out of curiosity, I sit up to face the intruder.

    If I were alive, my heart would drop and my color would drain. There's absolutely no way I'm thinking—seeing correctly. He can't look like Kristian. I REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT! I want this to be another illusion so terribly, but it's not. This man is an exact replica of my Kristian. His hair, his eyes, his height, the little gap in his teeth...the only difference is he's not wearing my ring.

    The Kristian look-alike approaches me and suddenly, I'm insecure about everything. Does my breath smell okay? Is my hair decent? Do I have pimples or blemishes on my face I should cover up? What if he doesn't like this dress?!?!!

    He holds out a hand and smiles. My (dead) heart melts. I gaze into his eyes and blush. Dammit, why does he have to look exactly like Kristian? He even has the same glasses!

    "Sorry," he apologizes, turning cherry red with embarrassment. "I am Viktor and I run this hospital. It is nice to finally meet you, Parisa. Всеки е прав. ти си красива." (Everyone's right. You're gorgeous.)

    "Y-yeah," I stammer as I shake his hand, still captivated by his uncanny resemblance to my boyfriend and the fact that he just spoke Bulgarian. "Nice to meet you too, Viktor."

A/N:

I know this is a super short chapter (for me, at least), but I didn't want to drag it out. Besides, the next chapter will be lengthy and SPOILER: it's Parisa's funeral. Brace yourselves for a super sad Kristian, everyone.

Also, massive THANK YOU for getting this story to 1,000 reads!! This is the fastest any of my stories have grown and I can't thank you enough. Y'all are the real VMPs. If you love this story, share it with your friends, vote, and leave some feedback if ya fancy.

Love you guys loads! xx