I Fed His Cursed Vase Acid

On my birthday, my husband presented me with a rare antique vasethe very piece he knew I coveted above all else.

The moment his back was turned, I slipped three wax-sealed sulfuric acid capsules inside.

I did it because I had died once before. And this time, I had returned.

In my past life, I cherished this vase. I touched it every single day, mesmerized by its smooth glaze and elegant form. But as the days passed, my health began to fail, leaving me bedridden and weak. Eventually, the doctors ran out of answers, and there was no cure left to try.

What I never expected was that after exactly forty-nine days, a woman with a perfectly sculpted face would step out of the porcelain vessel. She took over my body, slept with my husband in our marriage bed, and left my soul trapped in the cold, dark ceramic forever.

From the dark depths of the vase, I was forced to listen to them whispering in the dark.

"Don't worry, she's never getting out," Daphne whispered to him, her voice dripping with malice. "The vessel has bound her soul. I have her body now. Gradually, my own face, my own figure, my youth will settle into this flesh. Well just tell everyone I had some extensive plastic surgery. No one will ever suspect a thing."

"Letting you have her body is the only useful thing shes ever done," Christian replied, kissing her. "What was she going to do with a failing health anyway? She's better off dead. Now, the Mercer fortune is ours."

"Do you think she'd die if the vase broke?" Daphne mused.

"Why don't we find out?" Christian sneered.

Daphne tossed the vase onto the marble floor. And my soul shattered into a million pieces...

Reborn into this life, I couldn't help but smile.

That vase of yours is so good at containing things, isn't it? Let's see how much it can hold.

The rustling of the sycamore leaves outside the window woke me. I bolted upright from the massive, plush waterbed, my heart clenched by an invisible fist. The phantom pain was so excruciating I could barely breathe.

Cold sweat soaked through my silk nightgown.

It wasn't a dream.

I stared at my handspale, smooth, unwrinkled.

I was alive. I had returned. Three months before it all ended.

I was back in the bedroom where the nightmare began, on the very day Christian was supposed to bring that lethal vase into our home.

"Ma'am? Are you alright?" My personal assistant and bodyguard, Maeve, rushed in, holding my schedule for the day, her face pale with concern.

I tried to speak, but my throat was parched, unable to make a sound.

The memories flooded back. In my past life, I had kept that vase on my nightstand, lovingly wiping it down every morning. By the forty-ninth night, my soul was violently ripped from my chest and shoved into that icy clay. Daphne, the parasitic spirit bound to the vessel, stole my life, my husband, and my family fortune. And when she grew tired of looking at the vase, she shattered it, leaving me with nothingnot even a ghost of a physical form.

"Ma'am, you're so pale. Did you have a nightmare?" Maeve handed me a glass of warm water.

I took the glass, my fingers trembling against the cool glass. In the vanity mirror, I saw my reflection: young, vibrant, untouched by death. Bianca Mercer. The reigning matriarch of the Mercer Group. In this life, I wasn't a trapped ghost yet.

"Maeve," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Where is Christian?"

"He said he's on his way back. He mentioned he has a grand birthday surprise for you."

I clenched my fists. A grand surprise indeed.

Just then, footsteps echoed down the hallwaysteady, arrogant, carrying the weight of a man who believed he owned the world.

Christian was back.

He wore a tailored Italian suit, but instead of a gift box, he carefully carried an object draped in heavy red velvet. A small entourage of eager house staff followed closely behind him.

"Bianca, darling, how are you feeling?" Christian walked to the edge of the bed, his voice slick with a greasy warmth that made my stomach turn. "The maids said you screamed. Are you unwell?"

Unwell? I was scared to death by the two of you.

I dug my fingernails into my palms, using the physical pain to keep myself grounded. I couldn't drop my guard yet.

"I'm fine, sweetie," I said, forcing the obedient, gentle smile I had spent a lifetime perfecting. "Just a silly nightmare."

Christian paused, a flicker of cunning crossing his eyes before he smoothed it over with a practiced look of adoration.

"Silly girl," he cooed, placing the velvet-draped object on my nightstand. "That's why I found this for you. A protective treasure. Your birthday is tomorrow, and since you adore fine porcelain, I knew this would suit you better than any diamond."

He slowly pulled back the red velvet.

The morning light caught the object.

It was a rare, exquisite Qing Dynasty underglaze red and gold-traced oil-hammer vase.

It had an extremely narrow neck, a long slender throat, and a dangerously swollen, rounded belly. The deep red glaze looked ominous, and the gold leaf trace lines shimmered like veins under the bedroom chandelier.

"Oh, my God, it's gorgeous!" Daisy, a young maid known for her loose tongue, gasped from the doorway.

"It really is," Martha, the cook, chimed in with a sycophantic grin. "Sir is so devoted to you, ma'am! It looks like a museum piece. Having this in your room will surely bring good energy and ward off any illness!"

"Absolutely," Walter, the head housekeeper, applauded. "Sir went to great lengths to acquire this. Ma'am, you must touch it, feel the craftsmanship."

The servants kept prattling on, their faces filled with envy, completely unaware that this beautiful object was a beautifully packaged death warrant. Every blessing they uttered felt like another nail driven into my coffin.

I looked at Christian. He looked smug, clearly pleased by the servants' reactions. He was using their presence to pressure me. If I refused the gift now, I would look ungrateful and superstitious.

In my past life, I had fallen for this exact trap. I had polished it daily, believing his lies about its protective energy. But that swollen belly and narrow neck weren't meant to collect wealththey were meant to trap a soul. Exactly forty-nine days of "nourishment" was all it took.

"Do you like it?" Christian asked, watching my expression closely. "Underglaze red is the hardest to fire. Look at that depth."

I reached out, stopping just a millimeter before my fingers touched the cold glaze. I pressed my hand to my mouth, playing the part of a deeply moved, slightly superstitious wife. "Oh, honey, it's beautiful. But... I've heard that highly valuable antiques carry a certain heavy energy. It... it won't bring bad luck, will it?"

"Of course not," Christian said quickly. He grabbed my hand and pressed it firmly against the bulging ceramic belly. The icy touch sent a shiver down my spine. "I had it blessed by a spiritual master. He said that if you personally tend to it and keep it by your bedside for exactly forty-nine days, it will protect you. But remember, darlingyou must be the only one to handle it. No one else."

Forty-nine days. Personally tend to it.

Hearing the familiar script made my blood boil, but I kept my smile bright.

If you want me to feed it, Christian, I'll feed it well.

"If it's our guardian treasure," I said, eyes sparkling with fake adoration, "I will place it in the most important spot in our room."

The moment Christian left the room, I summoned Maeve.

"Ma'am, what are your orders?" she asked, her eyes sharp.

"I need you to find an esoteric priest. Get me a set of protective garmentssomething I can wear under my clothes, woven with protective wards and blessed scriptures."

Maeve paused, then nodded. "Right away, ma'am."

Half an hour later, Maeve returned with a set of custom-made, silk-blend undergarments, lined with protective symbols.

"This might get quite warm to wear constantly, ma'am," Maeve noted quietly.

"Being warm is better than being dead," I replied, smoothing down the fabric. "I want Daphne to realize that the body she intends to steal wont be so easily taken."

Now, it was time to feed the vase.

I whispered a few instructions to Maeve.

"Ma'am, are you sure?" Maeve hesitated. "This is an incredibly rare artifact..."

"Did I ask for your opinion, Maeve? Just do it."

Maeve bowed her head and slipped out. Soon, she returned with a bouquet of fresh, thorny red roses, and... a small bucket of highly concentrated, fermented organic manure.

I had her pour the liquefied manure straight into the neck of the pristine vase, then stuffed the long, thorn-heavy stems of the roses deep inside. The thorns scraped against the delicate interior walls with a faint, satisfying screech. The putrid stench of the manure immediately filled the room, making us gag.

"Perfect," I whispered, covering my nose. "Now its serving its true purpose."

The witching hour arrived. I hid in the darkest corner beneath the bed, holding my breath, staring up at the vase on the nightstand.

The red glaze began to glow with an eerie, unnatural light, casting long shadows across the ceiling. In my past life, I would have been asleep, my soul slowly drifting into the porcelain. But tonight, I wore the blessed garments. The red light swept over my hiding spot, but it hit an invisible shield and bounced back.

Then, the door creaked open. Christian slipped inside.

He didn't look at the bed. He looked straight at the figure emerging from the vaseDaphnes spirit, manifesting in a translucent, flickering form.

"Daphne, my love," he whispered, throwing himself into her arms. They immediately began their shameful tryst on my bed.

Beneath the bed, my fingernails dug deep into the carpet. But the real show was about to start.

Just as they reached the height of their passion, Daphne let out a blood-curdling shriek.

"Ahhh!!!"

Christian froze. "Whats wrong, sweetheart?"

"It hurts... it hurts so much!" Daphne gasped, her spiritual form violently shuddering. "Theres something sharp inside me! Its tearing me apart!"

Of course it did. The thorny roses stuffed inside the vase were physically and spiritually tearing at her essence from the inside out.

"Just bear with it..." Christian muttered, though he, too, was beginning to grimace.