That night, in the dimly lit basement of their home, Marla and her daughter Maurice, who was currently inhabiting Crystal’s body, engaged in a secretive conversation. They spoke in hushed tones, mindful of the need to avoid being overheard.
"Mom," Maurice began, her voice barely above a whisper, "we need to ensure that no one suspects a thing. We must retrieve my former burnt body from the secluded house and make it appear as if I died in the fire."
Marla nodded in agreement, her expression grave as she processed Maurice's words. "You're right, dear," she replied quietly. "We can't afford any mistakes. If the truth were to come out, it would spell disaster for us."
Maurice's eyes glittered with determination as she pressed on. "We must act swiftly," she urged, her voice tinged with urge
