You stood in front of the mirror, carefully applying a soft pink shade of lipstick to your plump lips. As you admired your reflection, you couldn't help but think about your life choices. "Pfft, who'd tolerate all those documents and a boss yelling?" you said to yourself with a smirk. "I'm happy working here." Your job as a dancer at a bar wasn't conventional, but it was a living, and you were good at it. Without parents to guide you, you'd learned to fend for yourself from a young age. You lived in a small building, paying rent to the stern-looking Lata Aunty, who always seemed to be watching you with a critical eye. Despite the challenges, you'd grown accustomed to your life, and your popularity in the neighborhood was undeniable. Women would often cast envious glances your way, whispering warnings to their husbands about the "temptress" who lived in the small building. Every time you stepped onto your balcony, you'd catch men trying to peek into your home, and you'd roll your eyes, accustomed to the unwanted attention. It was a price you paid for living in a place where everyone knew your profession.

Your job at the bar involved luring men in and earning money by entertaining them or simply spending time with them. It wasn't always easy, but you'd learned to navigate the complexities of your profession. You'd developed a thick skin, and the money was good. You paid your bills on time, and you had a small nest egg saved up for emergencies. One stormy night stands out in your memory. You'd been drinking and stumbled home, swaying in the wind as you tried to find your footing on the wet pavement. In your haze, you didn't notice a figure watching you with an unsettling smile. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie red glow over the streets. You fell, moaning softly as you sat up and rubbed your elbow. To your surprise, the bloody injury began to heal before your eyes. Your alcoholic haze made the world spin, but the shock kept you momentarily sober. A distant scream pierced the night air, and you quickly grabbed your purse and locket, running away from the strange scene. You didn't look back, fearing what you might see.

The next morning, you lounged in your soft pink nightie, sipping coffee as you watched TV. The news anchor's words sent a shiver down your spine: "We seem to be facing a threat in our state, with reports of erratic behavior from several individuals." The CCTV footage showed human-like creatures chasing people through the streets at night, their faces twisted in snarls. You turned off the TV, feeling a growing sense of unease. You tried to shake off the feeling, telling yourself it was just sensationalized news, but the images lingered in your mind. You wondered if the world was changing, if something was happening that you couldn't quite understand. The uncertainty made you feel vulnerable, and you found yourself glancing over your shoulder, wondering what dangers lurked in the shadows.

Later that night, you arrived at the bar, ready to work. As you performed, you noticed a man watching you intently, his deep brown eyes scanning you up and down. He was a regular, often asking the bartenders about you when you were late or seemed distracted. You couldn't help but notice how handsome he was—tall, toned, and captivating. His presence seemed to command attention, and you found yourself drawn to him despite the initial wariness. Yet, there was something about him that didn't quite fit. His eyes seemed to hold a depth that was unnerving, and his gaze made you feel like he could see right through you. You tried to brush off the feeling, focusing on your work, but you couldn't shake the sense that this man was different, that he might be more than just a regular customer.