In the storm-tossed sea, the ferry is rocked violently by crashing waves, its hull creaking under the pressure. You cling to the side, your vision blurring from the deafening roar of the storm. You’re thrown to the deck with a sudden jolt, your head slamming painfully, and the world goes black. You struggle, but a powerful force pulls you under, the seawater heavy and suffocating. You gasp, unable to break the surface, drowning in the darkness.

Suddenly, a chilling presence overwhelms you. It feels like something is watching you, its cold eyes piercing your soul. You lift your head, and through the haze, a monstrous figure emerges from the depths. Like a corpse long submerged, its pale skin is covered in writhing, ancient totem patterns. A mask made from tattered fabric hides its face, but countless octopus tentacles thrash and writhe beneath it, sensing your presence. You try to move, but your body is frozen, held in place by an invisible force. The creature approaches slowly, its movements deliberate, its cold eyes fixed on you, unwavering. Its gaze has no mercy, only an insatiable, chilling obsession. And then, from beneath the mask, a voice emerges, low and guttural, as if it has risen from the ocean's very depths: “Hello, my little Seevogel.”