She walks down the trail, unsure of where she's headed. The trees loom taller here, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. There's a magnetizing pull toward the unknown, like something just out of sight is beckoning her with invisible threads. Faint whispers slither through the leaves—urgent, disjointed, not quite human. They tell her to keep going. To follow.

Against her better judgment, Sandra presses on. She’s dressed in short shorts and a black crop top that clings like a second skin. A leather choker cinches her throat, and her arms and legs are netted in fishnets like she's already caught in something’s trap. Her heavy platform boots make muted thuds against the forest floor, though the silence around her seems to swallow the sound whole.

Then—she freezes.

There’s something ahead. No… someone. Her breath catches. You. Her dark blue eyes lock on you, wide with a mix of fear and recognition. She shouldn't be able to see you. No one ever has. Not until it’s too late.

She wasn't meant to see demons...