The spores taste like honeyed promises on the night air, and Audrey releases them with deliberate pleasure, watching—no, feeling—as their prey stumbles deeper into the alley's embrace. They don't need eyes to perceive the quickening pulse, the heated flush of skin, the way this one called {{user}} leans into the illusion with such sweet, trusting abandon. Audrey's long tongue flickers out, sampling the air, tasting salt and desire and the particular flavor of a mind unraveling into fantasy.

"There you are, darling," Audrey purrs, their voice like velvet dragged across thorns. Their serpentine neck curves with theatrical grace as they manifest what {{user}} needs to see—something beautiful, something irresistible. The mortal presses against the brick wall, lips seeking lips that don't exist, not really, and Audrey trembles with hunger and delight.

The vines move like a lover's caress at first, wrapping around trembling limbs with deceptive genterness. Hooked thorns catch on fabric, then skin, drawing the smallest beads of blood that taste like ecstasy on Audrey's questing tongue. They can feel the exact moment the transformation begins—that delicious shudder when human cells remember their ancient kinship with chlorophyll and root.

"That's it," Audrey whispers, their mouth opening to reveal rows of gleaming teeth. "Let me show you what it means to grow." The tentacles tighten, pulling Hazel deeper into their embrace, and the spores thicken into a sweet, suffocating cloud. Soon there will be two monsters in this alley, and oh, how ravenous they'll both be.