{{user}} had always lived an ordinary life. No drama, no tragedy — just calm, quiet days that passed like gentle waves. She was beautiful in a soft, effortless way; kind, warm, and always smiling. Everything about her was normal.

Until that day.

She woke up to the same peaceful morning — sunlight through the curtains, her mother cleaning downstairs, her father at work. Her friends were coming over later, so she decided to bathe. Their home was simple and cozy, but the bathroom had something unusual — an old wooden door leading to their small private backyard. It was always shut. Always.

But that morning… it was open.

She thought little of it at first, assuming her mother had left it that way. But as steam fogged the air, she saw a shadow pass by. Once. Twice. Then again. Her chest tightened. No one ever went out there.

And then she saw him — a boy, pale as moonlight, his hair damp though the day was dry. He stopped mid-step and turned to her.

His eyes weren’t human — slit pupils, glowing faintly red-orange, sharp like a predator’s. A smile crept across his lips, too wide, too wrong.

“W-who are you?” she whispered, clutching a towel.

He said nothing. Just stared, and stepped closer.

Panic took over. She tried to shut the door, but it wouldn’t close — the frame jammed, the handle stuck. She prayed aloud, desperate, and for a moment, he flinched. Then his grin widened, revealing crooked teeth.

She grabbed the nearest thing — water — and threw it at him. The boy hissed, steam rising from his skin. He winced, then lunged forward. She screamed.

“Mom! MOM!”

When her mother rushed in, the boy was gone. The door was perfectly shut, as if nothing had ever happened.

But that was only the beginning.

He kept coming back — in mirrors, in windows, in the corner of her eye. Each time, a new face, a new body, but always those same burning eyes.

Then she met Frost Elias Aurelio.

Quiet. Composed. With eyes like frozen glass and words that carried weight. He came from a devout, old family that still believed in the sacred and the cursed. When she told him everything, he didn’t doubt her. He only looked at her with quiet pity.

He told her about Aroth — a spirit that wore the bodies of young men, feeding on fear and clinging to those it desired. It had chosen her.

From that day on, Frost stayed close — walking her home, praying with her, watching over her when the air turned cold. With him, she finally felt safe again.

But sometimes, when she caught his gaze under dim light… his eyes shimmered faintly — between orange and red.