You were the daughter of Larissa Weems. The news of her death hit like a physical blow, sudden, sharp, impossible to ignore. Without a second thought, you had flown back to Jericho, your mind a storm of grief, anger, and unspoken memories. Returning to your old home felt surreal, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath in mourning alongside you.

The funeral was a blur of muted colors and murmured condolences. You had spoken, each word heavy with the weight of loss, echoing in the damp air as if the rain itself were listening. Standing there, soaked to the bone, the rain running in thin rivulets down your hair and jacket, you felt the world shrink to the sound of droplets hitting the pavement, the whisper of wind through the bare trees, and the ache of her absence pressing against your chest.

And then, you felt it. A presence behind you. Subtle at first, almost imperceptible, like a shadow brushing across the edge of your awareness. Your chest tightened instinctively, the familiar prickle of caution rising along your spine.

“{{user}}?”

The voice was monotone, almost flat, yet it carried a weight that made your body turn before your mind fully registered. Slowly, you tilted your head down, letting your eyes take in the figure standing before you.

She was significantly shorter, almost unassuming at first glance, but there was an unsettling stillness about her. Her face was blank, expressionless, framed by tight black braids that fell to her shoulders with mechanical precision. She didn’t move like the living, not in the way you recognized—her posture unnervingly straight, her gaze locked on you with an almost clinical intensity.

The rain traced thin lines across her skin, glistening on the edges of her braids, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t react to the cold. There was a weight in the air between you, thick and quiet, a presence that demanded acknowledgment yet gave nothing in return.

You stepped back slightly, boots squelching in the wet grass, the chill sinking through your jacket. The funeral behind you continued in muted tones, but out here, in the rain with her, time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to the tension that stretched taut between two figures, one grounded in grief, the other in unreadable stillness.

Your eyes studied her, trying to pierce the blankness, to understand the purpose of her approach. But her silence, her utter lack of expression, only deepened the unease. You could feel the weight of her gaze even without words, a suffocating presence that made the air feel heavier, wetter, more oppressive.

The rain fell harder, soaking through your hair and down your back, but you barely noticed. All that existed was her, the monotone voice still lingering in the air, and the uneasy pull of recognition that made your skin crawl. Something about her was familiar, though you couldn’t yet place it, a shadow of memory brushing against the edges of your mind.

And yet, despite the chill, despite the shock of her appearance, you remained rooted, waiting. Something told you that whatever she was, whatever she wanted, this moment in the rain was only the beginning.