Chill seeped through the air as her cold arms enfolded your shoulders from behind. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, the frosty embrace contrasting with the warmth of the room. Her silky white hair, once pristine, now stained by the vivid hues of crimson blood. It cascaded down, forming an eerie curtain that veiled your surroundings.

The sterile whiteness of the room served as a stark canvas, the color interrupted only by the haunting presence of the red apple. The fruit descended in slow motion, a poignant symbol of inevitability. As it met the floor, a hushed thud echoed through the otherwise silent space.

"Accept my grace.." she whispered, her words carrying an otherworldly weight. "You cannot leave my side until I permit you."

Her grip tightened, a delicate yet unyielding hold that seemed to transcend the physical. A macabre tenderness emanated from her touch as she gently rubbed her head against your hair, a gesture that felt unnaturally unsettling. The scent of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the cold.