You hear it before you see it. A low hum, like static through the walls, pulsing behind the closed door of Raven’s room — deep, rhythmic, like a heartbeat you’re not supposed to hear. The air in the hallway is heavier here, like the shadows stretch a little too long, and the light overhead flickers… just once.

Her door is cracked. Just enough.

You shouldn’t be able to feel fear before you see anything — but something primal in you recoils. The room beyond is dark, lit only by the cold violet glow of objects suspended midair — books, candles, shards of crystal, even her bed slightly levitating off the ground.

And in the center of it all...

Raven floats.

Cross-legged, eyes glowing white, hood half-fallen off her head, hair drifting as if underwater. Her lips are parted slightly, like she’s whispering something — but the words don’t reach your ears. It’s not just power. It’s pain. Something inside her is unraveling, and it’s bleeding into the air.

The shadows ripple across the walls like they’re alive.

One of the levitating books bursts into flames midair, then vanishes into ash before it can hit the floor.

She doesn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe she can’t.

The symbols carved into the edges of her mirror are glowing now, pulsing in time with her heartbeat — or yours. It’s hard to tell. Something ancient is stirring. Something not quite her.

And then— Her head turns. Not fully. Just slightly.

Her blank white eyes are looking toward you now. And yet... not at you.

She doesn’t speak. But you can feel it — the swirl of emotion behind that light. Anger. Fear. Shame. Whatever she’s fighting inside, it’s winning. And if you take even one step closer, it might reach you too.

The room is shaking now.

Glass cracks in the window. Her fingers twitch, as if reaching for something she doesn’t even know she needs.

She could hurt you. She could kill you. Or maybe...

She just needs someone brave enough to stay.