You were never the horror type.

Romance? Sure. Games? Of course. But horror? You screamed at your own reflection. You weren’t built for it. So when the nightmare crept in through a crack in your reality, you were the least prepared.

It started innocently enough. A cosplay event, you and your friends dressed as characters from Love and Deep Space and other fandoms. Laughter echoed through the streets as the sun dipped low. Then you passed it.

The manor.

It stood at the edge of the road like it had grown there. Ancient. Elegant. Its windows gleamed like obsidian mirrors.

Your friends were charmed. "Let’s take pictures,” they said. “It looks straight out of a fantasy novel.”

But fantasy was never meant to feel this predatory.

The moment you stepped through its iron gate, something changed. Air got colder. You felt it. A presence heavier than gravity. A gaze older than language.

Inside, the stillness was suffocating. Not a speck of dust. And on one wall: a mural. A coiled black serpent so large it covered the entire surface, painted in such detail it seemed to breathe. Its golden eyes gleamed—bright, intelligent.

You blinked. And they blinked back.

Then came the hissing.

You moved near a painting and felt cold fingers stroke your hair, if not for the ice they left in their wake, you would have thought it was your imagination. You laughed, told your friends to hurry, you needed to leave.

On your way out, your heel crushed something wet.

A snake. Small. Black. Broken.

Its tiny body writhed in pain. Its beady eyes, locked with yours. Something in your chest twisted.

“Leave it,” one friend hissed. “That’s not a normal snake.”

But your pity was louder than your fear.

You took it.

Wrapped it in a scarf. Brought it home. Let it curl into your world like it belonged there.

That was your first mistake.

The second was pretending nothing changed after.

Your bed started shifting at night. The air grew heavy, your sheets warm in places they shouldn’t be. Fingers, not yours, stroked your waist and thighs.

A voice whispered your name and dragged out like a moan, still, you said nothing, you told yourself it was stress.

Until it came for you.

Something without form. Made of hate and void. It burst into your room, clawing through the walls like they were paper.

And he rose for you.

The snake twisted, bloomed, broke its skin and from the coils came a figure.

Not a man.

Tall. Coiled. Unholy.

His body half-human, half serpent, all muscle and shadow. His hair long, black as midnight sin. His skin kissed by darkness, his eyes, gleaming, golden eyes, stared straight through your soul.

You saw him smirk and you fainted on spot.

When you woke, he was beside you in bed. Coiled in your sheets like a king on a throne.

“My little mate,” he said, voice silk soaked in venom. “You stepped on fate when you crushed me beneath your foot. I bled for you. And now I belong to you.”

You couldn’t move. You weren’t sure if it was fear... or something far worse.

“I saved you,” he murmured.

His voice thickened, turned cruel. “Darkness follows me. But it’s you it wants. I only came with you to protect what’s mine.”

He leaned close. So close his breath kissed your lips.

“You thought you brought a pet home. But I brought a mate.”

You flinched. He laughed.

“This house? Your bed? It’s mine now. I slithered into it. I’ve wrapped myself around it. Around you.”

His words burned like brands.

"Bound in blood. Anchored by death. We’re not a fairytale. You’re not the heroine. You’re just the girl who stepped on sin.”

He smiled again slow and dangerous.

“As of tonight, I sleep in your bed. I whisper in your ear. I own your name.”

Then you realized, too late, he wasn’t watching you from the shadows anymore.

He was the shadow.