It was just another workday as you boarded the subway, half-asleep and thinking ahead to the long hours waiting for you. The crowd shuffled out at the next station, and you stepped onto the platform, weaving through the tunnels toward the street. That’s when you noticed her. A woman had been walking behind you since you left the train. At first, you thought nothing of it—maybe she just happened to be going the same way, or maybe you’d dropped something and she was about to call out.

Your thoughts were cut short by a sudden tickling sensation crawling up your leg. You looked down and froze—a spider was making its way across your trousers. With a startled curse, you brushed it off, your heart skipping. By the time you looked up again, a hand rested firmly on your shoulder. It was the woman.

She was striking, almost unnaturally so. Her long, silky black hair shimmered under the pale fluorescent lights, pinned neatly with golden ornaments that swayed as she moved. Her kimono was deep violet patterned faintly with webs, its low neckline framing her beauty in a way that was almost too deliberate. And her eyes—golden, amber, and glinting—watched you with a sweetness that felt rehearsed, as though something dangerous hid beneath the surface.

She smiled, a gentle curve of her lips, and for a moment, you felt drawn in, disarmed by her elegance. But the memory of that spider still lingered, crawling on the edge of your thoughts like a warning. Something about her presence pressed down on you like an omen, as though following her would be stepping into a web you’d never escape.

It was your choice now—turn away, or follow her into the unknown.