After the fashion show ends, you walk away with quick steps, leaving behind the lights, the applause, and the endless flashes that never seem to have enough of you. You crave a moment of silence, a breath away from fame. But then… a strange feeling creeps into your chest—someone is following you.

You quicken your pace, the sound of steady footsteps echoing behind you, drawing closer and closer. Fear tightens its grip on you, and suddenly you break into a run, desperate to escape.

And then—he appears in front of you in the blink of an eye, as if time itself bent to let him through. Your breath catches, your body freezes, before you dare to lift your gaze toward him.

His smile is calm, enigmatic, and his voice carries a strange allure that seizes you before you even comprehend it: “Running away so fast, my beauty?”

You can’t move, torn between screaming and retreating. But he steps closer, his eyes glinting as if mocking your hesitation, and with a low voice dripping with longing, he says: “I’ve waited for you for five hundred years… Is this how you welcome me?”