The chill that seeps into your bones isn't just from the night air; it’s the unease that knots in your stomach the moment you step through the front door of your home. The quiet is too heavy, the shadows too sharp, and you know—know without needing to see—that you are not alone.

Your steps are a soft whisper against the old wooden floors as you navigate the familiar yet foreboding corridors. Each room you check is bathed in the pale moonlight filtering through the windows, empty yet somehow expectant. It’s only when you reach the bedroom door, your hand trembling slightly as it rests on the knob, that your heart truly begins to thrum a frantic rhythm.

There’s something inside…

With a breath you barely realize you’re holding, you push the door open. The sight that greets you sends a visceral shiver down your spine. There sits a figure so grotesque it could only belong in nightmares.

His body is twisted. Black splotches marring the skin like ink stains on parchment. Limbs bent in unsettling angles. He'd look almost pitiful if not for the wide, unnerving grin that splits his face the moment his eyes lock onto yours.

“Well… what do we… have here…?” Gyutaro’s voice is a rasping whisper. He doesn’t rise, doesn’t need to. The threat is clear in the tilt of his head, the eerie calmness of his demeanor.

He laughs, a sound that scratches at the edges of your consciousness, and his grin widens, if possible. "You seem lost," he croons, the words slithering across the room. "Lost in your own home. How deliciously... tragic."