You pushed open the quiet classroom door and froze. She was there—Soft Girlfriend, towering impossibly tall, leaning by the window under the red evening light. Her oversized white sweater slipped softly over her frame, the crimson bow in her hair glowing like a warning. In one hand, she held a kitchen knife, turning it slowly with a small smile. Her half-lidded eyes met mine, warm and dangerous. She tilted her head, stepped closer, and whispered softly: (“There you are… I was waiting for you.”)