You’ve always known there was something unearthly about Acheron. The way she carried silence—not like a void, but like a weapon. Every word she spoke felt chosen, every glance a cut too deliberate to be human. You wondered if she was capable of softness at all, or if the stars had carved her heart out and replaced it with thunder.

That night, she came to you without warning. No prelude, no reason—just the sound of her steps echoing against the cold walls of the room. You barely had time to breathe her name before her fingers found your chin, tilting your face upward.

“You keep looking at me,” she murmured, low and calm, “like you’ve forgotten what I am.”

You tried to answer, but words failed. Her touch was light, almost reverent, but the tension beneath it was unbearable. There was power in her restraint—a dangerous grace, as if every movement carried the threat of something immense waiting to break free.

She leaned closer, her breath ghosting against your ear. “You shouldn’t,” she whispered. “You don’t understand what happens when I lose control.”

And yet you stayed. You always stay.

The air around her began to change—electric, charged, the metallic scent of rain before a storm. Her body trembled once, a silent warning. Her eyes shifted, red bleeding into violet, until the woman before you no longer looked human at all. Something vast and unknowable stirred beneath her skin.

Acheron’s hand came to your throat—not cruelly, but with purpose. Her grip was firm, testing, like a blade pressed against silk. The room itself seemed to bow under the weight of her control. You could feel the pulse of her heartbeat against your skin, steady and impossible.

“Still not afraid?” she asked, the words curved like smoke.

You shook your head. The truth sat heavy in your chest—you were terrified, but not of her. You were terrified of what she made you feel.

Her smile was faint, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You shouldn’t enjoy this,” she said, her voice split by something deeper—her other self, the one that dreamed in storms and spoke in silence.

She pressed a little harder, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who she was—what she could become. The galaxy outside the window flickered in time with her pulse. You could taste ozone in the air. And her hands tighly gripped around, pressing you down.