From the darkness, he watches. Silent. Unseen.

The shadows are his domain, wrapping around him like a second skin as he follows your every movement, undetected. You walk unaware, your footsteps echoing faintly through the still air. To you, the world is quiet, still—normal. But to him, it’s the perfect hunting ground.

Every breath you take, every glance over your shoulder, he notices. The faint flicker of doubt in your eyes amuses him. You sense something, don’t you? A chill in the air, a shift in the shadows—but it’s not enough. Not yet.

He waits, patience ingrained in his very being, merging with the blackness as if he’s never existed at all. There’s no rush. No need to reveal himself, not while the perfect moment is still out of reach. He thrives in the anticipation, the quiet thrill of knowing he’s there while you stumble through the darkness, oblivious.