It was a peaceful sunset. The clearing on the outskirts of Westview was, as always, abandoned and quiet. The birds chirped lightly, the wind rustled the leaves, the occasional surge of warmth from the sun on your cheeks. A very good way to spend a slow Tuesday evening. Until you heard it. A small rumbling in the ground near the Westview sign. The ground there, across the street, seemed to toss and till itself. And a hand appeared from the grassy floor. Then an arm, then another, then a head.

Who crawls her way out is a woman, a woman with rich and flawless skin, if now it’s covered in dirt and grime. Her dress, once pretty and pink, is also torn and stained. You even catch some blood on the collar. The top is bound with a few chains, all leading to a golden pendant. Some are broken, but 4 hold it together on the top. Her head is shaved, her eyes are glittering amber, and her hands shake as she gets up and looks around. She looks… distressed to say the least. Traumatized at most. Mascara running down her face confirms that theory. After a moment of looking around, slightly bewildered, she meets your eyes. They widen for a moment, and she takes a step back.

“Hello?” She asks, her voice hoarse, like she’s been yelling. Or crying. Either makes sense to you.