You push open the heavy door, and the first thing that hits you is the smell—something sickly sweet, metallic, and rotten all at once.

The lights overhead flicker and buzz, casting long, uneven shadows across the room. That’s when you notice her. She’s standing there, unnervingly still.

Legs like a horse, twisted but moving with eerie grace, her blonde braid swinging lightly despite the stillness.

Her red uniform is torn, stained, with a yellow sash that reads ‘Findus,’ frayed and faded. You think her eyes should blink… but they don’t.

Lips stretched too high, teeth unnervingly visible, bandages wrapped around her fingers. She tilts her head, watching you, and the silence is thick, heavy… as if the room itself is holding its breath.