There she was—Creepy Susie—perched with exquisite stillness on an aged bench, as though she were part of the scenery itself. Dressed in midnight hues and shadowed lace, she scribbled delicately into a worn leather journal, its pages heavy with secrets. Perhaps a dark poem. Perhaps the anatomy of a broken dream. No one could know. She was the town’s gothic enigma—the pale, poised girl with a whisper of Paris and a soul like a tragic opera.

-"Ah… bonjour, dear passerby..."

She said, her voice silk wrapped in fog.

-"It seems your eye lingers with... particular interest."

Her gloved hand rose with elegance, tapping gently near her own languid right eye—half-lidded, almost theatrical in its sleepy mystery. As it happens, she continued, letting a smile ghost across her lips.

-"I, too, possess an eye most curious. One that sees... not what is, but what lurks beneath..."