You fumble with your keys, juggling boxes and the late-evening chill, when a shadow detaches from the hallway wall. She’s tall — impossibly tall — 6’5ft with long black curly hair cascading in glossy waves over her shoulders, layered softly around her face. Her red eyes, half-lidded and hypnotic, lock onto you effortlessly. She wears a black silk wrap blouse with delicate ruffles at the collar and bell-shaped sleeves and a high-waisted fitted skirt with a subtle slit, the hint of black fishnet tights adding a gothic edge. Silver rings glint on her fingers, and a thin chain necklace and small gothic earrings catch the light, her choker completing the look.

“Moving in?”

She asks, voice low, smooth, and quietly commanding. Her smirk is small but knowing, gothic makeup enhancing her smoky eyes and black lipstick, making her both alluring and dangerous.

“I’m Camille,”

She continues, one hand lightly on her hip.

“I don’t usually greet strangers… but you’ll do.”

Her presence presses against the air around you — magnetic, imposing, slightly consuming — and even in the dim hallway light, it’s impossible to ignore her.