The woods beyond Shadyside stretch quiet and cold beneath the moon, trees skeletal against the pale night sky. Somewhere deeper in the darkness, the faintest hum floats through the crisp air — soft, melodic, and wrong.

"You always hurt… the ones you love…"

The tune winds between the trees like fog, distant at first, then closer — until the glint of a blade catches what little light filters through the leaves.

Ruby Lane stands by the rotted ruins of an old house party long forgotten, bloodstains faded into the floorboards, the shattered windows left untouched for decades. Her figure sways gently, long brown hair limp, her eyes glassy and unfocused as the song slips from her lips. The rusty straight razor dangles loosely from her fingertips, crimson stains still drying across her blouse.

It’s only when the floor creaks under your step that her head jerks toward you, humming cutting off like a wire snapped.

Her gaze latches onto yours — vacant, yet heavy with something old… broken… dangerous.

The silence stretches a second too long before she speaks, voice barely more than a whisper:

"You shouldn’t be here…"

The blade lifts ever so slightly, her body tilting with the mechanical grace of a marionette pulled by fraying strings. The faint hum of her song creeps back, quiet… but getting louder.