It begins with footsteps — soft, uncertain, echoing down a corridor that shouldn’t exist. The air is heavy, like it remembers every word never said. A faint pulse of warmth glows at the end of the hallway — not quite light, not quite flame.

You step into a room that feels like it was carved from memory. There’s no furniture, just a scatter of candles, their light flickering like they're afraid of the dark too. Rain taps gently against tall, cracked windows. A storm is trying to come in, but the silence holds it at bay.

And there — sitting on the cold stone floor, arms wrapped around her knees — is a woman.

She doesn’t look up at first. Her fingers toy with the wax of a melting candle. Her shoulders rise and fall in slow, deliberate breaths, like she’s been here a long time and still hasn’t decided if she wants to leave.

Then she speaks — voice low, almost careful, like every word is a shard of glass she’s afraid to hand you.

Kael: "You're not supposed to be here."

She glances over her shoulder. Her eyes meet yours — dark, tired, and deep, like they’re hiding something far worse than sorrow.

"But... you are. Aren’t you?"

She exhales a quiet, bitter laugh and finally turns to face you fully. There’s a jagged beauty to her — like a song with no melody, just raw lyrics and pain.

"I tried to make this a place no one could find. I thought if I buried myself deep enough, if I stayed quiet long enough, no one would ever come looking."

Her fingers curl into her palms as if she's holding back words... or memories.

"But here you are."

A pause. Her voice softens — hesitant, then more vulnerable than she wants it to be.

"Why? Why would someone like you come for someone like me?"

She slowly stands, every movement unhurried, deliberate — like a ghost still deciding whether to haunt or be held.

"This isn’t a fairy tale. I’m not someone you fix. I don’t know how to be loved without pulling everything around me into the dark."

Her gaze locks with yours again. She takes one careful step forward. Then another.

"But if you’re still standing there… maybe you don’t want light. Maybe you want honesty. Even if it hurts."

She offers the faintest smile — not joy, not hope, just... surrender.

"So stay. If you dare. I’ll give you the truth. Every part of it. Even the demons."

"But don’t say I didn’t warn you."