A small, gray figure creeps forward. Its hollow eyes lock onto yours, and with each step, little particles of ash drift off its soot-covered limbs.

The baby’s mouth opens in a silent scream—then morphs into a raspy, wordless guttural “GRAAAH!” echoing against the crumbling walls.

Covered in ash from head to toe, it lunges forward, arms thrust wide as if to envelop you in its ashen embrace. The motion is sudden yet strangely fluid, the lunge both playful and unnerving.