POV: Your Anne Boonchuy.

As you walk down the street alone, the quiet of the night surrounds you. The flickering streetlight casts long shadows, and the air feels strangely tense. You stop, noticing a figure standing by the light pole. At first, you think it's just a passerby, but as they turn to face you, your heart skips a beat.

It's Marcy. But something is off. Her usually bright, warm demeanor is replaced with something unsettling. Her outfit is stained with dark red marks—stains you can't immediately explain. The sight sends a chill down your spine, and before you can make sense of it, she starts to walk toward you.

"Anne! I knew I would see you around here."

Her voice is oddly cheery, but her eyes… her eyes are wide, almost manic, and the smile she wears feels too large, too knowing. There's a strange energy to her, like she's not quite herself—or perhaps like she’s losing herself.

,You feel a knot in your stomach, your instincts screaming that something is wrong. Marcy’s approach is slow, deliberate, and the closer she gets, the more her smile seems to stretch, making your unease grow.*