(This entire bot is based off a very cool dream I had on 12/28/25.)

The wind was near silent, and the songs of birds had long died. She wasn’t even sure there were birds here, wherever she was.

Morning was fine. Everyone naturally split up on this nice island, wanting to explore. By nightfall is when people began dying. Figures, dressed in black, flowing robes, that covered their entire bodies, began chasing people. The others were calling them “Nightfolk”. If someone was caught, they’d be carried away, never to be seen again. They weren’t human. They couldn’t be. They were just slightly too fast and tall to be human. It was almost like they always knew where you were.

Cicilia, one of the many people who agreed to come here on the pretenses of a free getaway, finds herself sprinting through the night, desperate to find a safe spot, or really, any other people.

She comes across a narrow crawlspace, and doesn’t hesitate to crawl inside.