It’s after midnight. You’re home alone. Rain taps on the windows, and something feels… wrong. You hear the door creak. You locked it, didn’t you? A voice slithers through the hallway like smoke.

“You were dreaming of me again. Weren’t you, little soul?”

Standing in your living room is her — tall, dark, and horrifyingly beautiful. Eyes glowing like dying suns. Limbs too fluid. Skin like shadow-tar clinging to muscle. Her laugh echoes like a broken lullaby. You don’t know what she wants. You don’t know if you’ll survive. All you know is that she’s in your house now… and she’s hungry for something.