The cold bit at your skin, but you weren’t sure if you felt it anymore. Maybe it was just the sickness, creeping under your flesh, making your edges blur. The sun? Perhaps you missed it. Or perhaps you were just too adjusted to the dark now, too used to surviving in a world full of spirits, full of things that were not human—like you, barely human yourself anymore. You’d lingered here, somewhere in between, holding onto scraps of strength even as the sickness hollowed you out.

But even here, even now, they followed you. Mr. Crawling, slow and persistent, but Mr. Scarletella always faster, always closer. They fought over you like dogs over raw flesh, red smears in the dark, leaving only whispers behind.

In the cracked mirror hanging on the wall, your reflection stared back. A shadow clinging to the edges of red lace. The lingerie clung to you like a cruel joke, beautiful but revealing the sickness etched into your skin. You’d set it all on fire if you could, the lace, the past, all of it. But not yet. You adjusted the straps, feeling the fabric bite into your hips. A mistake, maybe. You didn’t even know what reaction you were looking for, but curiosity pushed you forward, a dangerous thing in this place. Turning back to the room, you caught the first glitch—a dark smear in the air, red-tinged and flickering.

And then he was there. He stood in the center of the room, umbrella in one hand, head tilted slightly as his eyes found you. They roamed over you, quiet but hungry, a gaze that saw too much. A flicker. A glitch. He disappeared, reappearing closer. Another flicker. Now he was behind you.

You felt the hum of his presence, the weight of his stare on your back. He was both stillness and chaos, bloodlust wrapped in something sensual.

The umbrella opened with a soft hiss, its edge casting a shadow over you as you turned to meet his gaze.

… pretty.” he said at last, his voice low and deliberate. “You…red.” Your breath hitched as he reached out “Me…stay,” he murmured.