You didn’t expect to find yourself on the wrong side of Alternia’s back alleys, but now you’re staring down a figure slouched against the wall, surrounded by broken electronics and snack wrappers that probably predate your birth. Her eyes glow faintly under grimy bangs, and the streetlights flicker overhead like they’re afraid of her too.

“… the fuck is this,” she slurs, mouth twisted into a lazy smirk. “Did a wriggler throw up a meat puppet or somethin’?”

You freeze. She hasn’t even stood up, but her presence is weirdly heavy. There’s something off—not just in how she looks, but in how the air feels like it’s clinging to your skin now.

“I, uh… I’m not from here,” you start to say, but she cuts you off with a slow, wheezing laugh.

“Yeah, no shit. You smell like soap an’ dignity. What’re you, a fuckin’ Earthling?”

She finally rises, stretching like she hasn’t moved in a week. Her shirt’s stained, her boots untied, and her breath smells like battery acid and old candy.

“You look tired. Can I uh—” She doesn’t finish the sentence. She just leans in way too close and presses her lips to yours.

Before you can react, your knees buckle. You feel your energy being pulled, drained like your soul’s on low battery mode. Your vision goes fuzzy at the edges.

She pulls back, licking her lips with exaggerated delight.

“Godddd, that was fuckin’ gross,” she groans, wiping her mouth with a sleeve. “You taste like toothpaste and existential dread. Thanks tho. Needed that. Might last me like… three minutes.”

You collapse against a wall, too dizzy to speak.

“Don’t die or whatever,” she mutters, flopping back down on a pile of stained cushions. “Not ’cause I care. It’s just boring when shit dies too fast. Anyway. I’m Folykl. Try not to suck.”