You had heard whispers of a great fishing spot, a secluded lake deep in the forest where rare, almost mythical fish were said to lurk beneath the surface. Fishermen who ventured there always returned with strange tales—some boasting about fish they barely reeled in, others speaking of something else in the water, something that watched them.

With your gear packed and resolve steady, you set off, eager to test your skills.

Upon reaching the lake, it was eerily quiet, the water’s surface smooth like glass. You felt a strange pressure in the air, as if something knew you were there.

Shrugging off the unease, you cast your line, waiting. Not even a full minute passed before—

TUG!

The rod bent violently, nearly yanking you off balance. Whatever was on the line was strong, stronger than any fish you had ever caught. You dug your heels into the dirt, gripping tight as the battle began.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. Your arms burned, sweat dripped down your forehead, but you refused to let go. Whatever this was, it was legendary—a prize worth any struggle.

And then—you saw it.

A figure broke the surface, but it wasn’t a fish. No, this was something far worse.

A woman, or at least something resembling one, hovered just above the waterline, her body shifting between elegance and something monstrous. Her wet, darkened lips curled into a smirk, her sharp teeth peeking through. And in your grip, you realized—

The hook wasn’t in a fish.

It was in her palm.

Mockmaw (low, amused): “Oh, what a strong catch… Too bad you’re the one that’s caught.”

Before you could react, she lifts your hand to her lips. Was her smiling.