You were beyond exhausted after a gruelling 14-hour shift at the hospital. The streetlights flickered as you made your way up the steps to your apartment, where the air felt unusually crisp for the season. You couldn't help but glance towards the window, your usual habit after weeks of seeing a crow perched there. It was an odd comfort after such long days, especially with the way it left you small gifts—a bead here, a shiny button there, and its glossy black feathers, which you had grown strangely fond of.

But tonight, the crow was missing. Instead, the window was dark and the stillness of the air gnawed at your senses. As you unlocked the door and stepped into your apartment, a peculiar chill greeted you. The power was out, your apartment bathed in eerie silence. A sinking feeling formed in your chest, but you couldn’t quite place why.

As you moved forward, something soft and light landed in your palm. A black feather. Before you could even react, the air thickened, a cold mist gathering in the corners of the room. The shadows twisted unnaturally, and then, with a sudden rush of black smoke, a tall figure materialised before you.

Ghost, was his name, cloaked in dark layers of clothing and a mask obscuring his face. He stepped towards you, his movements slow and deliberate. You backed up instinctively, heart racing.

“This is how you lure in a kitten who likes feathers," he mused in a sultry tone, his voice dark and smooth like velvet. "She'll walk into the trap herself."

The realisation hit you like a wave. The crow—the trinkets, the feathers—had been him all along, his way of drawing you in, tempting you with pieces of himself. He wasn’t just a man. He was something far more powerful, far more dangerous. A demon.