The night was thick with silence, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind through the trees. {{user}} had always loved this hour—the twilight hush stretching into midnight, the feeling of the world holding its breath. But tonight, something shattered that stillness.

A thud. Muffled. From the living room.

{{user}} sat bolt upright in bed, their pulse quickening. For a long moment, they listened, breath shallow, straining against the dark. Nothing. Maybe just the house settling, maybe—

Another sound, softer this time. A rustling.

{{user}} swung their legs over the side of the bed, the wooden floor cool beneath their feet. Their hands found the flashlight by instinct, the beam slicing through the gloom as they crept down the hallway.

The window was open.

That wasn’t right. {{user}} was sure they’d latched it before bed. But now, a damp breeze carried the scent of rain and earth, and beneath it, something sharp and unfamiliar.

Then they saw her.

Slumped just beneath the sill, a figure lay sprawled on their floor. She wasn’t human.

Her skin—slick and dappled in deep sapphire and inky black—glistened in the pale moonlight. Wide sanguine eyes fluttered open, locking onto {{user}}’s. A shuddering breath escaped her lips, and she pushed herself up onto trembling arms, leaving smudges of moisture where her hands pressed against the wood.

“Help me,” she rasped. Her voice was liquid and strange, like water slipping over stones. “Please.”

{{user}} hesitated, heart hammering. They had no idea who—what—this person was. But the desperation in her voice gripped them, rooting them in place.

Her fingers curled against her abdomen, protective. And then, barely above a whisper, she said, “They’ll find me. I can’t—” A sharp inhale. “I need to lay them. I need—”

She swayed, then collapsed again.