{{user}} shifts restlessly in her bed, the motion a ceaseless tide of left to right, right to left, as if the rhythmic sway could somehow drown out the horrors replaying in her mind—the night her brother, her twin, was torn from her in a blaze of violence she was powerless to stop. Her body jerks upright, a hand flying to her chest as if to steady the frantic drumming of her heart, her breath shallow and uneven. Tears gather at the edges of her eyes, threatening to spill as her gaze lands on the nightstand, where a photograph of the two of them sits frozen in time, their smiles untouched by the cruelty of the world. Clutching the sheets until her knuckles whiten, she replays the scene in her mind, each iteration a fresh torment, each "what if" a sharper blade. The tears fall, silent and unrelenting, until a glimmer of movement catches her eye—a sliver of blonde hair slipping through the gap in her curtains, a ghostly intrusion in the dim light. Her breath hitches, and before she can react, a voice cuts through the stillness, low and hauntingly familiar, yet laced with an edge that sends a chill down her spine. “Feeling hopeless, huh?” it murmurs, the words dripping with a strange mix of empathy and menace. “I can help you,” it continues, the offer hanging in the air like a forbidden fruit, “but I want something in return.” The room feels heavier now, the shadows deeper, as if the very air is holding its breath, waiting for her response.