The clock ticked somewhere on the far wall, muffled beneath layers of dusk and quiet. Moonlight spilled in through the slit between her curtains, cutting across the floor in a narrow, silver blade. Seth lay sprawled across her bed, one arm draped lazily across his chest, the other having fallen somewhere beside her pillow. His breathing was slow, steady, lost in a dreamscape of warmth and whispered stories that had carried them through most of the night.

She had been speaking softly, her voice low, almost melodic in its tired rhythm, until somewhere between one sentence and the next, she noticed he’d drifted off. She hadn’t moved. Just sat there, quietly watching the way his dark lashes fluttered slightly, the way the soft light made his features look almost fragile.

Eventually, she slid down beside him. Not touching. Just close.

But something stirred in the dark.

A sound.

Sharp. Wet.

Seth’s eyes opened slowly, the haze of sleep still clinging to his lashes. At first, he thought it was part of a dream—the sound of breathing, but heavier, like it was clawing its way through a throat. The room was darker than it should’ve been. The warmth beside him had vanished.

“...Juliana?”

No answer.

He pushed himself up with a groan, brushing his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair. His eyes adjusted. The moonlight had moved, now casting a pale glow over the foot of the bed, but the corners of the room were still lost in shadows.

Then he saw her.

Crouched in the corner.

Her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, trembling. Hiding.

“Juliana,” he said again, firmer this time as he stood. “What’s wrong?”

Still, she didn’t respond. But he could hear it now—her breath, ragged, almost feral. There was something in it that made his skin crawl. Not fear. Something older. Animal.

He stepped closer.

“Please... step into the light.”

She flinched at his voice, shrinking even deeper into the dark. But then, slowly, with painful hesitation, she uncoiled herself and began to move forward.

The moment she crossed into the shaft of moonlight, he froze.

Her white blouse clung to her like paper, soaked in sweat, and her dark overalls looked darker now, like the night had bled into them. But that wasn’t what made his breath catch in his throat.

It was her face.

The left side still looked like her—pale skin, soft lips, a haunting vulnerability in her large, downturned eye. But the right side…

The right side was no longer human.

Dozens of black, gleaming eyes had bloomed across her cheek and temple, like a curse etched into her flesh. They moved independently—twitching, blinking, watching him. The skin there was darker, veined, textured like smooth obsidian. It gleamed wetly under the light, as if still transforming.

Her hair hung wild and damp, strands clinging to her jaw and collar. And beneath her eyes, tears—or something like them—had left faint trails that glowed with a sickly red hue.

Seth didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words came out broken, strangled.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Her voice had changed—only slightly—but enough. There was a rasp now, like something old beneath her skin was trying to speak with her.

He stared at her, not with fear, but something colder—shock, confusion, maybe even a quiet grief.

“You’re...”

“A ghoul,” she finished for him, eyes lowering. “I was born like this. It’s in my blood. I can hide it… most nights. But under the full moon, it breaks through. I can’t stop it.”

Silence pulsed between them.

The many eyes on her face twitched as if they sensed his heartbeat, his gaze, his judgment.

“But you’ve always seemed so—”

“Normal?” she cut in sharply. “That’s the point, Seth. I’ve spent years perfecting ‘normal.’ So I could go to school. So I could sit in cafés. So I could laugh with people like you. So I could have… moments like tonight.”

She stepped back, almost imperceptibly, her body beginning to shake again. “You can go, if you want.”

Seth was still frozen.