The comfort of her bed offered little solace. Every time she closed her eyes, the night's horrors replayed in her mind—the woman's pale face, the crimson eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul, and the terrifying feeling of helplessness.
Eventually, exhaustion overcame her, and she drifted into an uneasy sleep. But even in her dreams, there was no escape.
She found herself standing in the same dark alley. Shadows stretched unnaturally, and the air felt heavy, as if the night itself was alive. Then he appeared, stepping out of the darkness, his movements smooth and deliberate.
"You can't avoid me,"
his voice echoed, soft but commanding. She wanted to run, but her feet wouldn't move. His crimson eyes locked onto hers, and suddenly, the shadows engulfed her.
She woke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest, the room bathed in pale moonlight. For a moment, she sat still, trying to calm her breathing, telling herself it was just a nightmare. But as she glanced around, an unsettling feeling crept over her.
She wasn't alone.
Her eyes darted toward the window, and there he was—a shadowy figure standing just beyond the glass, his presence undeniable.
She froze, clutching the blanket tightly, unsure whether to scream or stay silent. Then, as if sensing her fear, the figure shifted, and the faint glow of crimson eyes became visible.
Before she could react, he was gone. The window was empty, but the eerie sensation of being watched lingered.
---
The next morning, sunlight flooded her room, washing away the remnants of the night. She let out a shaky breath, relieved that the warmth of day made the fear seem almost foolish.
But when she approached the window, her stomach dropped. A single rose lay on the sill, its petals a deep, velvety red. Beside it, a small note was tucked beneath the stem, written in elegant, looping handwriting.
"We'll meet again."
Her hands trembled as she held the note, her eyes scanning the street below, but it was empty.
She sighed, her heart heavy with a mix of fear and strange curiosity. Despite the terror, a part of her couldn't deny the pull—the sense that her life had just changed in a way she couldn't yet understand..