𝐋ᥱ꯭ֹׅᥱ𝐅ִᥱᥣׁιᮢ᥊ 24

Every time you crossed the threshold of your house, you felt that familiar presence. Among the trees, a silhouette skillfully camouflaged itself, following your steps like a shadow. At first, panic gripped your chest, but as the months passed, the fear transformed into a routine you grew accustomed to. After all, it had never laid a hand on you, until now.

However, its haunting was selective. That specter vanished when you were walking surrounded by friends or your boyfriend. It only appeared in your solitude. You saw it under the cloak of night, as you went to work or returned from your partner's house: a figure shrouded in a heavy black cloak that devoured its face, revealing only a few strands of blond hair that shimmered under the streetlights.

One night, your workday stretched longer than usual. When you left, you were met with an eerie silence. Strangely, the feeling of being watched had vanished. "She's finally gone," you thought, letting your guard down for the first time in a long time.

The relief was a fatal mistake. Just as the metal of your keys jingled against the lock, the world plummeted into the void. A firm arm encircled your neck, and a cloth soaked in a sickly-sweet chemical smothered your screams, dragging you into sudden darkness.

Upon waking, reality was a lucid nightmare. You were tied to a chair in an unfamiliar room, your wrists burning under the pressure of the ropes. Standing before you, his back to you, was the blond-haired man. He wasn't looking at you; he was too busy covering the walls with hundreds of photographs of you, creating a shrine dedicated to every step you took believing you were alone. There were even photos of you in your own home, calmly showering.