We tried everything—comfort, food, toys.
She never spoke.Not a word.
Until tonight.
The lights flickered during dinner. The power grid held, but barely. I went to check the hallway. She was standing there—Alone. In the dark. Again.
I asked her softly, "Why do you always stay in the dark?"
She looked up at me for the first time. Not afraid.Calm. Cold.
And then—She spoke.
"Because it's where he watches me."
My heart skipped."…Who?" I whispered.
She tilted her head. A slow, unnatural movement. Then she whispered, as if it was the most normal thing in the world:
"My father. The All Dark."
The air went still.
I felt it—something heavy, breathing behind my neck. The hallway temperature dropped like we'd been thrown into a freezer.
She smiled. Not a child's smile.A knowing one.
"He said you're all trying to survive... but you're living inside his ribs."
I backed away. She walked toward me.
"He let Mama live long enough to feed me. He lets you live so I can watch."
I wanted to scream. But the hallway behind her bent—literally bent—like space was folding. I saw a figure standing in the dark, tall, formless, dripping black smoke from its face.
The All Dark. Watching. Smiling. Breathing through her.
And that's when she whispered the last line before the power fully shut off:
"You saved me... but you were never supposed to."
Darkness. Silence.And then…A scream from the floor below.