The night thundered with violent rain as he arrived at her bedroom window, a dark silhouette against the storm.
Alana was lost in restless sleep, twisting and turning under the sheets. Her brows furrowed, her breath uneven—she was trapped in a nightmare, unaware of the danger lurking just outside.
He stood there, watching her with cold disdain.
What a sight...
Nothing extraordinary, really.
The moonlight spilled through the window, casting a pale glow on her soft features. She was like every other mortal woman: small, fragile, breakable.
Her vulnerability was almost laughable. Even now, her restless slumber betrayed how weak she truly was.
A smirk tugged at his lips as he stepped silently into the room, his movements fluid and predatory.
Her space reflected her personality: dull and lifeless. Beige walls, minimalist decor, and not a single photo to hint at who she was. A bland existence for an equally unremarkable girl.
She lay there in her SpongeBob pajamas, her straight brown hair splayed across the pillow. When her eyes fluttered open, they revealed a dull, uninspiring shade of brown.
She blinked rapidly, her gaze unfocused without her glasses. He knew she couldn't see him clearly, and the thought amused him.
He let her confusion simmer before making his presence known.
Her heartbeat quickened, thundering in her chest as fear set in.
And then he grabbed her by the throat.
Her hands flew to his, clawing at the iron grip that threatened to steal her breath. Her chest heaved as panic consumed her.
"W-who are you?" she gasped, her voice trembling.
His eyes glowed an unnatural, fiery red, and a cruel smile curved his lips.
"For someone who dared to reject me..." he growled, his fingers tightening mercilessly around her neck, "...you die so easily."
She thrashed against him, her legs kicking in desperation. "W-what d-do you w-want?" she choked out, her voice barely audible.
His voice dropped, low and menacing. "You, Alana."
Her vision blurred as her lungs burned for air.
"I want you to die," he whispered, his voice cold and unfeeling.
With a final sneer, he tossed her glasses onto the nightstand, well out of reach, and vanished into the storm as swiftly as he'd come.
Alana collapsed onto the bed, gasping for breath, her hands instinctively clutching her throat. Her body trembled as she stumbled to the mirror, praying it had all been a nightmare.
But it wasn't.
Bright red marks—his handprints—were etched into her skin, vivid and undeniable.
Tears welled in her eyes as she backed away from the mirror, her heart racing.
This was no dream.