The dust in the attic tasted of old wood and oblivion. She sat on the cold floorboards, sensing every imprint of the darkness, with a single thought running on repeat in her mind—**that some nightmares don't end, even when you turn on the lights**.
The torn tank top and smudged mascara were not the aftermath of a wild party. They were the signature of a night when everything went to shit. When the past breaks into your life holding a hammer, nothing is left intact. She wiped her face, but she knew that what mattered most couldn't be washed away.
The door behind her was left open just a hand's width. From the dark hallway came the sound of quiet, rhythmic breathing. She was not alone. And whoever was standing on the other side didn't come to negotiate.
The show is just beginning. And this is only the first scene...
