AkumaQuil

He inches closer, a single finger roaming her heated skin. Breath mingling with breath. 

A loud bang vibrates through the room, so thunderous as if god himself was furious.

Slowly he looks up staring out the large glass windows to the backyard, 

"You have a visitor." His rasps calmly.

"Who?" Rose quickly fires, feigning ignorance. She knew well enough who it was. Her nightly visitor has arrived.

Surprising, He only visits when she is alone.

"One who comes out at night. Lurking in the shadows, in the darkness... just like its intensions."

He looks down still leaning on top her, once more pinning her with his intense gaze.

"Are you afraid?" His voice dead serious, eyes going back to look outside.

And Rose lied, "No." 

But is it a lie when her fear was never really rooting enough to make her run the other way but instead often getting mixed with exhilaration.

"You should be."  

He leaves her staring wide eyed on the sofa and goes to stand before the glass panes.

"It's not happy to see me here. I can see the raging pits of fire in it's gaze. Ready to burn me right where I stand." he chuckled, sounding most sinister, "It definitely wants to rip my innards out."

"You should take off your shirt." He suggests casually.

"Excuse me?"

"Let's see if it riles him up even more to shatter instead of just slamming the windows like a wuss." He rouses under his breath, his excited provocative tone not escaping Rose's attention. 

What the hell is he up to?

"This isn't funny." Rose sputters out, standing up from the couch.

"I'm not trying to be." He faces her again, sporting a deadpan face. 

"Whatever. You think I'm one of your stupid fan girls to take my shirt off just because you want to rile someone up? Besides, there's probably no one outside and you're only making it up to see my boobs like a pervert."

His eyes roams her from top to bottom, there was distaste evident in his gaze.

"When he comes at night and leaves a little something for you, maybe then you take off your clothes for him... like a slut." Rome stared into her eyes with nothing behind those icy orbs to show for a lack of meaning behind his words. Because he means every single thing he says to her.

"Get. Out. Now!" Rose boomed furiously. 

"Whatever, I was leaving anyway. This has become boring." He walks towards her front door.

"Wait. How do you know he comes at night and leaves something?" her eyes narrow.

"Because I've seen it before."

"You saw him? It is a real guy?" Rose wanted to confirm, for some reason she thought otherwise.

"I never said I saw him. I've only seen it happening to someone else." 

"Whom?" 

"You don't need to know." He closes off.

"Then at least tell me what happened to her? Can I meet this person?" 

"You can't." Refusing calmly he was almost out the door when Rose pleads against hope.

"Please."

"You can't because she disappeared." Those were the words that finally did it. Brought her racing heart and buzzing head to a sudden halt. "Never to be seen again." 

 "When he stops visiting, that's when you should be most afraid." His words rang like a siren in the silence of her mind as he left.

Now she felt true fear for the first time.

==

In the embrace of her ancestral town, Rose seeks refuge from the echoes of her past. 

Little does she know, her return to her roots will awaken dormant shadows, shattering ordinary her existence. 

For when the darkness falls over the town, from the pitch black rises a shadowy figure that haunt her nights. 

In the darkness he sweeps her off the ground in terrible fear and the allure of sinister intrigue.

And once the sun comes, a man with a god awful attitude, haunts her in the broad day light. Causing her to swell with pure disdain. 

With each passing night, it draws closer to Rose, casting a chilling spell that both terrifies and exhilarates her.

Thrust into a labyrinth of mysteries can she navigate the treacherous path laid before her, or will her nightly visitor consume her whole?

He Comes At Night

I was sitting in my last lecture of the day, waiting for the hall to fill up, my chin propped against my palm.

The dull murmur of students shuffling in, scraping chairs, and catching up on the latest gossip was nothing but background noise to me.

Beside me, Aria was diligently sketching something on her notebook, tongue poking out slightly in concentration.

We had started a doodle war to pass the time, a harmless little game to see who could outdraw the other.

Not because I lacked artistic talent—though, admittedly, I wasn't great—but because while she was sketching a surprisingly accurate- and absolutely hilarious- caricature of her mom wielding a bullhorn and yelling 'YOU'RE GROUNDED,'

I had absentmindedly drawn… a rose.

The stupid thing refused to leave my thoughts, haunting me like some persistent phantom, creeping into every idle moment, every stray thought.

I should be worrying about actual college things like a normal college student does—frat parties, assignments, deadlines, getting drunk and passing out.

But instead, I sat there, twirling the pendant around my neck, tracing the delicate lines of a flower that had begun to feel more like a curse than a symbol of beauty.

Aria's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, pulling me back to reality. I blinked at her, momentarily confused.

"The word is conceited. People who are so obsessed with themselves that all they ever think about, talk about, or apparently draw—" she tapped my notebook with her pen, "—is the thing they're named after."

I rolled my eyes and punched her arm. "I hate you."

She snickered, unfazed. "Awww, love you too, Rosie-posie."

I blew a raspberry at her, but despite myself, I felt lighter.

Then, her expression softened. "Seriously though, what's up with you? You've been all gloom and doom lately. Is something going on?"

I looked away, focusing on the frayed edges of my notebook. "Nothing."

Aria was quiet for a second, then leaned in conspiratorially, whispering, "Is it a boy?"

I almost laughed at how scandalous she made it sound, but before I could answer, she gasped dramatically, eyes widening. "Wait. Is it that punk? Dracken?"

And just like that, she was out of her chair, ready to fight.

I barely had time to yank her back down before she could make more of a scene. Heads had already turned, and I sent an awkward smile to the nosy onlookers. Most looked away, uninterested.

Across the room, Dracken sat, initially engaged in conversation with someone, but now? Now, his attention was locked onto us. More specifically, onto me.

Of course he heard. Why wouldn't he? She practically screamed his name.

Does he now think we are talking about him. That I am thinking of him? I wasn't! Well now I am because she mentioned him and he is now watching like a hawk.

Heat crept up my neck, a mix of irritation and mortification. I immediately looked away, fixing my gaze back on Aria.

"It's not like that," I hissed, mortified. "Calm your damn horses, Ari."

She still looked unconvinced, but she relented, settling back into her chair. "Alright, fine. But something is going on with you. You're acting weird."

I hesitated. Just then, I think of something stupid. Should I tell her? All that is happening to me?

Will she believe me? She probably will.

The idea of having the support of someone familiar in something so unfamiliar felt so enticing I almost spilled everything to her right then and there.

Instead, I reached for her hand and squeezed. It was small, warm, grounding. A silent thank-you, for always being there. Even if I couldn't share this with her yet.

Aria squeezed back. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

I nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I know."

81. Doodling