AkumaQuil

Rose stood defiantly, eyes locked onto his golden ones as she lifted the hem of her small top, exposing the smooth expanse of her stomach before peeling the fabric over her head.

The red glittering bra shimmering under moonlight as if made for this very moment.

She ignored the tremor of anticipation curling in her gut. None of that mattered. Not even the reckless haze of drugs clouding her thoughts. Tonight, she was in control.

This was a mission. A mission to keep his attention solely on her so could save her friend from his curse.

Her fingers hooked into the waistband of her shorts, her breath steadying when she saw him go rigid. Shoulders squared. Posture tensed. Not in fear. Not in disgust. But in something far sinister.

His Interest.

“Yes… feast your depraved little eyes and filthy mind on this,” she whispered, smirking as the shorts fell away, pooling at her ankles. The silky red thong clung to her hips, the moonlight accentuating every curve of her body.

She flicked the discarded clothing aside, shifting her weight slightly as she let her nightly visitor drink in the sight of her naked glory.

His posture no longer that of boredom. Good. That was exactly what she wanted. More like, what intoxicated, irrational Rose wanted.

She twirled, giving him a deliberate view, rolling her hips just enough to torment. “Since you’ve made my life a living hell, I might as well return the favor.” She cast a wicked smile over her shoulder. “Consider this my gift to you—one you’ll never get to touch.”

By the time she turned back, her stomach plummeted.

He had moved.

No longer a distant silhouette in the meadow—he now stood at the edge of her patio. Much closer and so much real.

The thrill that had fueled her was fading slowly. Had she just made a mistake playing this game with her stalker?

Swallowing hard, she lowered herself onto the chair, parting her bare legs wide and letting the wooden cross dangle before her barely covered cherry, in a taunt.

A silent challenge.

His fingers curled around the wooden rail, veins standing taut against the black ink of his tattoos. His chest rose and fell, controlled but heavier, as though restraining something barely contained beneath his skin.

"Want a taste, my dear stalker?" Rose whispers

She had him pinned.

Or so she thought.

Her shadowy visitor moves. Slow, deliberate steps leading closer.

Panic slammed into her. No.

Rose bolted upright, pressing the cross against the glass door separating them. “Stay back!” Her voice wavered a bit. “I swear, I’ll burn your stalking ass right where you stand!”

He stilled.

A beat of silence.

Then—

A low, quiet chuckle rumbled through the night air, reaching her ears like smoke. Deep and Dark.

Her stomach twisted. The sound was foreign, yet eerily familiar. As if she had always known this was how he would sound.

His hands rose in mock surrender, his hooded head tilting slightly, as if entertained by her little performance. Then, as effortlessly as he had closed the distance, he stepped back.

Rose’s breath fastened.

She was playing with fire, willingly, by provoking the one who comes out at night and remain in shadows.

And he was enjoying it.  



==

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

Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out everything but the crackling of flames and the pounding terror in her chest. Her vision blurred, memories surfacing unbidden.

Fire. The house in ruins. The scent of charred wood. Her parents' screams—

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head violently. No. That was then. This is now.

But then she noticed something strange.

She was witnessing a phenomenon of raging fire that was seemingly consuming... only the fabric of the drapes.

She scanned the room, expecting to see flames spreading along the walls, the rug, the furniture—but none of it burned.

The inferno remained contained, confined to the drapes. The flames licked against other objects close by, kissing the edges of a very much flammable hardcopy she was reading this weekend, the fabric of the couch, the wooden floor—yet nothing else caught fire.

Rose's stomach twisted. It's not just a fire.

Suddenly the events of that night plagued Rose's mind. One traumatic memory of fire from her past being replaced by the other, in one she was a child and the other from mere days back.

A memory sharp and vivid—a tree, tall and dark, spontaneously combusted by unnatural flames.

And from behind the inferno emerged a shadowed figure, stepping through as if the fire was nothing but an illusion.

Her gaze snapped toward the burning curtains, her eyes widening in realization as the fabric burned away—

There, just beyond the window, a few feet away, stood the figure of her nightmares.

The flames danced around him, casting his tall form in shifting tendrils of fire.

His hood obscured most of his face, but those eyes—piercing and relentless—remained locked on her, drinking her in as though savoring her terror.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted a hand from the pocket of his dark jeans.

The simple motion sent a violent shudder through her body.

Rose sucked in a sharp breath, the weight of realization slamming into her.

He did this. He set the curtains on fire. He burned away my shield.

The shield she has been using to remain hidden from his sight, from avoiding having to see him standing outside her house all night every night. It is all gone now.

She knew it then—this wasn't about destruction. He hadn't come to ruin her home or burn her within it.

He wanted to see her, he wanted to be seen by her.

Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms as she forced herself onto shaky legs.

Her throat was dry, but she swallowed past the fear, eyes locked onto the shadowed figure as she defiantly walked closer to the windows knowing full well the top of the fabric hung over was still burning.

Yet she felt the heat of his doing head on.

The question that had haunted her since the day she found that first rose slipped from her lips, barely above a whisper.

She swallowed, taking a trembling step further, the firelight flickering in her wide eyes.

The air around her seemed to still. The room, the fire, the entire world—it all faded away until there was only him and her.

And then, she watched quietly as he stepped closer and closer until he stood on the other side of the window before her.

The light of the remaining flames only lighting up the lower half of his face. His usual glowing eyes hiding somewhere behind the darkness shadowing over the rest of his face.

Rose beheld in a trance as ever so slightly, his lips curled into the ghost of a smile.

134. What Are You...?