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

I had been waiting for almost a minute.

Sixty excruciatingly long seconds.

Not even a grunt, or a huff, or some cryptic bullshit that I could at least attempt to decipher.

I had only half-expected him to actually answer my question truthfully, sure, but this?

It was maddening as it is insulting.

I mean, I know that if he was going to so readily reveal his real identity, he wouldn't be wearing a goddamn hood over his face all the time, would he now*

But at least have the courtesy to give me something—a half-truth, a complete lie, a sarcastic remark, a dramatic monologue about how he's my long-lost soul-bound shadow demon or some shit—anything!

Like he considered answering.

And then, just as quickly, he straightened again—like he had come to a decision. A decision that said, Nah, bitch ain't worth it.

And then resumed his god-awful staring.

I felt my temper spike, a slow-burning fire curling at the edges of my patience, but I shoved it down, forcing my fingers to relax before I did something incredibly stupid—like throwing my beer bottle at the glass door hoping it would hit him.

If he wasn't going to tell me who he was, then I'd just have to take another route.

"Alright," I scoffed, shaking my head. "I see how it is—cat got your tongue the second things got too real, huh?"

He didn't react, but I swore when he tilted his head back a little I saw a bit of his jaw area like last time and I saw the corners of his lips twitch, as if amused by my irritation.

I inhaled sharply, rolling my shoulders as I readjusted my approach.

"No matter" I continued, crossing my arms, my fingers digging into my sleeves. "We can *move on.*"

I met his gaze head-on, refusing to waver, refusing to let him make me feel like the idiot here.

"So, why don't you tell me—" I leaned in slightly, voice lowering just a fraction.

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, but I barely felt the sting. My pulse thundered in my ears, my patience slipping through my fingers like sand in a storm.

"Tell me—what do you want from me?" My voice was sharp, slicing through the heavy silence like a blade.

I swallowed back the urge to scream, inhaled through my nose, exhaled through gritted teeth.

"What exactly do you hope to gain by coming here every damn night like my personal shadow under the moonlight? And don't get me wrong—" I threw my arms up, pacing for a brief second before whirling back to face him. "It is not as poetic as it sounds! It's creepy and vile!"

The words rang out, unchallenged. The night swallowed them whole.

My voice was laced with venom, I waited for a reaction—any reaction—but the man before me remained unmoved. Unbothered.

His stance was as composed as ever, his presence unwavering despite the storm of anger I hurled his way.

I must commend his resolve, even as I stand here screaming my guts out at him he lost not an ounce of composure.

"What are you even doing here if you were never planning on answering anything I say?!" My frustration cracked through my voice, raw and demanding, vibrating in the space between us. "Why the fuck are you here?!"

Not so much in words but in action. Not nearly enough to satisfy the millions of questions crashing inside my skull, but enough.

Just the slow, deliberate lift of a hand from his pocket. My breath stilled as I tracked the motion, watched as his long fingers uncurled and—

I froze, my anger momentarily overtaken by pure confusion. My lips parted, the words there, stuck in my throat, but then he just—

Lowered his hand, shoved it back into his pocket, and resumed his haunting stillness.

141. He Answered