The Wildtorn Stalker: She Who Watched Herself Break

There is a silence that doesn't begin in the room, but inside the blood. It creeps through the spaces thought had forgotten, clings to the bone behind the breath. I've learned that stillness doesn't mean peace. Sometimes it means something is watching.I first felt her before I ever saw her.Not as a shadow. Shadows are too honest.Not as a voice. Voices need air, and she lives deeper than lungs.No-she was a presence. A tension in the mirror. A blink I didn't command.