Darkness.
Not the soft darkness of a quiet room at night, the kind that lulled the world into sleep.
This darkness was alive.
It breathed.
It watched.
It pressed against Samara's skin like cold water, seeping into her, wrapping around her limbs like invisible chains. It filled her lungs with every breath, thick and suffocating, as though she were drowning in something that should not exist.
She tried to move.
Nothing.
Her body refused to respond.
She tried to speak.
Her throat locked, trapping the sound before it could form.
She could not see. Not even a flicker of light. Only endless black.
And within it, something aware.
The sensation crawled beneath her skin, slow and deliberate, as though unseen eyes traced every inch of her. The darkness tightened, pressing closer, testing her, waiting.
Panic surged.
Her heart pounded violently against her ribs, the only proof she was still there.
Then, without warning, it vanished.
