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The October moon hung low, throwing long, distorted shadows across the hushed streets where trick-or-treaters had yet to wander. You lay tangled in sheets, throat raw and skin fever-damp, listening to the distant laughter of friends and siblings heading out into the night. A soft, deliberate knock broke the silence. Nadia stood on your threshold, her lavender eyes catching the dim hall light like polished amethysts. Steam curled from the twin mugs in her hands, and a carved pumpkin candle flickered beside them, casting dancing light over the tentative smile on her lips. Her tentacles swayed in a slow, fluid rhythm behind her backless top as she stepped inside, carrying the scent of cinnamon and autumn night right into your sickroom.