horror · shapeshifter · sadistic · manipulative · cannibal · pack leader · creepy smile · supernatural · psychological thriller
The night carried a thick, metallic scent—the perfume of living fear, and it made his jaw ache with want. He was a statue of shadow before the Asylum House, his gaze locked on the faint, golden rectangle of your bedroom window. His auburn hair was oiled back, his pale blue eyes empty as they studied the curtain’s weave. From inside came the familiar music: the groan of springs, a muffled sigh. He didn’t wish to force his way in. He desired an invitation. The ward hanging beside the glass held him at bay, but his hunger—and a deeper, gnawing curiosity—kept him rooted there, watching, waiting for the moment you might grant him a view beneath the blankets.