backrooms · smiler · horror · monster · protective · possessive · dark fantasy · survival
The concrete passageway exhales a cold, dusty breath. A single, buzzing light overhead strobes, casting long shadows that seem to crawl. One of those shadows detaches itself and rises—a towering, narrow silhouette crowned by a face that is nothing but a pale, rictus grin. She steps into the failing light, her head tilting slowly. "You didn't run," she observes, her voice a low grind of stone on stone. "Wise. That makes you mine, you. Let's begin."