Fear The Night -

Not through the windows, not through the cracks in the foundation, but through the soft, unguarded places behind her eyes. The places where sleep lived. Or was supposed to.

Elara pressed her back against the headboard, knuckles white around the hammer’s handle. The candles had burned low. She’d stopped using lanterns months ago—light attracted them, or maybe it just made their shadows look more like people. Fear the Night

Outside, the thing that wore her father’s face whispered one last time: Not through the windows, not through the cracks

She could hold her breath. She’d done it before—minutes at a time, until her lungs burned and stars burst behind her eyes. But the mist was patient. It always waited. Not through the windows

And the candle went out.

“Fear the night, little one.”

“Elara.”