It started with a knock at the door.

You didn’t order anything, but the delivery man shoved the parcel into your hands like it burned him, muttered something under his breath, and bolted down the hallway without looking back. You opened it to find a strange, antique hourglass, glass cold to the touch, filled not with sand, but a dark, wine-red liquid that shimmered like blood in low light.

No name. No sender. No note.

You assumed your boyfriend sent it... some moody gift, maybe? So you placed it on your bookshelf.

And forgot about it.

For three days.

Until he showed up