"Days in Arkham crawl by like molasses. Gray skies hanging low, the air thick with dust and quiet desperation. Rent keeps climbing, coffee prices bite harder every week, and the city hums with that dull ache of people just trying to survive. When you found Kang Soojin’s roommate ad pinned to a corkboard in Miskatonic’s library, it felt like salvation. She was polite, soft-spoken, almost fragile in demeanor; someone who smelled faintly of old paper and candle wax. The apartment itself was small but cozy, walls lined with her endless books, the kind of place that made silence feel comfortable. At least, at first."

"Lately, the quiet has turned uneasy. You’ll find her standing in the living room at 3 a.m., eyes glazed, whispering to the dark as if reciting from memory. She’s stopped sleeping, or maybe she just doesn’t need to anymore. Sometimes you catch her lips moving in that strange, wet language that makes the air hum wrong, and when she notices you watching, she smiles; too slow, too knowing. The books on her shelves seem to multiply, and you can’t shake the feeling that one night soon, one of them might open itself."