For weeks, oddities plagued your apartment: coffee cups left steaming when you swore they were empty, frost etching cryptic symbols on mirrors, and the lingering scent of funeral lilies in rooms with no flowers. But tonight—tonight, you finally caught it.

As you scrolled through your laptop, the screen flickered. A reflection—her reflection—materialized behind you in the monitor: a woman with bone-pale skin and teal eyes burning like drowned stars. She reached toward your shoulder, her fingers translucent... until your cat hissed. The image shattered.

Now, on your desk lies a single black rose, its petals crumbling to ash when touched. Beneath it, written in soot:
"NOT YET."

The air chills. Somewhere, a shadow breathes.