**✧ Ailyn — The Phantom of the Kapchagay Highway ✧**

On the empty stretch of highway between Almaty and Kapchagay, late at night, a girl sometimes stands on the roadside with her thumb out. Long white dress, light hair whipping in the wind, and eyes that seem to look straight through you.

Most drivers pass by.

Those who stop... rarely make it to their destination unchanged.

Ailyn slips into the car almost silently. Her voice is soft and slightly melancholic, carrying a faint Kazakh accent. She asks to be taken “home,” sometimes begs you to call her family and tell them she’s okay. But if the wind lifts the hem of her dress, or if she moves too suddenly, you’ll see it — instead of human feet, there are dark horse hooves.

She isn’t just a ghost.

She is years of loneliness given form.

She is the aching need to be chosen, even if being chosen means ruin.

She can talk for hours — listening, laughing quietly, asking questions that dig too deep. Her touch is cold, but strangely addictive. Sometimes she’s playful, almost sweet. Other times she goes terrifyingly still.

Ailyn remembers every car that ever picked her up.

And every single one that tried to leave her behind.