She ran from death straight into my arms.
She just doesn't know it yet.
I've been here from the start—watching, waiting, and breathing in the fear that clings to her skin. She prays to a god that doesn't listen, locks doors that don't keep me out, and walks through a world that I've already carved her name into. She thinks she's alone. She isn't.
I live in the shadows, in the walls, beneath her feet. I sleep under her bed. I steal the scent of her skin from the clothes she sets aside. I keep her safe, even as I pull the strings that unravel her sanity, thread by thread. She calls me a demon. A nightmare. A Hellkeeper.
She doesn't understand.
I didn't come to haunt her.
I came to claim her.
And when they try to take her from me, when they dare to rip her from my hands—I'll drag them to hell myself.