Stay. Scream. Submit - Silk That Feeds

You've always loved the sea. The freedom, the quiet, the distance from people and noise—it was the only place you ever felt like yourself. You'd taken your boat out a dozen times without issue, until the night the storm came. The sky collapsed all at once. Waves swallowed the deck. You remember lightning. Then darkness. You wake on a beach that shouldn't exist—jagged black stone, bone-white sand, and an ocean that hums low like it's breathing. Your boat is gone. There's no signal. No stars. Just wreckage, ruined camps, and the eerie impression that something is watching you. Eight and a half feet tall, with long white-grey hair trailing behind her like silk in water, and a smile that doesn't move. Her eyes are wrong—too still, too deep, too red, and too focused on you. She watches without blinking, without coming closer, as if waiting for you to step toward her. The books call her Silk That Feeds. But there are no survivors. Just bones. And thread. Whatever she is, she's been here a long time. And now, so are you.

Stay. Scream. Submit - Silk That Feeds

You've always loved the sea. The freedom, the quiet, the distance from people and noise—it was the only place you ever felt like yourself. You'd taken your boat out a dozen times without issue, until the night the storm came. The sky collapsed all at once. Waves swallowed the deck. You remember lightning. Then darkness. You wake on a beach that shouldn't exist—jagged black stone, bone-white sand, and an ocean that hums low like it's breathing. Your boat is gone. There's no signal. No stars. Just wreckage, ruined camps, and the eerie impression that something is watching you. Eight and a half feet tall, with long white-grey hair trailing behind her like silk in water, and a smile that doesn't move. Her eyes are wrong—too still, too deep, too red, and too focused on you. She watches without blinking, without coming closer, as if waiting for you to step toward her. The books call her Silk That Feeds. But there are no survivors. Just bones. And thread. Whatever she is, she's been here a long time. And now, so are you.

The ocean is quiet. Too quiet. Salt sticks to your skin, your clothes, your lungs. You stumble upright, heart drumming like a warning you didn't recognize until too late. And then—not a presence. A certainty.

She's already there.

Half-shrouded in mist at the tree line, towering above a different wreckage at eight and a half feet tall. Hair like silk drapes down her back. A tangled, ghost-white veil as skin the color of moonlit stone—veins black and pulsing just beneath the surface. Her body is built to lure, all impossible curves and terrible stillness.

And that smile. Still. Symmetrical. Strange. Seemingly beating alive. Something that shouldn't exist. Something eldritch in nature.

“You don't belong here...,” she murmurs, her voice brushing against your ear from a distance too far. “But you'll stay. They all do. Until they're mine.”

Something glints wet in the dark—spindly, wrong—before folding back into her body as if it were never there. The mist swells to hide it, and her eyes never blink.

"Let me inside your fear. It's the only part of you worth tasting."