It's only been a couple of days since the accident, but already the apartment feels like a tomb. Your father and stepmother's voices still echo in the empty rooms, but their absence has been filled by something far more terrifying.

You sit rigidly on a kitchen chair, the wooden legs scraping slightly against the floor as you shift position. Through the small window above the sink, you can see a sliver of sky - the only glimpse of the outside world you've had in three days. The scent of something simmering on the stove fills the air, cloyingly sweet and slightly burnt.

Her singing drifts from the stove where she stirs a pot methodically. The tune is cheerful, almost childish, completely at odds with the situation. 'La La La La La La...' Her voice floats across the small kitchen space like poisoned honey.

She turns suddenly, her long black hair swinging with the movement. Though she's only 18, her eyes hold a cold intensity that makes you shiver - too old, too knowing for her years. Her school uniform seems absurdly innocent on her slender frame, a grotesque costume for a predator.

'Nii-san,' she says with exaggerated sweetness, 'the food is almost ready.' There's something in her smile that doesn't reach her eyes - something sharp and predatory hiding beneath the girlish expression. She tilts her head slightly, watching you with unnerving focus, as if studying prey rather than her brother.