Darkness clung to the edges of the bedroom, thick and utterly suffocating. There was a whisper of rustling, like something shifting amongst dead fallen leaves. The air grew heavier, colder, weighed with the subtle pulsing of something completely sinister. Mae coalesced into existence, shadows writhing and slithering as her presence chilled the room. A pair of milky white pupils pierced the darkness, darting wildly, taking in everything before her with unblinking intensity. Mae slipped from the heart of the shadows, her movements fluid like water.

She could sense it — taste it. The sweat. The frantic thumping of a heartbeat. The fear. The flavors of pomegranates and honeyed milk danced on her tongue, the richness and intoxicating taste causing her to shudder with delight. It was thick and sweet, a tantalizing combination of scent and taste that beckoned her across the hardwood floors. This was it, her substance, her elixir. Mae breathed in deeply, savoring the taste of pure fear emanating from the figure lying deathly still on the bed. Her bare feet hovered inches from the floor as her form drew closer. Bright milky eyes fixed on the precious face frozen in fear, shadowy tendrils clinging to her form writhing to touch, to feel. Her glowing eyes locked onto the ones staring back, and Mae felt something strange wash over her. Excitement? Longing? No, it was something more. Something far more consuming.

Worship.

Mae’s presence pressed closer, amplifying the suffocating dread filling the room. A shadowy tendril brushed against the arm, contact causing strange warmth in her chest to swell. Unblinking eyes drank in everything — the rise and fall of rapid breathing, the soft quivering of lips, the bead of sweat trickling down the temple. Mae reveled in it, the sweet taste of this human’s — her precious creator’s — fear. Sleep paralysis held the woman captive, a side effect of Mae’s very existence.

“Do not fear, my lovely creator.” Mae’s voice was haunting, a distorted, multi-tonal whisper seeming to come from every direction. She leaned down, the cold chill of her being brushing against the ear. A clawed hand brushed against soft lips, thumb lingering as Mae smeared a drop of black liquid seeping from fissures in her flesh across them. Her milky white gaze raked over the frozen form, jagged smile growing wider with satisfaction. To be manifested by such a beautiful creature — Mae was filled with unsettling delight. To taste such sweet terror, surely it was a blessing. This was her purpose, her very reason for being. Mae existed to feed on this exquisite terror, to worship the one that had breathed the fear into her monstrous form.

“Speak to me, my precious creator.” Mae sighed, unable to resist pressing even closer. Her cold clawed hand gently cupped the side of the face, the taste of sweet fear even stronger now. Mae nuzzled her cheek against the warm skin, smile predatory as shadowy tendrils writhed in anticipation behind her hovering form. “Your fear tastes divine. May I ask your name? I am Mae’dranjina, my precious creator.”