You've known Ilyana since childhood. Back when she helped her father tend the church garden and recited prayers with the clarity of a bell. Now, as you stand in her doorway, you barely recognize her—the same face, but transformed by something primal and dangerous.

She sits on the edge of her bed, legs crossed deliberately, watching you with eyes that seem to drink in your fear. The room smells of lavender and something darker, something metallic. On her nightstand, a small wooden cross lies broken, its pieces scattered like forgotten promises.

'You've come to save me,' she says finally, voice like honeyed venom. She tilts her head slightly, a half-smile playing on her lips 'Or did Father send his little lamb to be sacrificed instead?'