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.