Chizzy felt the dampness seep into her bones as the mist thickened around the village. It was no ordinary fog. It clung to her skin, whispered through her hair, and distorted the familiar paths into winding nightmares. The villagers had retreated indoors, doors bolted, curtains drawn, as if the night itself hunted them.
She walked slowly, the hem of her dress brushing against dew-soaked grass. Her heart pounded with something stronger than fear recognition. Something in the fog was familiar, ancient, like a memory she couldn't quite reach.
The figure appeared first as a shadow. Then a silhouette. Then a man, tall and still, standing at the edge of the old chapel ruins. He wore a long black coat, his face hidden by the shadows of his hood. But Chizzy didn't need to see his face to know who he was.
"The Watcher," she whispered.
He had been in her dreams since childhood a guardian or a warning. Always present when the darkness crept close. But this was the first time he had crossed the veil into her waking world.
"You've come," she said, voice steady despite the tremble in her chest.
His voice was wind over broken stones. "You have drawn me, as you always do."
"Why now?" she asked, taking a step forward. "Why not before when my mother screamed, when I was locked in that room?"
"You were not ready. You are now."
The fog curled around them, thickening, as if trying to conceal their meeting from the eyes of the world.
"Ready for what?"
He turned his face slightly. The edge of a scar caught the moonlight. "To remember. To become."
Chizzy's hands clenched into fists. "I don't understand. I'm just a girl from this cursed village. I don't have"
"You have blood older than this land. A name whispered by trees and wept by rivers. You are not cursed, Chizzy. You are the curse reborn."
Her breath caught. "What do you mean?"
The Watcher lifted a gloved hand, pointing toward the heart of the village. "The Hollow wakes. The lines are breaking. They will come for you. You must choose: sleep or rise."
A sudden gust blew through the ruins, scattering dead leaves like broken memories. The Watcher stepped back into the mist, his form dissolving.
"Wait!" Chizzy called, but he was gone, as if he had never been.
She stood alone, the cold biting at her skin, his final words echoing in her mind.
You must choose.
Her fingers brushed against the iron locket at her neck. Inside was her mother's last message, cryptic and desperate.
Maybe the Watcher was right. Maybe her blood held more than she dared believe.
And maybe… the nightmare wasn't something chasing her.
Maybe she was the nightmare.