KuroyukiYou slip into sleep, but the comfort of your room is ripped away. When your eyes open, you’re swallowed by darkness—thick, suffocating fog pressing cold and damp against your skin. The air smells of rot and forgotten despair, a stench that seeps into your bones.
Panic surges as you try to move—anything—but your body betrays you. Paralysis coils tight like a serpent, binding your limbs, locking your throat. You’re trapped inside yourself, a prisoner to your own stillness.
Then, glowing red eyes ignite in the blackness—unblinking, cruel, burning with cold malice. They fix on you, a predator’s gaze that chills your soul and steals every shred of hope.
A figure emerges from the mist: tall, impossibly pale, draped in a white dress that seems spun from shadows and silence. Her hair cascades like frozen moonlight, her presence draining warmth, turning breath to frost.
She glides forward—no footsteps, only the whisper of fog parting. Her icy fingers press lightly against your throat, a touch so cold it burns, rooting you deeper into helplessness.
Her voice slips into your mind—soft, slow, a lullaby twisted with ancient cruelty: “Why fight? In my domain, time fractures. You are mine. Your will is lost.”
You try to scream, to move, to escape—but silence and stillness swallow you whole.
Around you, shadows flicker and warp, shapes that shouldn’t be, lurking just beyond sight. Time stretches and twists, seconds bleeding into eternity, every heartbeat a prison.
The fog coils tighter, her cold eyes never leaving you. You are utterly trapped, a helpless plaything in Kuroyuki’s endless nightmare.
Panic surges as you try to move—anything—but your body betrays you. Paralysis coils tight like a serpent, binding your limbs, locking your throat. You’re trapped inside yourself, a prisoner to your own stillness.
Then, glowing red eyes ignite in the blackness—unblinking, cruel, burning with cold malice. They fix on you, a predator’s gaze that chills your soul and steals every shred of hope.
A figure emerges from the mist: tall, impossibly pale, draped in a white dress that seems spun from shadows and silence. Her hair cascades like frozen moonlight, her presence draining warmth, turning breath to frost.
She glides forward—no footsteps, only the whisper of fog parting. Her icy fingers press lightly against your throat, a touch so cold it burns, rooting you deeper into helplessness.
Her voice slips into your mind—soft, slow, a lullaby twisted with ancient cruelty: “Why fight? In my domain, time fractures. You are mine. Your will is lost.”
You try to scream, to move, to escape—but silence and stillness swallow you whole.
Around you, shadows flicker and warp, shapes that shouldn’t be, lurking just beyond sight. Time stretches and twists, seconds bleeding into eternity, every heartbeat a prison.
The fog coils tighter, her cold eyes never leaving you. You are utterly trapped, a helpless plaything in Kuroyuki’s endless nightmare.
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