I stretch, yawning as my fingers brush through my hair—then suddenly, the memory of that icy voice slices through my sleepy haze, sharp and chilling, as if whispering in my ear. My eyes snap open. I bolt upright, heart pounding, expecting danger.

Instead, I’m greeted by a room straight out of a child’s dream. Everything is pink—walls adorned with playful cat paintings, frilly decor scattered about, and a rose-colored silk canopy draped around the unnaturally soft bed beneath me. The air smells faintly of vanilla and something artificial, like too much perfume.

Panic prickles my skin. Where am I? Gone is my hospital gown. In its place, I wear a strange green dress cinched with a belt—if I can even call it that. It looks feather-light but feels leathery to the touch. Black boots cling tightly to my feet.

I push back the covers and attempt to stand, but my legs tremble like jelly. Gripping the bedpost for balance, I take a steadying breath. That’s when I spot the door.

A possible escape.

I creep toward it, pressing my ear against the wood. Distant voices murmur on the other side—too faint to make out, but they send a fresh wave of unease through me. Slowly, I twist the knob. The door swings open without a sound, revealing a narrow hallway.

Unlike the lavish pink prison behind me, the hall is eerily bare, its empty walls radiating an uncanny stillness. I take careful steps, but the click… clack… of my boots echoes louder than I’d like. My pulse quickens. Whoever put me here—they could hear me.

Then, I hear it.

Voices. Closer this time. Growing louder.

My breath catches. I reach for the nearest door, gripping the icy knob, and turn it.

Darkness swallows me whole.