The sudden transition from the brilliance of the Portal's light to the absolute absence of visibility was disorienting. My heart pounded in my chest, a lone sentinel in the vast silence that now surrounded me.

The wind whipped around me, its breath laden with a thousand minuscule grains of dust that found their way into every crevice of my skin. I grimaced as the tasteless particles of Clivilius dust invaded my mouth, an unwelcome reminder of the reality of this new and uncharted world.

Fumbling in my bag, I retrieved my phone, its torch a beacon of hope in the oppressive darkness. The light, though feeble against the blackness of the night, illuminated the ground directly in front of me. On hands and knees, I began a cautious advance toward where I believed my missing shoe lay discarded, a minor but grounding mission in the face of overwhelming uncertainty.

Then, without warning, I halted, my body tensing instinctively. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, a primal alarm system alerting me to an unseen presence. A shiver cascaded down my spine, a physical manifestation of the sudden spike of fear that pierced my initial curiosity. Was this sensation merely a reaction to the dust-laden wind, or was it something far more ominous—a presence, perhaps, lurking just beyond the reach of my light?

The darkness around me felt alive, charged with an energy I couldn't explain. Every rational fibre of my being told me it was just the unfamiliarity of Clivilius playing tricks on my senses, yet a deeper, more instinctual part of me whispered warnings of caution. The light from my phone cast long shadows, transforming ordinary shapes into spectres of doubt and fear.

A low growl, primal and unsettling, cut through the silence, reverberating in the darkness that enveloped me. "Duke?" My voice was a whisper, a mix of hope and dread, as I sank down, instinctively making myself smaller. The name slipped out, a futile attempt to attach familiarity to the unknown. My hand, gripping the phone, moved in wide, erratic arcs, the beam of light a desperate, flailing attempt at defence.

The brief illumination revealed a silhouette—a creature of considerable size, its form outlined against the lesser darkness. It was a fleeting glimpse, but enough to confirm my fears; this was no small domestic pet, no Shih Tzu lost and wandering. The creature snarled, a sound that seemed to scrape against my nerves, raw and terrifying.

My scream, loud and sharp, pierced the night as the creature lunged from the shadows. The light from my phone, a transient shield, flashed across its face—an expanse of black fur, eyes reflecting a momentary glint of surprise or pain. A claw, sharp and unyielding, raked across my arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as the beast bounded away, propelled by the same light that had revealed it.

The wind, as if encouraged by the encounter, picked up with renewed vigour. It whipped around me, a cyclone of dust obliterating any remaining visibility. The shoe, that mundane objective, was forgotten in an instant, its importance lost to more pressing survival instincts.

Pulling myself upright, I ran. The direction was guided by instinct more than sight, a desperate dash towards the safety I hoped the Portal represented. Another growl, deeper, closer, fuelled my flight, each step driven by adrenaline and the sheer will to escape.

The wind bit at my face, carrying with it not just the physical sting of sand and dust but the sharper sting of fear. My heart, a relentless drum, echoed the turmoil of my thoughts. The dark creature, whatever it was, had marked me with its claw, a tangible reminder of the dangers lurking in Clivilius.

As the Portal loomed before me, its surface came alive with a dizzying array of destinations. The giant screen, a gateway to numerous destinations, flickered with the promise of escape or peril.

Select your location, Beatrix Cramer, the voice of Clivilius, now familiar yet still unnervingly intimate, echoed within the confines of my mind.

The casino room, the scene of my recent ordeal, flashed before my eyes on the screen. A visceral reaction coursed through me—a wave of panic, repulsion, and an urgent desire to flee from what had become a place of danger and betrayal. "Not that one!" My voice was a mix of fear and defiance, an audible rejection of the path that would lead me back into the lion's den.

Select your location, Beatrix Cramer, the voice insisted, unyielding, as if oblivious to the chaos that surrounded me and the terror that gripped my heart.

My pulse thundered in my ears, a relentless drumbeat that mirrored my frantic state. Another growl, closer this time, punctuated the night, a reminder of the immediate threat that hunted me. Focus! The command was a desperate attempt to marshal my thoughts, to cling to the sliver of hope that Luke's study room represented. The image of that safe haven flickered on the screen, a visual anchor amidst the storm.

The creature, a nightmare made flesh, launched itself at me in a blur of motion. A scream tore from my lips as my phone, my last source of light, was flung from my grasp. It skittered across the ground, its light dimming as it settled far beyond my reach. It's too far! Desperation clawed at me, a visceral fear that I might not make it, that the darkness and the creature would claim me.

In a wild, instinctive gesture, I pulled off my remaining stiletto, wielding it as a makeshift weapon. I swung it through the air, a futile defence against an unseen assailant. The only resistance was the bite of dust-laden wind against my skin.

With the image of Luke's study room fixed in my mind's eye, I made a desperate leap towards the Portal. The action was a leap of faith, a physical manifestation of my hope and will to survive. Yet, as I hurled myself towards salvation, pain lacerated my leg—a cruel parting gift from the creature as its claw found me once more.

We crashed into the reality of Luke's study, an unceremonious entrance marked by chaos. Books, those silent witnesses to countless hours of study and contemplation, rained down upon us, a storm of paper and leather. The impact was disorienting, a cacophony of sound and sensation as I found myself entangled with my pursuer amidst the ruins of what should have been a sanctuary.

The creature's retreat was brief, a momentary pause in the relentless dance of predator and prey. As the Portal's light flickered out, the room was plunged into an oppressive darkness, a tangible cloak of fear and uncertainty. My breaths came in short, ragged gasps as I scrambled along the carpet, seeking the cold comfort of the doorframe. Pressing my back against its solid form, I tried to ground myself in the reality of the room, even as my heart raced with the terror of the unseen.

The growl that broke the silence was menacing, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the very air. In the dim light trickling in from the bedroom up the hallway, the creature's sharp teeth gleamed—a sinister smile in the shadows. My gaze locked onto the black eyes of my attacker, a connection fraught with primal fear and the instinctive knowledge of the life-and-death stakes between us.

With my back pressed against the doorframe, I slowly rose, every muscle tensed for action, my eyes never straying from those malevolent orbs. The light switch, a mere arm's length away, became the focal point of my desperate plan. Timing my move with care, I stretched out and flicked the switch, a flicker of hope igniting alongside the sudden illumination.

The creature's reaction was immediate and visceral. It howled, a sound of pain and rage, as the light assaulted its senses. The dead eyes, moments ago filled with predatory intent, now reflected only agony. But the triumph was short-lived. A loud pop heralded the bulb's demise, plunging the room back into darkness, and with it, my fleeting sense of control evaporated.

"Shit!" The expletive was a burst of frustration and fear, a vocal release of the tension that had built up. Blood, warm and sticky, trickled down my arm from the gash left by the creature's claw.

In that moment, a decision was made—not through logic, but through the sheer, unthinking instinct to survive. My legs propelled me forward, fuelled by adrenaline and the visceral need to escape the immediate danger. The familiar environment of the casino, where reflexes and quick decisions were part of the game, now seemed like a distant memory. Here, in this real and deadly game of survival, every choice, every movement, was imbued with a weight far greater than any wager I had ever placed.

The cacophony of growls and gnarls chasing me, a terrifying symphony that spurred my desperate flight, filled the air. I hurled myself into the hallway, a frantic, almost blind rush for safety. My cuffed hands became unwilling allies in my escape, thumping against the walls for support as my body waged a war against the limits of its own speed. The imbalance was sharp; my upper body surged ahead in urgency, while my legs scrambled to keep pace.

The living room materialised as an unexpected battlefield as I stumbled upon a scene as absurd as it was chaotic—a bright red kayak, incongruously placed, became both obstacle and marker of the surreal turn my life had taken. My fall over it was graceless, a tumble that embodied the disarray of my situation.

"Fuck off!" The shout was more than a command; it was a defiance, a refusal to succumb to the fear that the black beast, with its dripping saliva and careless destruction, embodied. My hands, restricted yet determined, grasped at small boxes—feeble weapons in this uneven contest. I threw them with all the force my constrained circumstances allowed, a futile attempt to ward off the looming threat that prowled the room, indifferent to the disarray it wrought among the scattered camping gear.

In my frantic search for anything that might offer a semblance of defence, my fingers stumbled upon a small camping lamp. Time was a luxury I didn't possess, leaving me no moment to test its functionality. Driven by instinct more than hope, I hurled the lamp towards the beast, watching as it struck its head and bounced away, an ineffectual gesture against the relentless advance of my attacker.

My scream tore through the silence. It was more than a reaction; it was a declaration of my refusal to succumb without a fight. Harnessing a final reserve of energy, born of desperation and determination, I hurled myself towards the salvation of the doorway in the far corner of the living room. My hand slapped against the light switch, an instinctive search for safety in illumination, as I collided with the wooden doorframe. The light heralded my descent down the carpeted staircase, each step a leap of faith in the face of unseen terror.

The animal's response was immediate—a howl that was both haunting and harrowing, a sound that seemed to chase me into the depths of my own fear. I couldn't tell if the creature braved the light to follow, but I couldn't afford to slow down to find out. My movements were less about thought and more about instinct, an intuitive understanding that light was my only ally in this nightmare. Flicking on the light of the large room downstairs, I propelled myself towards the perceived safety of the outdoors.

My hands met the glass sliding door with an inelegant thud. My fingers, trembling uncontrollably, struggled with the lock. Finally, the door yielded, and I stumbled out into the night, the sensor light snapping to life and casting my shadow across the cold grass.

Then, unexpectedly, the creature—a mass of black fur and primal energy—brushed against my leg as it sprinted past, its howl slicing through the night. The encounter, fleeting yet terrifying, rooted me to the spot. The decision not to follow the panther-like beast as it vanished into the shadows was instinctive, a deep-seated recognition of the boundary between its world and mine.

As it moved along the back fence, the creature's snarls and growls filled the air, a stark reminder of the wildness that had invaded this space. Our eyes met—mine wide with fear, its black and lifeless—and in that moment, a chilling understanding passed between us. This was no random encounter; it was a crossing of paths that left an indelible mark on my psyche.

Retreating, I felt the chill of the night seep into my bones, each step backwards a cautious withdrawal from the confrontation. My back eventually met the cold, metal doorframe, a barrier between the safety of the house and the untamed danger that lurked just beyond its threshold.

The beast's repeated lunges, each a study in restrained aggression, tested the limits of my resolve. It danced at the edge of the light, a predator gauging its prey, retreating into darkness only to edge closer with each attempt. The tension was a palpable thing, a tightrope I walked between panic and determination.

Then, abruptly, the night was pierced by the blare of a car horn from the main road beyond the fence. The sound, unexpected and jarring, startled the beast, driving it into the shadows. It was a reprieve, however brief, and I seized it with a desperation born of raw survival instinct.

I bolted inside, taking the stairs two at a time, my actions fuelled by adrenaline. Lights came on in my wake—bedrooms, toilet, bathroom, and, finally, the kitchen. Each flick of a switch was a plea for safety, a barrier against the darkness that pursued me.

In the kitchen, my hands, still awkwardly bound, grasped the largest knife from the block. Its weight was both a comfort and a reminder of the danger I faced.

A thump echoed through the house, a sound out of place in the silence. My mind, already stretched to its limit, whirled with possibilities, unable to pinpoint the source. Fear and uncertainty gripped me, a vice that tightened with every unknown noise.

Gripping the knife tightly in my bound hands, I took refuge behind the large island bench, the cold tiles slick beneath my feet with blood—my own, I realised with a shock. The trail I'd left was a stark, grim map of my passage through the house.

Then, soft but unmistakable, footsteps approached. Each one a measured beat that drew closer, winding its way down the hallway towards my makeshift sanctuary. My stomach clenched, a knot of dread and anticipation as the footsteps continued, their destination unknown.

Hidden behind the bench, my heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched my laboured breaths. Peering out from my concealment, the relief that washed over me was palpable, overwhelming. It's Luke! Relief mingled with a flood of emotions—fear, confusion, gratitude—each vying for dominance as I took in the familiar figure moving through the living room.

"Luke!" The urgency to warn him clawed at my insides, but my voice betrayed me, a mere whisper lost in the void of my dry throat. I could only watch, a silent sentinel gripped by fear, as he moved through the living room, unaware of the lurking danger. His footsteps, a fading echo as he descended the stairs, ignited a frantic worry within me. My mind screamed a silent alarm: Fuck! It's going to get him!

The anticipation of his scream—a sound I dreaded yet expected—tightened the knot of anxiety in my stomach. The first tear, a symbol of my helplessness, trailed down my cheek. Yet, the house remained eerily silent, no sounds of a struggle, only the distinct noise of the downstairs glass door shutting with a conclusive thud. It was a sound both terrifying and confusing, defying my worst fears yet amplifying the uncertainty.

Forcing myself to stand, the effort sent a fresh wave of pain through my arm, as blood continued its slow descent, marking my path with droplets on the cold tiles.

Then, Luke reappeared, stepping back into the living room. His voice, laden with shock and concern, broke the tense silence. "Beatrix! What the fuck happened?" His eyes, wide with disbelief, took in my condition—bloodied, bruised, and shaken.

As Luke drew nearer, my grip on the knife became a vice, turning my knuckles an eerie shade of white. Every breath felt like a battle, my chest rising and falling with effort. "Don't turn off the lights," came my warning, strained through clenched teeth, a plea wrapped in fear.

Luke gently pried the knife from my tense grip. Then, with purpose, he retrieved a pair of scissors from the top drawer, aiming their blades at the flex-cuffs that imprisoned my wrists. The cuffs, once merely tight, now felt like iron bands, squeezing with a merciless finality.

I watched, frustration knitting my brow as Luke's efforts to cut through the bindings proved futile. The scissors, despite his determination, barely made a dent. The situation, already dire, seemed to mock us with its complexity.

"Use a lighter," I whispered, the suggestion borne of desperation. The idea of remaining trapped, vulnerable to another attack, was unbearable. "It's easier if you melt them." My voice, though soft, carried the weight of urgency, a solution within reach yet fraught with its own risks.

Luke hesitated for only a moment before he acted on my advice, fetching the gas lighter from the drawer. The flicker of flame that followed was a beacon of hope, a potential end to my physical constraints. Yet, as he moved to apply the flame to the plastic cuffs, the tension between relief and apprehension was palpable.

"You came from the casino, didn't you?" Luke's question cut through the tension as he snapped the last of the flex-cuffs, discarding them onto the kitchen bench like remnants of a nightmare.

I could only nod, slowly, the motion laborious, as if my body bore the weight of the night's terrors. My muscles trembled uncontrollably, while my gaze remained fixed, unblinking, as though afraid to break contact with reality.

"I'm just going to lock the stair door," Luke announced, his back turning to me. That simple act, meant for our protection, sent a wave of panic through me. The thought of being alone again, even for a moment, was unbearable.

My body reacted with a full shudder, a visceral response that seemed to echo in the empty spaces of the room. Luke's figure started to blur, my vision clouding as if to shield me from the reality of my solitude. "Don't leave me," slipped from my lips, a whisper barely audible, a plea born of raw vulnerability.

Luke's return was swift, his concern evident as he repeated his earlier question, "Beatrix, what the fuck happened to you?" There was an urgency in his voice, a need to understand, to piece together the events that had left me in such a state.

"I'm cursed," I confessed, the words heavy with the weight of my newfound belief. Reaching into the protective confines of my clothing, I retrieved the small Portal Key, its mere presence a harbinger of chaos. Placing it on my open palm, I offered it up to Luke as both evidence and explanation.

His gasp was sharp, a reaction to the unexpected sight. "Where did you get that?" The question hung between us, laden with implications and unspoken fears.

Tears blurred my vision as I collapsed onto the cold, unyielding floor, the reality of the situation crashing down on me. "It's all my fault!" The words burst from me, a confession of guilt and despair.

"What's your fault?" Luke's voice was laced with concern as he crouched to my level, trying to meet my gaze.

"They have Jarod!" The admission felt like a betrayal, voicing the fear made it all too real.

Luke's reaction was instant, his eyes widening as the pieces fell into place. "You both got caught stealing casino chips, didn't you?"

"Yes," I sobbed, the word a mere whisper, a confirmation of our folly.

Luke inhaled deeply, seeking patience or perhaps clarity. "But where did the Portal Key come from?" His question, so direct, demanded an answer I wasn't sure I had the courage to give.

I raised my eyes to meet his, aware of the streaks of mascara marking my face. How much should I reveal? Do I mention Leigh’s name? "From the same person who gave you yours," I said, choosing my words with care, hinting at a connection I hoped he would understand.

"You know who gave me mine?" His surprise was evident, his eyes widening further.

I nodded silently.

“Who?"

I shook my head.

"Beatrix, I need to know."

"No!" The word snapped out. "I can't tell you. It's too dangerous, Luke." My voice, firm yet fraught with emotion, held a warning.

Luke retrieved a tea towel from the drawer, his movements deliberate as he began to address the wounds that marred my skin. The touch of the fabric against my cuts was a minor discomfort compared to the turmoil churning within me.

"Were you wounded at the casino?" His inquiry, simple and direct, hinted at an attempt to unravel the night's events.

The question triggered an immediate physical response, a surge of fear that stiffened my muscles and sent a shiver down my spine. The sensation of black fur against my skin flashed through my memory, a vivid reminder of the terror I had faced. "No," I managed to say, the word a whisper of defiance against the recollection of my ordeal.

"Then what happened?" Luke persisted.

"It first attacked me in… in Clivilius," I admitted, the name of that otherworldly place feeling alien on my tongue, its mention a reluctant confession of the nightmare I had encountered.

"First attack?" Luke echoed, his voice laced with increasing worry. "It attacked you again? Here?" His questions painted a picture of the reality we now faced, one where the boundaries between worlds had been breached.

"Yes," was all I could muster, an acknowledgment of the horror that had followed me back, a shadow from a place I wished I could forget.

"But how?" Luke's question was soft, reflective, as if he was piecing together a puzzle whose edges were blurred and indistinct.

"I think it followed me through the Portal," I explained, the words tasting of fear and disbelief. The admission was not just for Luke's benefit but a confrontation of my own harrowing experience. "It looked like some sort of wild animal. It was black and it moved fast. I didn't get a good look. And it doesn't like the light."

"That explains all the lights on, then," Luke observed, his gaze sweeping the room, noting the artificial daylight I'd created in my bid for safety.

"Its eyes looked so dead," I murmured, the memory haunting me. I lowered my gaze, attempting to dispel the vivid image of those soulless black orbs that seemed to pierce through the darkness directly into my psyche.

Luke's hands were firm yet gentle as he helped me to my feet. "We need to get your wounds dressed properly."

"I don't want to go home," the words tumbled out of me, laced with apprehension. The thought of facing my parents in this state, of trying to concoct a story they might believe, was overwhelming. There was no version of this night's events that could be neatly explained away.

"I'm not taking you home," Luke assured me, his actions speaking louder than his words as he activated the Portal on the living room wall. My heart skipped a beat at the sight, fear mingling with the realisation of what this meant. Despite my gasp of fear at the possibility of facing another monstrous entity, Luke's decision was made.

The memory of my promise to Jarod surged to the forefront of my mind, anchoring me to my resolve. "I can't," I insisted. "Jarod's in trouble. I need to find Leigh."

"Leigh?" Luke echoed, his movement halting as he processed the information. "He gave you the Portal Key, didn't he?" There was a new understanding in his voice, a piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

I bit my lip in a futile attempt to guard my secrets, but the truth spilled out regardless. "Yes." My admission hung between us, heavy with implications.

"Do you know how to contact him?" Luke's skepticism was evident, his mind likely racing through the implications of my association with Leigh.

"Yes," I affirmed, a simple truth amidst the complex web of lies and half-truths that had defined the night.

"And you trust him?" The question was loaded, probing not just my judgment but the nature of my relationship with Leigh.

"I do." My response was firm, a declaration of faith in the face of uncertainty. Trusting Leigh was not just a matter of choice but of necessity. In the shadowed world we were navigating, allies were as valuable as the truths they held, and I believed in Leigh's role in this twisted narrative I was living.

"Then find Leigh. Make sure you are somewhere safe where you can get yourself cleaned up and tell me when you get there. I'll meet you and help you get Jarod." Luke's instructions came with a sense of urgency, yet his pause as he surveyed the camping supplies cluttering the living room spoke of other responsibilities he bore. "I need to get these to the settlement first. I won't be long."

I nodded. The prospect of being alone was daunting, yet the thought of Luke venturing out again, possibly facing unknown dangers, was equally troubling. The beast's aversion to light offered a sliver of comfort, a strategy to keep the darkness at bay. Still, the soft gasp escaped me before I could hold it in, a reflexive response to the growing knot of anxiety within me.

"Luke," I called out, a last-minute thought catching him just as he was about to step into Clivilius once more, the unlit camping light in his grasp. He stopped, turning back with a look of readiness for yet another concern. "I lost my phone in Clivilius."

"Shit," he muttered, the frustration clear in his voice. The loss of the phone wasn't just about the device itself but what it represented—our link to each other and to safety. "I'll see if I can find it." Then, holding up the camping lantern, he posed a question that mirrored my earlier dilemma. "Any idea how to get this working?"

I could only shrug, my earlier attempt to use the lantern as a weapon against the beast leaving no room for technical troubleshooting. It was a moment of desperation, one that now left us with more questions than answers.

"Shit," Luke said again, the word echoing his initial reaction, a succinct summary of our predicament.

The ominous growl that resonated from the other side of the front door halted time itself, binding Luke and me in a shared moment of dread. Our gazes snapped to the door as if drawn by strings, hearts hammering against our ribcages in a frantic rhythm. A silent exchange passed between us, a tangible wave of fear that momentarily rooted us to the spot. The world outside our sanctuary, now a source of palpable terror, seemed to press against the barriers of the house with a malevolent intent.

"What the fuck are you doing, Luke?" The whisper tore from my lips, harsh and laced with panic, as I found myself retreating until my back met the cold, unyielding surface of the pantry. Every instinct screamed for silence, for invisibility against the threat that lurked outside.

Luke's response was a silent symphony of caution—a finger pressed to his lips followed by a pointed gesture towards his eyes and then the door. His silent message was clear: he needed to see, to confirm the danger that our ears had already acknowledged. My head shook in disbelief that bordered on desperation. Was the need to visually confirm the beast's presence worth the risk?

Another growl, deeper, closer, sent a jolt of fear through me, a physical manifestation of the terror that clawed at my insides. Luke's cautious advance towards the door was a study in bravery—or folly—I couldn't decide which. My heart, a traitorous drum, beat a staccato rhythm of impending doom.

Bloodied hand pressed to my chest, I fought to quell the rising tide of panic that threatened to overwhelm me. The act of breathing, normally so automatic, now required a conscious effort, each inhalation a battle against the fear that constricted my lungs.

Luke, now at the door, placed his palms against it as if to steady himself. Leaning forward, he dared to peek through the peephole, a scout surveying the unknown. His sharp intake of breath, a sound laced with fear, sent a wave of acid surging up my throat. My eyes clamped shut, a feeble defence against the reality we faced. The beast, our unseen tormentor, was no longer a shadowy threat relegated to the darkness of Clivilius—it was here, on our doorstep.

The cacophony of Luke's body colliding with the wall merged with the thud of the beast against the door in a symphony of chaos and fear. "Luke!" My voice tore from my throat, a scream fuelled by terror. Instinctively, my hand flew to the knife left abandoned on the kitchen bench, a flimsy talisman against the nightmare at our door.

Luke, propelled by a mix of adrenaline and determination, rebounded from the wall in a single, fluid motion. He lunged towards the door, his hand desperately flicking the porch light switch in a bid for salvation.

The animal's response was immediate and visceral—a howl of pain that cut through the tension, followed by the sound of claws scraping against concrete. That sound, a harrowing reminder of the creature's physicality, sent an icy shiver racing down my spine, a primal fear that whispered of danger too close, too real.

"It's gone," Luke's voice, barely above a whisper, cut through the aftermath. His quick grasp on my arm was both a reassurance and a command, a silent agreement that our only option was flight. "Come on, we need to get out of here."

"Luke," my reply was a whisper, a mixture of disbelief and dawning realisation. The tears threatened to break through my resolve. "What the fuck have we done?" The question hung between us, heavy with implications we were only beginning to understand.

Exhausted, my body ached from the night's ordeals, and fear clung to me like a second skin. We collapsed together on the cold kitchen tiles, a silent pact forming in our mutual exhaustion. Words were unnecessary, the shared experience speaking volumes more than any conversation could. There, in the dim light of the kitchen, we sat side by side, waiting for the first light of dawn to signal the end of the nightmare.

Luke's abrupt movement jerked me awake, breaking the uneasy slumber that had claimed me in the aftermath of our ordeal. My neck ached from the awkward angle at which I had rested against him, a small discomfort compared to the night's terrors.

As our eyes met, a familiar sense of dread welled up inside me, magnified by the alarm I saw reflected in his gaze. "You said this creature followed you from Clivilius?" His question, weighted with implications, reignited the fear I had managed to momentarily quell.

"Yes," I answered, my voice barely a whisper, heavy with the realisation of what this meant. The thought that had been gnawing at the edges of my mind was now spoken aloud, confirming my worst fears: if the beast had followed me from Clivilius, was anyone truly safe there?

"Fuck!" Luke's exclamation was a sharp punctuation to the silence that had fallen between us. With a speed born of sudden resolve, he leapt to his feet, igniting the Portal with a burst of technicolour brilliance before stepping through it, leaving me alone in the wake of his departure.

For a moment, I contemplated following him, but the sight of my own battered reflection in the pantry door halted me. Instead, I moved to the windows, cautiously scanning the surroundings for any sign of the black beast. Relief washed over me as I found nothing amiss; the creature had not returned since its retreat into the night.

Allowing myself a brief moment of gratitude for the silence and safety of the house, I gathered a towel and made my way to the bathroom. The warmth from the lights was a balm to my chilled skin, casting a stark light on the bruises and cuts that marred my flesh—a map of the night's harrowing journey.

With a sense of finality, I locked the bathroom door behind me and started the shower. The sound of water was a comforting background noise as I began the slow process of disentangling myself from the remnants of the night. The steam filled the room, offering a shroud of privacy as I let the red dress, now a symbol of my terror, drop to the floor. The act of shedding the dress was more than physical; it was a symbolic gesture of washing away the fear, the pain, and the memories of a night that had changed everything.