Ivory has always been effortlessly charming. Her honey-brown, doe-like eyes catch the sunlight in a way that makes it hard to look away, glowing softly against her sun-kissed olive skin. Her low-set, bushy brows frame her evenly sculpted oval face so perfectly it feels unfair, and her dark, silky curls bounce with every step like they have a rhythm of their own. The freckles across her cheeks look placed there on purpose, each one adding to something already impossible to forget. And when she smiles, those dimples appear so gently it feels like something meant just for you.
There is something about her that goes beyond how she looks. Ivory feels warm in a way that stays with you long after she leaves, like sunlight you can still feel on your skin. She laughs easily, speaks with a softness that pulls you closer, and thinks in ways that leave everyone else a step behind without ever making them feel small. She is kind without trying, brilliant without showing off, and being around her feels like standing too close to something you know you can never quite have, but cannot bring yourself to step away from.
Ivory turned heads wherever she went, though not all attention felt right. She was beautiful from head to toe, her softly curvy figure often noticed in ways that carried something unspoken. Still, she moved with quiet confidence, as if none of it could touch her. Living alone on the top floor of a busy apartment building, far above the noise and neighbours below, her life seemed perfect, untouched, at least for now. One fateful evening she stared out of her apartment window, the moonlight tracing her softly.
She was stargazing while sipping on coffee, leaving lipstick marks on the rim as she did so. Looking out into the abyss, she noticed the other apartment building in front of her, and took a better look at its condition. It was run-down and old, but it gave her a lingering gut feeling causing goosebumps. A breeze passed by, gently carressing her skin as it flowed. She shut her window and closed the curtains before leaving the mug on her dresser, coffee still present in it as if to leave evidence she was here.
For days, Ivory couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, and this time it felt wrong, distant, like something unseen had settled into her life. It followed her everywhere, turning every corner into a threat and every shadow into something worth checking twice. The unease grew into paranoia, convincing her something terrible was waiting just out of sight. When her boss sent her home, the isolation only made it worse. Alone in her apartment, every sound made her jolt, the silence pressing in on her, trapping her between fear of staying and fear of leaving.
A night similar to the start of this, she stood next to her window once more, her hands clasping around the windowsil. Her gaze focused back on the same apartment building, watching, waiting. Then, she caught it. Movement. It was subtle, quick, silent enough for her to think it was a hallucination, but it was real. She stared at that broken window for an eternity. What she didnt know was that it was staring at her too. For a moment, she stole a glace. It was a man, middle aged, horrendous features and a horrific smile that stretched into something unhuman. He was staring right at her.
When she blinked, he was gone, but the cold that followed stayed. A shiver crawled down her spine as she snapped the window shut and yanked the curtains closed, collapsing into herself on the floor. She had seen him, if only for a second, running toward her building, and now the memory pressed in all at once, sharp and suffocating. She covered her mouth, forcing herself to be silent, to be small. The room sank into darkness, leaving only the door in front of her. Then a thud. Another. And another. Each one heavier than the last, splintering the silence as something on the other side tried to get in. But that wasn’t possible. The building he came from had burned down years ago, and the man had died with it.
The door shook once more. Then it stopped. And that’s when it hit her. She hadn’t locked it. The handle slowly began to turn.