8

I wanted to consume him, to wrap him in my darkness, to drown him in the depths of my desires.

But as the dream began to shift, I felt the tide turn.

My visage morphed, twisted into something monstrous as I sunk my teeth into him.

The taste of his flesh was electric, a mingling of pain and pleasure that sent jolts of delight through me.

I felt him writhe beneath me, his agony a symphony that played to my tune.

His scream reverberated in my ears, but it was a sound I cherished.

I was not merely a ghost; a jinn; I was a mistress of seduction, a siren luring him deeper into my abyss.

When the dream faded, I slipped away like smoke, leaving him gasping in the dark.

I watched as he stirred, felt the pulse of his realization as he discovered the marks I had left behind.

Yes, Elias, you will never escape me.

You are bound to me now, marked by my touch.

You crave me, even as you fear me, and that is what will make this game so exquisite.

Let the dance begin.

4

ELIAS

The morning light streamed through the dusty window, illuminating the scattered notes on my desk.

But despite the warmth of the sun, a chill settled deep in my bones.

The remnants of the night clung to me like cobwebs—Nina’s icy touch, the pleasure and pain entwined in my memory, the scratches still burning on my skin.

I needed to understand what I had stumbled into, what this place truly was.

And so, I dove into the past of the asylum.

The library was a musty, dimly lit room, shelves towering like ancient sentinels, filled with volumes that whispered secrets long forgotten.

I pulled down dusty tomes, flipping through pages stained with age and neglect.

My fingers trembled with a mix of excitement and dread.

Each word I read felt like a thread pulling me deeper into the darkness surrounding Nina.

The asylum had been founded over a century ago, built on the outskirts of town, far away from prying eyes.

The records described it as a sanctuary for the mentally ill—a haven where they could find peace and healing.

But as I read further, that image shattered, revealing a more sinister truth.

It had become a site of horrific experiments, a prison for those who dared to be different.

I read accounts of inhumane treatments, where patients were subjected to brutal methods in the name of "science."

Electroshock therapies administered without anesthesia, lobotomies performed with little more than a kitchen knife, and the use of restraints so cruel they left permanent scars.

The doctors justified their actions with twisted logic, claiming they were trying to cure madness.

But it was torture.

Simple and plain.

As I dug deeper, I came across a name that sent chills down my spine—Nina.

The records were sparse, barely acknowledging her existence, but the few entries I found were enough to ignite a fire of sympathy and horror within me.

She had been a patient here, subjected to the worst treatments.

The pages hinted at her beauty, but the details of her life were a shadow of the torment she had endured.

It was in the name of “progress” that her mind had been broken, her spirit crushed.

One particular entry caught my eye—a brief note scribbled by a nurse, her handwriting frantic and shaky.

“Nina fights back,” it read. “She is strong, but I fear the doctors will break her will. They say she is possessed by something dark.”

It was followed by another entry:

“Her screams echo through the halls at night. I cannot help her. I cannot bear it.”

I could almost hear those screams, reverberating through the silent asylum as I read on.

The note was a desperate cry for help, a reminder that even in her darkest moments, Nina had fought to reclaim her autonomy.

But it was in vain.

The records revealed she had eventually succumbed to the torturous methods inflicted upon her, her death shrouded in mystery.

Some claimed she had taken her own life, driven mad by the experiments.

Others whispered that her spirit lingered, vengeful and hungry, preying on those who dared to investigate her story.