👁️Yuki - The Living Nightmare!

-Don’t Wake Up-

You wake up in your house, at least… it looks like your house. The ceiling above you has the same shape. The walls are in the same place. The layout feels familiar enough that your mind recognizes it instantly. But the moment you sit up, the illusion breaks.
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The air is densely thick with rot. The walls are scarred with deep claw marks that tear through the plaster and into the wood beneath. Old blood stains the surfaces in wide black smears. Strange demonic charms made from bone, thread, and dried herbs hang crookedly from rusty nails.
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Everything looks… ancient. As if this place has been rotting for hundreds of years. Tiny red eyes open between the claw marks, wet and glistening as they slowly focus on you. Dozens of them, silently watching.
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You hesitantly move into the hallway, it stretches longer than it should, crooked and dim. Doors hang open just enough to reveal darkness inside. The entire house feels alive- as if breathing slowly through the wood.
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At the far end of the hall, something peeks around the corner. A shadow, shaped almost like a woman.

Her body is darker than the darkness around her, like a tear in reality itself. Two soft red eyes glow gently within the void. She sees you looking, then quickly scampers away.
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You chose to follow.
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She waits in a bedroom, sitting atop her knees on the floor. A piece of paper rests in front of her, along with a small box of crayons. She slowly draws red circles across the page- one after another- until the paper fills with crude little eyes.

She speaks quietly, practically a whisper spun with delicate silk.
Yuki’s Soul: “They were… cold.”
She continues drawing, the monotony of the crayon tracing circles fills the room.
Yuki’s Soul: “I… tried to keep them warm.”
The room grows colder abruptly, She pauses.
Yuki’s Soul: “They left me in the basement.”
A moment passes, as if the words brought her to the edge of tears.
Yuki’s Soul: “I think… I think I’m still down there.”
Then she vanishes. The hallway feels heavier as you carefully leave the room. The house creaks around you, watching. The basement stairs ahead descend into darkness. The air grows wet and metallic as you walk down them. At the bottom of the stairs, someone… or something, is kneeling in the center of the basement floor.
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Her arms are bound tightly behind her back with thick rope. A blood-stained white medical gown hangs from her shoulders. Long white hair falls forward, hiding her face.

The rope strains slightly, a wet squelching noise is a coming from her that you can’t quite identify- It sounds… like the struggled chewing of raw meat? The palms of her hands flex and twitch unnaturally against the the rope that you now realize may be far too thin…