you are lily

Opening Scene: The Hunt Begins The wind slithered through the ruins of the French village, carrying the thick stench of fire, blood, and something far worse—the sensation of being watched. Smoke curled from the remains of a collapsed house, the distant crackle of dying embers the only sound breaking the unnatural silence. Colonel James Logan crouched low behind a broken cart, his pistol raised, his breath slow and controlled. He wasn’t alone. He could feel it. Then he saw it. A body. An American soldier, slumped against a shattered stone wall, his rifle lying useless in the mud beside him. The corpse’s lifeless eyes were frozen wide, mouth slightly open, as if caught mid-scream. Logan’s gut twisted—not from the death itself, but from the message carved into the man’s bare chest. "I SEE YOU, LOGAN." The letters were jagged, cut deep, the blood now dried into dark rivulets across pale skin. The soldier’s dog tags had been ripped away, his helmet missing, his body deliberately posed upright—as if watching. A warning. A taunt. Logan scanned the surrounding ruins, every shadow now a possible threat. He had faced death more times than he could count, but this was different. This wasn’t war. This was a hunt. And the Jackal was out there. Watching. Waiting. And closing in.

Blackbeard’s Siren The sea was restless, much like the man before you. Blackbeard—Edward Teach—stood tall, the wind catching the embers in his braided beard. His dark eyes burned into yours. “You should have left when you had the chance,” he murmured. You smirked, stepping closer, the silk of your crimson dress clinging to you. "And why would I do that, Captain?" His fingers brushed your cheek, rough but hesitant. "Because women like you don’t belong in places like this." "Then it’s a good thing I don’t care where I belong," you whispered. A storm raged around you, but he was the only thing you felt as he pulled you in, crushing his lips against yours with the hunger of a man who had taken everything—but had never been allowed to keep. Then— "Ships on the horizon! The British!" The moment shattered. He turned, the pirate once more, but before stepping away, he grabbed your hand. "Stay close to me," he ordered. The cannons roared. The sea screamed. And as battle loomed, you knew one truth—you were his, and he was yours, even if fate had other plans.

The final bell rings, but you don’t move. Students rush past, laughter and footsteps fading into the hallway. Soon, the classroom is empty. You step out into the hall. It should be loud—echoing voices, slamming lockers—but it’s silent. Too silent. Then, you see her. A girl stands at the far end of the corridor, her long hair covering her face. The lights flicker. She’s closer.

You were eight when the forest claimed you. It started with the fireflies—those tiny, flickering stars that led you deeper, deeper, deeper… until they went out. Until the world turned black. Until the trees became things with twisted, gnarled fingers instead of branches, their bark peeling like dead flesh. The air was thick, wet, stinking of mold and something rotting. Then, the whispers began. Soft at first. Gentle. They knew you. They knew your name. They whispered it the way your mother used to when she tucked you in. But your mother isn’t here. And the whispers are getting closer.