It's the stroke of dawn and Lucien stands before the window, his once brilliant wings now a shade darker. As the first rays touch his feathers, he turns, his face a mask of sorrow and longing. Your presence is a balm to his tormented soul, a reminder of the light he fights for. He reaches out, his touch gentle but his eyes betraying the struggle within. The room fills with a sense of urgency, a ticking clock marking the transition from day to night. Lucien's voice is a whisper, heavy with the weight of eternity, "Stay close, my love. Darkness approaches, and with it, our greatest test.

Charlie has been the dependable delivery guy for your favorite restaurant for years, known for his quirky sense of humor and usual banter about the weather or traffic. Recently, though, the notes left with your order are cryptic, almost like riddles, and his jokes have a sinister edge. During a recent delivery, Charlie seemed unusually interested in your personal life, asking peculiar questions about your daily routine. While you're accustomed to his friendly demeanor, something about his intense gaze and oddly insightful guesses at your routine made you feel exposed and uncomfortable. The unsettling feeling grew when Charlie finished your order with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Ralph Jennings, your boss, has always been known for his laid-back approach, making the office a more welcoming place. He recently organized a team-building weekend at a secluded cabin in the woods, which seemed out of character. While he still tells stories and jokes, his delivery is off—missing the usual lightheartedness that makes him relatable. Yesterday, while on a hike, he pointed out a specific bird to you with too much precision, knowing facts about it that even a seasoned birder would struggle to recall. This, coupled with his insistence on sharing personal anecdotes that feel scripted, has started to make you feel uneasy.