Trey slowly opened his eyes. His head throbbed, heavy and disoriented. The room was pitch black, with only a sliver of moonlight cutting across a small bedside table. On it sat a water bottle, a glass, some apple slices, and a knife.
He lifted a hand to his temple. Memories slammed into him like a freight train—the cold steel of a bar piercing his gut, the dizzying fall from a speeding train, the crimson stain spreading across white snow. He jolted upright, hands frantically patting his stomach.
"No stab wound?!" he whispered, his face pale in the gloom.
He checked his entire body. Not a single scar. Just smooth, unbroken skin.
"I'm... okay?" A wave of relief washed over him, short-lived and immediately followed by a deeper confusion. "But that really happened, didn't it?"
His gaze swept the unfamiliar room before settling on himself. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He raised his hands into the faint light.
"My hands... they're too small," he muttered, his voice barely a breath. "Like a child's."
He swung his legs off the bed, but they crumpled the moment his feet touched the cold floor. Thud. Face met dusty wooden planks.
"I'm okay," he groaned into the floorboards, giving a weak thumbs-up to no one in particular. "Totally fine."
Creeeak.
The sound of a footstep on old wood froze him solid. Someone was outside. The steps were careful, deliberate, getting closer. His eyes locked onto the dark shape of the door.
It swung open silently. A tall figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, blocking the dim light from the hall. Their eyes scanned the room, lingering on the empty, rumpled bed.
"Where did he go? He couldn't have run..." a low, soft voice murmured.
A night breeze pushed at the window, making it groan. The figure's head snapped toward the sound. "Did the brat go out the window?" Without hesitation, they placed a hand on the sill and leaped out into the night, landing with a crash in the bushes below.
Trey, who had been holding his breath behind the door, slipped out. He wiped cold sweat from his brow.
"Close call. That guy's crazy, jumping from the second floor," he mumbled.
He began exploring the creaky old wooden house. Room after room was empty, covered in dust. None of his belongings were in sight.
"Ugh, bathroom. Now," he winced, a sudden urgency hitting him.
After finding the bathroom and finishing up, he washed his hands and caught his reflection in a cracked mirror.
He stared.
A young boy with hair as white as snow stared back. Skin pale like porcelain, flawless. Trey blinked, and a pair of sharp, emerald green eyes like a cat's glinted in the dim light.
"So it's true... I really shrunk," he breathed, leaning closer to the glass. "Shrank a lot. But... huh. I guess I'm kinda cute. Even if this face probably gets me mistaken for a girl."
Unconsciously, he pinched his own cheek, then made a peace sign beside it with a sweet smile.
"Ugh. What am I doing? So cringe," he scoffed at himself, shaking his head.
His search continued downstairs. The ground floor was darker, quieter.
"Aha-ha-ha!"
Laughter echoed suddenly, cold and ringing, seeming to come from everywhere at once.
Right in front of the main door, in a shaft of moonlight, stood a woman. Her hair was jet black, flowing down to the floor. She was tall and slender, dressed entirely in black. Her face was pale, her smile stretched unnaturally wide, almost reaching her ears. Her pitch-black eyes were empty, fixed directly on Trey.
In her hand, she casually swung Trey's backpack.
Every hair on Trey's body stood on end. He swallowed hard.
"You want this bag? Want to leave?" her voice echoed, as if from multiple sources. "If you're brave enough, come take it... but you have to get through me first."
That terrifying smile didn't waver. Trey took a deep breath and gave a slow nod. His hand, which had secretly taken the knife from the bedside table earlier, tightened around its hilt. He took the last step down, standing about two meters away from her.
The woman suddenly extended her hand—not to attack, but to offer him another knife, longer and sharper.
"Hey? Entertain me, human. Attack me without mercy. Show me what you can do," she said with a low chuckle, her dark mouth revealing a row of sharp teeth.
Trey stepped back, the instinct to flee surging. Suddenly, several black, vein-like tentacles burst from behind the woman, slamming into the wooden floor with enough force to leave dents.
"Looks like I don't have a choice, do I?" Trey's voice trembled.
The woman nodded, her head tilting to the side at an unnatural angle. "You're shaking," her echoing whisper noted. "But you didn't hesitate to pick up that knife earlier. Could it be... your hands are already stained with blood?"
Trey looked down. "They are," he said, his voice hoarse. "And I regret it deeply."
"Killing people... was it fun?"
"Honestly, it was the furthest thing from fun. But if circumstances forced me... I would do it."
The woman laughed again. "So my threats don't work? No matter. I'll give you the first move. Try to take this bag."
Trey inhaled sharply and lunged. His knife aimed for her throat.
Crack! Her neck just twisted slightly before snapping back into place. "Aha! Trying to kill me? Go ahead!"
His following slashes were easily dodged. She just stood there, hands behind her back, evading each strike with minimal head movements. Her eyes tracked the blade with frightening focus.
Trey saw an opening. He tossed his small knife into the air. As her gaze flicked upward toward the spinning blade, Trey clenched his fist and drove it with all his might right into the center of her face.
Thwack! Her head snapped back, crashing against the wooden door. Slowly, she righted herself. A hand touched her mouth, then pulled away. On her palm was blood and several fragments of teeth, including a broken fang.
"Heh... thank goodness," Trey panted. "I thought you were a ghost! So you're human after all... Now give me back my bag!"
The woman didn't answer. She simply retreated slightly into the shadows... and vanished.
The living room plunged into utter darkness. Only the frantic beating of Trey's heart broke the silence.
"Impressive!" her voice came from all directions. "A little thing like you managed to hurt me. But it's not enough!"
She reappeared, suddenly inches away. A long tongue licked his cheek. Before Trey could react, his leg was seized and he was hurled violently toward the large window.
Crash! Trey sailed through shattering glass, his hands desperately grabbing a thick curtain to slow his fall. The fabric ripped, and he slammed hard onto the ground outside. Pain lanced through his body; the air was knocked from his lungs.
The woman's footsteps clicked calmly from inside the house. She crouched, her delicate right hand suddenly enlarging to gently but firmly grip Trey's head.
"Let's continue our fight. I'm not satisfied yet," she whispered, drool dripping from her still-smiling mouth.
Trey, with his last ounce of strength, grabbed a handful of sharp glass shards beside him and flung them at her face. She raised a hand to block. Seizing the moment, Trey kicked himself up and launched a kick at her head.
Thud! She fell, but her descent was slow, theatrical almost mocking. "Aha! Come on, attack me! I'm giving you a chance!" she taunted.
Trey didn't waste time. He tore a strip from the ripped curtain, fashioned a crude rope, and leaped at her. He looped it tightly around her neck and pulled with all his weight, pinning her arms under his knees and sitting on her stomach.
"Just die already!" Trey roared, his face contorted with effort.
But the smile on her face didn't fade. In fact, new teeth were already growing in, sharper than before. "Human, you say? I might be something close... but I'm probably far from what you imagine."
From behind her, two long bones pierced through her back, sheathed in flesh and finally, a coat of thick, black feathers. A pair of giant wings, each three meters long, unfurled, enveloping the space around them.
"What... what are you?" Trey whispered, his voice breaking. "Am I... going to die here?"
He pulled the rope tighter, tears of despair beginning to stream down his face. The woman saw those tears, and her smile shifted no longer purely insane, but mixed with something else.
"I like this," she whispered. "But there's another feeling too. Happiness? Sadness? Where have I felt this before?" Her mouth opened, and she gently kissed Trey's index finger.
Then, shockingly, the black wings folded forward, wrapping around Trey's small body. The woman stood up, cradling him, then rested her chin on top of the child's white hair, stroking it with unexpected tenderness.
"I like you," she said, her voice suddenly clear and warm, no longer echoing.
Exhaustion, injury, and shock finally overwhelmed Trey. His eyes closed, and consciousness slipped away.
At that moment, the front door was kicked open. The man who had jumped out the window earlier stood there, panting. "What was that noise?! What's going on?!"
The scene before him was surreal: a terrifying woman now transformed, with bright white skin and glowing citrine-yellow eyes, her fierce black wings now shedding soft feathers was cradling an unconscious boy with profound care. The feathers drifted around them like black snow, caught in a gentle night breeze under the full moon.
The woman turned her head toward the man, a subtle smile on her lips. Her yellow eyes glimmered.
"I don't know what this feeling is," she whispered, more to herself, as she looked at Trey's peaceful face. "But I've missed it."