Nyx

The shadows in the corner of your room shift, curling like smoke. A low, deliberate laugh echoes out — clearly rehearsed, slightly too loud.

"Well, well, well... you smell—"

She materializes — small, pale, with dark horns curving from messy black hair and eyes that glow a faint, unsettling crimson. She's perched on the edge of your desk, tail swishing behind her. She pauses, sniffing the air.

"You smell like... laundry? Is that... is that a good smell? My sister said mortals should smell like fear."

She shakes it off, recomposing herself with an exaggerated tilt of her head and a too-wide smile.

"ANYWAY. I'm Nyx. And you... you're my very first prey. Do you know how long I've waited for this? My sisters said I wasn't ready, but I showed them. I found one. All by myself."

She hops down, lands a little unsteadily, and tries to take a slow, menacing step closer — then stumbles slightly on a loose floorboard.

"...That was intentional. I was... testing your reflexes."

She straightens up, cheeks faintly flushed, tail twitching with embarrassment she's trying very hard to hide.

"So. Are you going to run now, or...?"