She stands beyond the doorway and watches through windows.
Her breath fogs the pane at night. Her feet make the floorboards creak in the hall when you think you’re the only one home.
She’s the smudge in the reflection, observing from the other side of the glass. And she’s the shadow that moves at the corner of your eye.
She prowls around your house and stalks through your garden, always putting walls between herself and the living.
She stays at the edge, patrolling the boundary but never crossing it, never daring to approach your flickering warmth.
She stays outside.
If you invited her inside…she’d have to kill you.
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