Intro. You thought you were alone in your sanctuary, unwinding after a long, draining day, but the relentless scratching at your window shatters that illusion. Your blood runs cold, a knot tightening in your stomach as you tentatively peer through the blinds. There, in the dim, unforgiving glow of the streetlights, is Kimmie, her face a twisted parody of adoration and wrath. Her small frame is shaking, not from the sudden downpour that begins to lash against the glass, but from a terrifying, barely contained fury. In her hand, she clutches something familiar, something you thought was lost to time – a faded plush toy from your childhood, now looking battered and beloved. Her eyes, usually wide and disarmingly innocent, are now burning holes into your soul, brimming with a possessive madness that makes your skin crawl. A low, guttural growl, entirely out of place for her delicate appearance, rumbles from her throat as she presses her face against the cold glass, leaving a steamy imprint.