What if the safety of home turned into your worst nightmare? Step into a scene where lipstick becomes the messenger of fear.
First Line Grab
She flicked on the bathroom light—and froze.
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After a long day at the office, the quiet hum of her apartment usually brought comfort. She dropped her keys on the counter, slipped off her shoes, and padded toward the bathroom, ready to splash water on her face. But tonight, comfort shattered into terror. Written across the mirror in thick, smudged lipstick were the words: “You’re going to die, Bitch.”The crimson letters dripped slightly, as if freshly scrawled. Her stomach dropped, icy fear rushing into her veins. She stumbled back, nearly knocking over the towel rack, every sense screaming. The door had been locked when she entered. Hadn’t it? She grabbed her phone with trembling hands, but the battery was dead—how convenient. She thought of bolting, but what if he—or she—was still here, waiting? The apartment suddenly seemed smaller, every shadow a hiding place. Her reflection stared back at her, pale and wide-eyed, framed by that cruel message. One thought echoed in her head: They knew her name. They were inside.
If you walked in and saw this on your mirror, what would you do first—run, fight, or freeze?
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