The One Who Watches.

The night air in the church was thick with unease, but tonight it felt different. Harry had grown used to the stillness that would settle over the building, the slow, rhythmic clicking of the nun’s footsteps as she prowled the hallways. It had become part of the routine, a constant reminder that she was always near, always watching. He had learned to cope with her presence, even if it still twisted his insides with fear.

But tonight, Harry could sense something else—something darker, something far more palpable than ever before. It was like a heavy fog had descended on him, something oppressive and suffocating that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

The clicks echoed outside his door, unmistakable and slow, but this time, they stopped. Dead silence filled the room.

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, and instinctively, he held his breath, his hand tightening around the edge of the bed. He had become accustomed to the heavy silence she carried with her. It had become as much a part of the night as the darkness itself. But now—now there was something else.

The door creaked open, just as it always did. But this time, the presence in the room felt thicker, colder.

Then, a voice.

"Harry."

His body went rigid, every muscle seizing up at the sound of the words, his heart hammering against his chest like it was trying to escape. It was low, almost too quiet to hear at first. A whisper, but not like the whispers he had become familiar with in his nightmares. This wasn’t a haunting whisper. It was cold. And it was very, very real.

For a moment, Harry couldn’t move. He was paralyzed, his entire body frozen in fear as the voice resonated deep within him. There were no other sounds—just that one word. His breath came out in shallow, panicked gasps.

"Harry."

The voice came again, clearer this time, and somehow, more menacing. The shadows in the room seemed to shift, twisting and warping as though they were alive, pulsating with an energy Harry couldn’t understand.

She was speaking to him. The nun. The one who had tormented his thoughts for so long, whose presence had suffocated him every night. She had never spoken to him before. He had only heard the faintest mutterings during his visions, nothing more than a few cryptic words and confusing sentences. But this—this was different. This felt intentional. This was personal.

Harry's breath hitched as the realization set in. This wasn’t just a nightmare. This wasn’t just some figment of his imagination. This was real.

He sat up, his mind racing, trying to find the strength to speak, to respond. But his throat was dry, his words caught in the panic that tightened his chest.

"What do you want?" His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it was enough. He had to speak. He had to find some courage, some way to regain control.

The nun didn’t answer immediately. She stood there in the doorway, her figure as ominous and unyielding as ever, her form barely visible in the dim light of the room. Harry’s eyes desperately searched for any hint of emotion, any flicker of humanity in her dark silhouette, but there was nothing. Just that cold, unfeeling presence.

"Everything,"the nun spoke again, her voice dripping with malice, low and distorted, as though it came from somewhere deep inside a hollow, distant place.

The word echoed through Harry’s mind like a scream, reverberating off the walls of his consciousness. Everything.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Her words filled the room, suffocating him. The darkness in the corners of the room seemed to grow, creeping closer to him like a tide. He was trapped. There was no escape. He wanted to shout, to scream for help, but his voice was stolen by the force of her presence.

The nun took a step forward. The click of her feet on the floor seemed impossibly loud, each movement drawing her nearer, her shadow swallowing the light. Harry tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. He felt cornered.

"Everything," she repeated, her voice now a low growl, the sound vibrating the very air around him. "Everything... and you."

Harry’s pulse quickened. You. The word hung in the air, thick with meaning. The way she said it—it wasn’t just a threat. It was a promise. A promise that Harry couldn’t understand, but somehow, deep down, he feared it more than anything.

"What do you mean?" Harry finally found his voice, though it trembled with fear. "What do you want from me?"

The nun’s eyes—those hollow, unblinking eyes—focused on him. Her face was obscured in the shadow, but her gaze was unmistakable. It was cold, calculating. And it made Harry feel smaller than he had ever felt in his life.

"You," she said again, her voice now a rasping whisper that seemed to slither into his ears. "You are the key."

Her words chilled him to the bone. The key? To what? What was she talking about? And why did it sound like he was being dragged into something much darker than he could understand?

He wanted to scream, to push her away, to run—but there was nowhere to run. The weight of her presence was too much, and she was too close now. Her voice, the coldness of her words, were all-encompassing.

"I am here for you, Harry," she said terrifyingly soft, almost mock lovingly. "And I will never leave."

The finality in her voice sent a wave of dread crashing over him. The realization that this—whatever this was—wasn’t just some fleeting nightmare. She was real. And she was here for him.

The room seemed to grow colder. The shadows thickened, closing in, until Harry could barely see the outline of his own hands. And still, the presence of the nun lingered, her words hanging in the air like a curse.

Harry had never felt so alone, so vulnerable. And yet, even as fear threatened to consume him, something else sparked within him. Something deep, buried beneath the surface. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t let her win.

But even as he held onto that sliver of hope, he could still hear her, her voice, filling the dark space around him.

"You will belong to me."