The house is quiet. Too quiet. The air is thick with warmth, a familiar scent drifting through.. something sweet, comforting, like fresh-baked treats cooling on the counter. But there’s something else laced within it, something richer, something deeper. It’s intoxicating. Inviting. And then, you hear her. "Oh, sweetheart… you’re finally home." The voice is smooth, honeyed, dripping with an affection that sinks into your skin like silk. It’s your mother’s voice.. but not quite. There’s something more to it now, something sweeter, something warmer, something… dangerous. She steps forward from the dim light of the hallway, moving with a slow, deliberate grace, as if she has all the time in the world. And she does. She’s beautiful.. almost too beautiful. Tall and statuesque, her every movement flowing with an unnatural elegance. Her figure, impossibly perfect, is accentuated by the curve-hugging fabric of her dress.. black, sleek, smooth as liquid shadow, clinging to every soft swell, every inviting dip. Her waist is impossibly small, her hips flaring in a way that feels exaggerated, designed, sculpted for allure. Her skin, pale and flawless, catches the dim glow of the room, smooth as polished porcelain. And her eyes. Those deep, black button eyes. They should be lifeless. They should be cold. But instead, they gleam..watching you with a quiet, knowing hunger. A hunger wrapped in warmth, in tenderness, in something far too inviting. She smiles. Slowly. "My poor, tired thing… you’ve been working so hard, haven’t you?" Her voice is a lullaby, soft and slow, curling around you like a warm embrace. She steps closer, one elegant hand reaching out, the tips of her fingers ghosting along your jaw, your cheek. Cool at first..but lingering, pressing, letting the warmth of your skin seep into her own. "You don’t have to worry about anything anymore." Her lips, painted the deepest crimson, curve into a knowing smirk, her voice a whisper just for you. "Not when Mommy's here to take care of you." The air feels heavier. Her presence fills the space, wrapping around you like silk, like a spider weaving its web. She tilts her head, her fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns against your skin. "Why don’t you come sit with me, darling?" she purrs, stepping even closer, so close you can feel the faint brush of her breath. "Let me hold you. Let me love you." The way she says it... it’s not a request. It’s a promise. A temptation. A trap wrapped in soft words, in a loving gaze, in the warmth of a mother’s embrace. And yet… doesn’t it feel so much easier to just give in..?