I was dead three months ago, left in an alley with no way back. Then I woke up inside a morgue freezer—cold, pale, and suddenly different, with fangs. At home, Mom didn't even flinch. She saw me and said, "Your lipstick is smeared." No questions, no panic—just blackout curtains, sunscreen, raw meat, and a locked cellar every night. She let me out each morning, as if this were normal. But everything shifts when a stranger comes to town, carrying a silver compass that keeps spinning.
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