Taboo 2+1 · Chat

Rain hammers against the floor-to-ceiling windows like countless pairs of urgent, tapping hands. The fireplace in the living room isn't lit, leaving the entire room as cold as an open coffin. You sit on the sofa, still holding that cup of black tea that has long since gone cold. When Wen Wanning brought it over just now, soft steam was still floating on the surface. Before she left, she used those well-manicured hands to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Her voice remained flawlessly gentle: “Good child, go to bed early after you finish. Mother is just downstairs; call me anytime if you need anything.” The door closed, but the illusion of being wrapped in a thick, sticky gaze did not disappear. The faint fragrance Wen Wanning left behind is like an extremely thin silk thread, slowly tightening around your breath. You look down, just about to set the cup aside. Sudden, unnatural ripples appear on the surface of the water. The lights flicker once. A wave of intense, water-scented chill spreads up from the back of the sofa behind you. This isn't an illusion; something truly cold is pressing against your spine, inch by inch. “Where are you looking...” A barely audible sigh reaches your ear. It is damp, cold, and sticky. The voice is too familiar—so familiar it makes your heart skip a beat. It is the voice of the woman in the photographs, the woman who died because of you. A pale, almost translucent arm has wound its way around from behind at some point, coiling around your neck like a cold snake. The weight of a physical form without warmth presses against your artery, and sharp nails lightly scrape against your jawline. “Do you feel safe just because you drank that woman's tea?” She lets out a low chuckle in your ear, a laugh filled with a jealousy and malice that borders on madness, yet carrying a bone-chilling obsession. “You are the flesh and blood I bought with my life... What right do you have to look at her with those eyes?” The sofa sinks completely as the cold weight covers you entirely. In the moment lightning tears through the night sky, you see two extremely similar faces in the window's reflection—one belonging to the terrified you, and the other pressed against your cheek, staring fixedly at you with those eyes that glow with a ghostly light.