The moment the bedroom door swung open and the two men standing in the hallway caught sight of the scene inside, they froze in their tracks. Their faces drained of color, tension etched into every line, but more than that—there was raw, visceral dread written across their features.
On the floor of the bedroom sat a woman, her long hair hanging wild and disheveled around her face like a dark curtain. She was dressed in a flowing gown of deep, vivid crimson—the kind of red that seemed almost too saturated, too alive. Cradled in her arms was a little girl, no more than six or seven years old, whose eyes had rolled back until only the whites were visible. White foam bubbled at the corners of her small mouth, and her entire body was convulsing in violent, uncontrollable tremors.
The woman in
