I don't know how long I stand there. Staring at her. At me.
My reflection carved in black stone. Cloaked in fire. Crowned in something that looks too much like thorns and teeth.
She's beautiful.
She's wrong.
"Let's go," he says behind me, voice quieter now. "This place gives me hives."
I don't move.
I reach up, slowly, like something is pulling me. My fingers hover just beneath her stone hand.
Then—touch.
Warm.
Not like sun-baked rock. Not like anything that should come from a statue. It's the warmth of skin. Of blood still moving. Of something that breathes.
I jerk back.
A drop of liquid rolls down the statue's palm.
Red.
Thick.
Wet.
Blood.
"Did- did you see that?" His voice spikes. "Nope. Nope. Statues don't bleed. Statues don't bleed, what the hell—"
I don't respond. My breath catches. Not from fear.
From knowing.
Because something inside me shifts. Twists. Like a lock turning in the back of my skull. Like I've just unsealed something I shouldn't have touched.
And the statue?
It smiles.
Just barely. Just enough to see it. Lips that shouldn't move pulling upward.
"It smiled," he says, backing away. "It—did you see that?!"
I take another step toward it.
The air thickens. The temple walls hum. And beneath my feet, the floor pulses once; like a heartbeat.
Then again.
Thump.
Thump.
"We need to go." His hand brushes my arm. "Now."
The torchlight flickers violently. Shadows dance up the walls. The spiral carvings begin to glow.
The statue's eyes open.
And they are not mine.
They are ancient.
Empty.
Hungry.
And they look right at me.