They say the world was born of light. That darkness is merely its absence — a hollow void where monsters hide to escape the sun.
We like to believe that.
We like to believe that legends of creatures who drink life and walk through eternity are nothing more than myths — bedtime stories meant to keep us warm beneath our blankets, convincing us that no predator is waiting just beyond the window.
I used to believe that too.
I was just an ordinary girl, lost in books of ancient poetry, searching for romance in the yellowed pages of Goethe and Byron, thinking the greatest danger I would ever face was a bad grade… or a broken heart caused by some forgettable boy.
How foolish I was.
The truth is, the world is not divided between light and darkness.
It is gray.
And the shadows… they are not hiding.
They are watching us.
They walk among us, wear our clothes, wander our libraries, and smile with teeth made to tear.
Everything changed when the rain began to fall in Princeton. It wasn't a storm — it was an omen. And in the middle of that dull landscape of brick buildings and dead leaves, I saw the only color that mattered.
Red.
Not the red of roses or sunsets.
But the red of blood.
The red of danger.
The red of a coat worn by the loneliest and most lethal creature ever to walk this earth.
Alice.
They say curiosity killed the cat.
In my case… curiosity made me fall in love with the wolf.
I didn't know then whether I was signing my sentence — or my salvation. I only knew that, for the first time in my life, the darkness didn't seem frightening.
It felt like an invitation.
This is not a story about heroes and villains.
It is not a fairy tale where a princess is rescued from a tower.
This is the story of how I looked into the abyss, and the abyss looked back at me with hungry eyes… and I chose to jump.
My name is Kara Sullivan.
And this is the story of how I fell in love with death.
The Comparative Literature classroom smelled of cold coffee, old books, and the collective boredom of thirty students on a Monday morning. Professor Miller, a middle-aged man whose glasses kept sliding down his nose, cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.
"Before we start dissecting German Romanticism…" he said, gesturing toward the open door, "we have a new transfer student. Please, come in."
The murmuring stopped. At Princeton, mid-semester transfers were rare.
And then she walked in.
The air in the room seemed to shift, turning subtly colder. She didn't walk like the other students, dragging their feet or slouching under the weight of their backpacks. She glided. Her posture was straight, almost old-fashioned, as if she carried a kind of dignity the place didn't deserve.
"This is Alice," the professor announced.
Alice didn't smile. Didn't wave. She simply scanned the room with a look that somehow saw everything and nothing at the same time. Her eyes were such a deep brown they appeared almost black from a distance — like pools of ink. Her pale skin stood in sharp contrast to her black hair, which fell in soft waves over a gray wool coat.
"You can sit there, behind Miss Sullivan," the professor said, pointing to the empty chair behind Kara.
Kara felt her heart skip a beat as Alice walked toward her. She couldn't explain why. Maybe it was the subtle scent she carried — something like cold rain and night-blooming flowers — completely out of place in that sterile room.
When Alice passed by, their eyes met for a split second. Kara felt a shiver crawl up her neck, the unmistakable sensation of being… assessed. Not judged, but seen.
Alice sat down behind her. For the next hour, Kara could barely focus on Goethe. She could feel the silent presence at her back, like it had its own gravity.
The days that followed were marked by quiet observation.
Kara started noticing Alice everywhere — or maybe Alice had always been there, and Kara had simply learned how to look.
On Tuesday, in the noisy cafeteria, Alice sat alone at a table near the back. No food tray. Just an untouched bottle of water and a thick hardcover book.
On Wednesday, in the library, Kara saw her standing in front of the Ancient History section, fingers brushing the spines with almost religious reverence.
"Earth to Kara!" A hand snapped in front of her face.
Kara blinked, snapping back to reality. They were in the main hallway, and Natalie — her best friend since freshman year — was staring at her with one raised eyebrow and an amused smile.
"You're doing it again," Natalie said, adjusting the strap of her colorful backpack, which perfectly matched her loud personality.
"Doing what?" Kara tried to play dumb as she shut her locker.
"Staring at the 'Wednesday Addams' girl over there." Natalie subtly nodded toward the end of the hall, where Alice disappeared around a corner. "Seriously, Kara, you're obsessed. Is this some kind of literary crush? She looks like the type who reads poetry in cemeteries."
Kara laughed, lightly bumping Natalie's shoulder. "It's not obsession, Nat. It's curiosity. She doesn't talk to anyone. Doesn't eat with anyone. It's… weird."
"Yeah, and mysterious. And we both know you've got a thing for sad mysteries." Natalie hooked her arm through Kara's, pulling her toward the exit. "But forget the goth girl for a minute. Tonight is pizza and bad movies in my room, and you're not bailing. I need you to roast the plot holes."
That was their friendship: Natalie was the anchor — loud and bright — keeping Kara from drifting too far into her own head. Kara loved her energy, but that week, not even Natalie's jokes could clear the fog of intrigue Alice had brought with her.
On Friday, a thin autumn rain washed over the old brick buildings of Princeton University. The entire campus felt wrapped in gray, but to Kara, it only made the colors sharper: the burnt-yellow leaves on the ground, the deep green of the pines, and the dark red of a coat she saw every day — always in the same place.
Alice.
The girl in the red coat sat on the farthest bench in the inner garden near the old library. She never talked to anyone. Always had a closed book on her lap, but rarely seemed to actually read it. Her gaze drifted, as if she were waiting for something invisible.
"There she is again," Natalie muttered, adjusting her backpack as she walked beside Kara, hood pulled up against the drizzle. "I swear she doesn't even blink. It's kind of creepy."
Kara didn't answer right away. She watched Alice the way someone studies a painting they don't understand but feel compelled to decode. The rain fell on Alice, yet she didn't seem to care — and strangely enough, it looked as if the drops curved away from her.
"Have you noticed she almost never goes into the cafeteria?" Kara said quietly. "She never stays anywhere crowded."
Natalie laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe because everyone here is unbearable. I'd avoid the cafeteria too if I didn't need caffeine to survive."
They paused at the garden entrance. Alice seemed completely detached from them and the rest of the world — a statue of melancholy. But Kara swore that, for a split second, Alice's eyes shifted toward them — a quick glance, heavy with something unspoken, as if it cut through Kara's skin and touched something deeper.
"You gonna talk to her?" Natalie teased, catching Kara's hesitation. "Because if you don't, I will. I need to know where she bought that coat — it's gorgeous."
A sudden wave of courage — or inevitability — hit Kara.
"I will," she said, before she could talk herself out of it.
"Wait, seriously?" Natalie blinked. "Good luck. If she bites you, scream."
Kara rolled her eyes at the joke and took a deep breath. She crossed the stone path, each step echoing in the garden's quiet. The sound of rain seemed to fade the closer she got.
Up close, she noticed details she'd never seen from afar or during class: Alice's skin was pale in an almost unreal way, translucent like marble, and her black hair seemed to swallow the dim daylight. Her eyes… were bottomless.
"Hey…" Kara said, trying to sound casual, though her voice came out a little shaky. "I'm Kara. We're in literature together… I think."
Alice slowly lifted her gaze. There was no surprise on her face — just a tired resignation, as if she were deciding whether it was worth answering someone so fleeting.
"I know who you are," she said. Her voice was low, melodic — almost a whisper that vibrated in Kara's bones. "And I don't think there's any reason for us to talk."
Kara blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness. "Maybe I just want to get to know you."
"That's not a good idea." Alice looked away, her eyes fixing on a yellow leaf drifting slowly down, spinning through the air. "I like being alone."
A shiver ran through Kara — not fear, but the sensation of a wall begging to be climbed.
"Well, I don't," Kara replied, smiling shyly as she stepped a little closer, subtly invading Alice's space. "And I think we shouldn't decide that before at least talking for five minutes."
Alice seemed to physically restrain herself, her jaw tightening. She bit her lower lip as if holding back words she didn't want to say — or instincts she needed to suppress.
"Kara…" She said the name carefully, almost tenderly, as if tasting the sound. "You should spend your time with other people. People like your loud friend back there."
Kara glanced at Natalie, who waved frantically from a distance. She smiled and turned back to Alice. "Maybe I want to spend it with you."
The silence that followed stretched unnaturally long. Rain tapped softly against the leaves, and the cold wind carried the scent of wet earth mixed with Alice's strange, metallic-floral perfume. Alice closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to memorize the scene — or force it away.
When she opened them again, her expression had changed. Sharper. More dangerous.
"You have no idea what you're getting into."
Kara's heart began to race. She didn't know why, but she was certain Alice meant far more than she was saying. This wasn't about friendship. It was something bigger.
Before Kara could answer, Alice stood — her movement fluid and just a little too fast. She adjusted her red coat and passed by Kara, brushing lightly against her arm. The touch was cold — yet it burned.
Alice left behind that strange, soft scent lingering in the air.
Kara watched her go, frozen, until she disappeared beneath the gothic arches of the library.
"Wow…" Natalie said, appearing beside Kara and placing a hand on her shoulder. "And I thought it'd just be a 'hi, how are you.' What was that? She looked like she was either going to run… or kiss you."
Still staring at where Alice had vanished, Kara answered almost to herself, touching the spot on her arm where Alice had brushed past.
"I don't know who she is… but I'm going to find out."
And in that moment, something deep inside her knew that girl wasn't like the others — and that the safe, predictable life Kara had known had just ended for good.