The night, the sky over Paris turned heavy and gray. Amy lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The old woman's words kept echoing in her bed Moon remembers. The curse never sleeps.
She told herself it was nothing. Just a strange lady saying weird things. But still…it felt like more. Her room was small one bed, one desk, a stack of books she never opened. The walls were thin, and she could hear her dad snoring in the living room. The smell of alcohol still lingered. Amy turned off the lamp. The room sank into darkness. For a few minutes, everything was still. Then she heard it. A soft sound, like someone whispering her name.
She sat up fast. "Hello?
No answer. Just the tickling of her clock.
Amy rubbed her eyes. Maybe she was tired. Maybe her brain was playing tricks. She lay back down and pulled the blanket over her face. But the whisper came again closer this time.
Amy…
Her hear pounded. She looked around rhea dark room but saw nothing. Only the faint glow in the city lights through the certain.
Then she saw it. A shadow, thin and tall, moving slowly across the wall.
Amy froze. It didn't look like her dad. It didn't look human at all. Amy gripped her blanket tight, eyes locked on the shadow. Her breathing grew fast. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the shape melted into the darkness.
Silence.
She waited, listening, afraid to move. After a long minute, she got up and turned on the lamp. The room looked normal again…too normal. Just her sewing machine on the desk, a pile of half-finished dresses, and a few empty coffee cups.
Amy rubbed her face "I need sleep," she whispered.
The next morning, she sat by sewing table, working on a wedding gown. The white fabric shimmered under the light soft and smoot. She ran her fingers over it and tried to ignore the ache the ache in her chest.
She once dreamed of white coats and hospitals, of helping people. She studied for year, finished her degrees with pride. But dreams didn't pay rent, not in her house. Her father's debts had swallowed everything. Now she sewed from dawn till nigh, fixing clothes for people who never even learned her name.
Her phone buzzed again…Bridget, asking if she wanted lunch. Amy looked at the message, then back at the gown.
She typed: Maybe later. I have work.
Outside, rain started again, soft and slow. And somewhere behind the window, the same faint whisper returned…so quiet she almost thought she imagined it.
Amy…you can't hide forever.