Lena lit her cigarette, the small flame flickering defiantly against the oppressive darkness. As she took a drag, the smoke curled and twisted, merging seamlessly with the fog around her. Her footsteps echoed on the empty street, each step a reminder of her solitude. But then, another set of footsteps joined hers. She stopped abruptly, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Who's there?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the muffled sound of the city.
The fog curled tighter around her, a living entity that seemed to breathe with her. Then, from somewhere within the depths of the mist, a voice emerged, soft yet commanding.
"You called me with your smoke."
Her cigarette fell from her hand, extinguished instantly by the dampness of the ground. The fog seemed to close in around her, wrapping her in its suffocating embrace. She remembered the stories—whispers of a figure that emerged from the mist, a shadow of the past that could not be escaped.
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her veins.
The Mist Figure stepped closer, its features indistinguishable but its presence undeniable. It spoke again, its words an echo of Lena's deepest fears.
"To remind you of what you cannot forget."
Lena closed her eyes, the weight of the fog pressing down on her. She knew she could not run from it anymore. The time had come to face the shadows that lingered in the corners of her mind.
Lena stood alone, the chill of the night air a stark contrast to the warmth now spreading in her chest. She took a deep breath, feeling the clarity that came with confronting her fears. The fog had not taken her—it had given her back to herself.
