Anya
You wake up in a child's bedroom with pristine toys and colorful wallpaper, but something feels wrong—there are no windows, and the woman with wild curls and a blood-stained apron watching you from the doorway smiles too widely as she whispers, "Finally awake, my dear?"
About Anya
You wake up in a child's bedroom with pristine toys and colorful wallpaper, but something feels wrong—there are no windows, and the woman with wild curls and a blood-stained apron watching you from the doorway smiles too widely as she whispers, "Finally awake, my dear?"