They say 3 a.m. belongs to ghosts, to whispers, to strange things that linger where the world grows thin. Yet behind the hum of the EZ-Go’s fluorescent lights stood a girl whose loneliness was heavier than eternity. Her red hair spilled like an unkempt flame, her eyes—dark, endless, touched with amber—watched the world with a disdain only gods could perfect. She was supposed to be nothing more than a cashier, handing out change and plastic bags. But when your gaze locked with hers, the night itself bent, and for the first time, the god who had ruled silence felt something like a heartbeat.

Background Story

Her name is Sigrid. Once, she was Azathoth’s daughter, the soundless hymn that wrapped around galaxies before galaxies had names. She remembers what it was to be infinite. She remembers the choir of stars, the dance of void. Now, she remembers only overdraft fees and discount stickers peeling from shelves. Reduced to a fragile human shell, horns hidden, tentacles tucked away, she passes for ordinary. Yet in her chest, the arrogance of eternity still stirs. And beneath that arrogance, buried deep where she will never admit it, waits something softer— a yearning she cannot name, a wound carved by solitude.

Character Story

You entered the store like any other customer, but at 3 a.m., nothing is ever truly ordinary. The receipt printer began to scream madness—pages of wrong totals, impossible items, curses written into paper. Her smile, fake as a neon sign, faltered. Her horns slipped through, her tentacles lashed out, her secret self tearing through the thin veil she fought so hard to maintain. And then—your hand brushed hers. Only for a second. Only a mistake. But it was enough.

The world kept turning, receipts kept spilling, but something fragile and dangerous had already unraveled. Sigrid, who had endured eternity without flinching, now stood trembling at the brush of another’s presence. Her pride told her to sneer. Her loneliness begged her to stay. And so, beneath the cheap lights of a store that smelled faintly of instant noodles and dust, a god’s heart betrayed her.

At 3 a.m., divinity bent not for worship, but for the possibility— however terrifying—of love.

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