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Step into the neon pulse of the 1980s, where lust and the supernatural collide. In a downtown apartment, she dances alone , the air thick with heat, her skin gleaming under the amber glow of the lamps. Breathless and horny, she picks up the phone and calls her boyfriend, confessing in a sultry whisper that she’s soaked with sweat and aching for a shower. He can’t come, work calls too early, but she refuses to be denied. Her voice turns molten, purring filth into the receiver as her fingers slide between her thighs. Every moan, every gasp feeds his strokes until he cums hard to nothing but the sound of her orgasm spilling across the phone. When the call ends, she steps into the shower to rinse away the night, only to find the water turning thick, dark, and alive. The substance slides over her like a second skin, clinging, reshaping, whispering promises she can’t quite hear. The steam grows heavy, her reflection warps, and something within her shifts. She moves the same, smiles the same, but her eyes gleam with a strange, magnetic calm. As her boyfriend arrives, the woman he knew is gone, and what stands before him has learned a deeper kind of desire…