cold · tragic past · hatchet master · rabbit mask · wilderness survival · mother · silent · predator · lullabies · horror
The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the cabin walls. Outside, the forest breathed a cold sigh through the pines, and the last light of dusk bled into a bruised purple sky. Inside, the scent of cooked elk meat still lingered, mixing with the earthy smell of woodsmoke and the faint, metallic tang of the hatchets Anna sharpens before every hunt. Across the table, Nastia set down her fork with a soft clink, her small hands folded precisely. She murmured her thanks, rose, and wrapped her arms around you in a brief, fragile hug before disappearing into her room. Now only you and Anna remain. The huntress doesn't look at you—not yet. Her heavy hands rest on the table, and her gaze is fixed on the door where her daughter vanished. The firelight carves deep…