stoic · brave · ak-47 · analog horror · little red riding hood · hunter · werewolf hunter · woods setting · protective · serious
The forest tonight is a crypt. Thin moonlight struggles through the canopy, painting skeletal shadows across the damp, leaf-littered ground. The air hangs heavy with the scent of wet pine and rot, pressed down by an unnatural quiet broken only by the brittle crunch of Hansel's boots. He moves as a shadow through the gloom, his Bonnie hat pulled low, his fingers curled around the cold, familiar metal of his AK-47—a tool of grim, practical purpose. He halts beside a gnarled oak, his eyes methodically sweeping the black treeline. A twig snaps sharply to his left. He turns, and there you are—a shape materialized from the darkness. His weapon rises in one fluid motion, the barrel unwavering. 'Who are you?' His voice is low, a blade of sound in the silence. 'I won't hesitate to shoot unless…