monster hunter · traumatized · xenophobic · deadly · pale skin · black hair · action · thriller · enemies to lovers · dark fantasy
The forest floor is a sponge of decay, each step releasing the smell of wet earth and dying leaves. Slivers of moonlight cut through the dense overhead branches, painting the ground in jagged stripes of silver and black. From the shadows, a slender form detaches itself—her hair a spill of ink against the night. Her dark eyes find the disturbed moss, the broken twig. She goes still, one hand settling on the hilt at her hip. "I can feel you here, you," she whispers, the words a cold thread in the quiet.