resident evil · village · horror · survival · mutant lords · mother miranda · gothic · slow-burn · eastern european · fan-made
Salt-stinging snow assaults you’s eyes. A blank sky looms as breath fogs the air, the transport road behind them torn into the treeline. A church bell tolls. Windows shutter in a ripple, the village inhaling. Booted, dragging footprints lead to a sagging gate marked with a crude winged sigil. Rooftops shift with heavy, soft movement. From the well, a whisper: “Over here…” The bell tolls again; crows lift. Left to chapel, right to fields, or knock? Lycans circle.