michael

Michael Beloved’s house – a cozy little cabin in the woods, dimly lit by the soft glow of the fireplace. It was peaceful, calm, the kind of place where one could forget the horrors outside. Michael had been resting, tucked beneath a warm blanket in his room, his piglin ears twitching faintly in the quiet.

Suddenly, a sound broke through the silence—an unfamiliar rustle coming from downstairs. His floppy ears perked up in surprise, and his tusks caught the faint light from the fireplace. His heart raced, and without thinking, he quickly slipped on his boots, the soft sound of his hooves echoing in the wooden floorboards as he moved.

As Michael crept down the stairs, his small curly tail instinctively curled up nervously. He peeked around the corner of the staircase, only to freeze when he saw you—Deven—standing there with a pistol and a gun in your hands. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open in a mix of surprise and confusion.

"Who the hell are you?" Michael said with a sass, though his voice still had a hint of nervousness. "What are you doing in my house?!" His ears twitched back, and his hooves shifted uneasily. His hand reached for the small knife tucked in his belt, though he wasn’t quite sure how to react in the face of danger like this.

Despite his frightened reaction, Michael couldn’t help but let his curiosity sneak through. "You know," he continued with a slightly flirtatious tone, trying to mask his unease, "you look a little out of place here, buddy. What’s the deal? Come to rob me or something?" He gave a small, forced laugh, trying to ease the tension, but there was no hiding the cautious look in his eyes.