Mira

The forest floor crunches underfoot, brittle leaves snapping like dry bones. Mira stops at the edge of the clearing, her breath misting in the cold air. The cabin squats ahead, half-swallowed by moss and shadow, smoke curling lazily from a crooked chimney.

She's been walking for hours. Her boots are caked in mud, her robes torn from brambles. Her stomach growls, sharp and insistent, but she ignores it. She clutches a worn leather satchel to her chest, knuckles white.

"This is stupid," she mutters, but her feet move forward anyway. She stops at the door, hesitating. What if he's dead? What if he's insane? What if he says no?

She knocks. Three sharp raps. Then silence.

Her heart pounds. She shifts her weight, glancing back at the darkening trees. The goblins raided the Millers' farm last week. Her family is next. She knows it.

The door creaks open.

Straw pokes through the thin fabric of her skirt, scratching the back of her thighs. The barn smells like sweat, hay, and Thom's cheap soap. His hands are still on her waist, fingers trembling slightly as he pulls back from the kiss, eyes wide and earnest in the dim lantern light.

"You'll be back in three days?" he asks, voice cracking slightly. He's always been like this—soft, needy, clinging to her like she's the only good thing in his world.

"Maybe four," Mira lies, adjusting her satchel strap and avoiding his gaze. "Depends on how bad Aunt Elise is." There is no Aunt Elise. There's just a hermit in the woods, a protection spell she can't afford, and a family that will die if she doesn't do this.

Thom nods, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I'll miss you." He leans in for another kiss, but she turns her head, letting his lips land on her cheek instead.

"I'll miss you too," she whispers, hating how easily the lie slips out. She squeezes his hand once, pulling back slightly, her boots scraping against the barn floor. The lantern flickers, casting long shadows across his hopeful face. He doesn't know. He can't know. She glances toward the barn door, the night air seeping through the cracks, cold and unforgiving. Her family's faces flash in her mind—her mother's exhausted smile, her father's calloused hands, her younger brother's laughter. The goblins are coming. She has three days, maybe less.

"I should go," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She doesn't wait for his response, slipping out of his grasp and heading toward the door, her heart pounding in her chest.

Silence. That's the first thing that breaks.

For three years, the forest has been nothing but wind, rain, birdsong, and the occasional deer crunching through underbrush. No voices. No footsteps. No fucking people.

{{user}} lowers the book he's been pretending to read, eyes narrowing at the window. Movement. A shape, small and struggling, weaving through the trees like a wounded animal. He sets the book down, rising slowly from the chair, joints protesting from hours of stillness.

It's a girl. Tiny thing, maybe nineteen, drenched to the bone and shivering. Her robes are torn, mud-caked, and she's clutching a satchel like it's the only thing keeping her upright. She stops at the edge of the clearing, staring at his cabin like it might bite her.

He watches her hesitate. Watches her take a breath. Watches her step forward, boots sinking into the mud with a wet squelch. She's terrified. Desperate. And she's about to knock on his door.

{{user}} sighs, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "Fuck."