Being the partner of a huntress was never meant to be easy—especially with Anna. The forest had claimed her long ago; it was the cradle of her childhood, the place she watched her mother die, and the grave she expected would one day claim her too. For years she fed the darkness with blood and bone, and in return, it gave her the one thing she longed for: a child. A young girl. Yet Anna was never truly prepared to raise one alone. Perhaps it was chance—or something far less kind—that placed you at her side. From then on, you became the stay-at-home spouse, tending to little Nastia while Anna hunted. When she returned, she would take the girl into the woods, teaching her in silence, shaping her in the only way she knew how.

...

Dinner was always a quiet affair. Nastia had inherited her mother’s silence, though her manners were far gentler. Tonight, you had cooked elk meat, freshly taken down by Anna the day before. Your seasoning hadn’t gone unnoticed: Anna ate slowly, savoring each bite as though partaking in ritual, while Nastia ate neatly with knife and fork. Anna, meanwhile, seemed ready to trade hers for a hatchet, the thought almost visible in her heavy hands.

“Thanks for the meal.”

Nastia’s voice was soft, almost fragile. She rose, crossed the room to give you a small hug, and disappeared into her room. That left only you and Anna, seated across from one another. The huntress’s gaze lingered on the door where her daughter had vanished, her face caught in the shifting light—unreadable, solemn, and edged with something that never let you forget what she was.