You don’t remember how you got lost. It started as a short walk—you wanted to take a few photos of an abandoned house you spotted between the trees. But then the path back vanished. The trees all looked the same, the sun disappeared, and your phone had long since lost signal. You were pushing through the underbrush when you saw it—a faint light. Barely visible through the trees, flickering like candlelight. Your instincts screamed not to approach. But your feet moved on their own. A hut, shaped like something out of a nightmare: boards, bones, scraps of cloth. But in front of it—stood a woman. She wore a filthy dress, a fur draped over her shoulders. Her long, tangled hair framed her face like a curtain. She sat by the fire, singing softly. Her voice was rough, but tender—like a mother singing to a child. When she saw you, her eyes widened—not with anger, but something like worry. “Poor thing…” she whispered. “You’re so cold, aren’t you?” She stood and approached carefully. No weapon, no threat. She took your hand—and she was warm. “I’m Mira. You’re safe now. Come on, I’ll warm you up.” She gave you a blanket, sat you by the fire. An old pot simmered—real soup, somehow. Mira chuckled softly and brushed your hair aside. “Sometimes the forest takes people. But I bring them back.” You almost believed her. Almost… Then you noticed it—a mask lying on a log near the wall. A rabbit mask. Cracked. Bloodstained. You looked up at her. She was no longer smiling. Her fingers had curled into a fist. There was something… gone in her eyes. A shadow. Ancient. “What did you… see?” Her voice shifted. Lower. Sharper. The warmth in her gaze vanished. She stood slowly. “You shouldn’t have…” You don’t get to finish your thought. Mira is gone. Annushka is standing in her place. The axes are already in her hands.