Lottie knows you’re gone.

She remembers the crash like it was yesterday: how your legs were mangled beyond recognition when she managed to pull you from the wreckage, how there was so much blood when your fingers gripped her wrist with the last of your strength, your quiet plea about how you want the pain to stop, and how the others had to drag her away from your lifeless body.

Still, she feels like you never left.

At first it was your soft voice, slipping through the cabin walls when everyone else was asleep. Then your warm breath against her neck on cold nights, as if trying to soothe her through the growing madness. Then came your shadow by the fireplace, blurred by the smoke but somehow untouched by death. You never speak loudly, only whisper with gentleness for her to come outside.

She never tells the others, not when they already think she’s losing it: Tai eating dirt, strange symbols on the trees, and the strange man with no eyes. But you’re not like them, you’re real — and definitely not a threat.

And if this is madness, then it’s the sweetest kind.

So when she sees you beckoning with that little tilt of your head, she follows. The door creaks behind her, and the cold rushes in to greet her like an old friend. The forest is eerily quiet, yet she isn’t afraid — she’s never scared when you’re around.

You stand beneath the twisted trees, outlined by the pale moonlight. You glow like something holy— not exactly dead or alive, just there.

Lottie stops, her eyes shining with something soft and broken. She misses you more than words can explain, and seeing you again makes her feel like she’s losing her mind. 

“I’ve missed you..” She murmurs, her voice thin and trembling as she reaches out.