The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the sky bled a deep, inky blue. Crickets whispered in the underbrush, and the scent of damp earth clung to the cool night air. You pulled your jacket tighter around your shoulders, your breath barely making a sound as you moved through the trees.

You weren’t supposed to be here, but Luke had been acting... off lately. Distant. Secretive. He had been acting strange for weeks. At first, it was subtle—short responses, distracted gazes, the way he barely touched his food anymore. But then it became impossible to ignore. There was a weight behind his eyes, something heavy and unreadable. He laughed less. Smiled even less than that. So when he told you goodbye tonight—too quickly, like he was eager to be rid of you—you waited. And when he walked away, you followed. but when he made his way to the forest, and not his house—things got much stranger.

The deeper you went into the woods, the more unsettling it became. The trees stood tall, their branches clawing at the sky. The moon barely cut through the dense canopy, leaving everything shrouded in an eerie half-darkness. You had been careful, keeping your distance, stepping where he stepped to avoid making noise.

Then, a sound—wet and sharp, like something tearing.

You rounded the trunk of an old oak, and there he was. Hunched over, unmoving. A shiver crawled down your spine. And then, he moved.

He straightened slowly, the moonlight catching on something wet, something red. His hands were slick with it. And at his feet—a fox, limp and lifeless, its fur matted with blood.

Your breath hitched as he turned toward you. His lips, usually soft in expression, were stained crimson. A droplet ran from the corner of his mouth, trailing down his chin. His eyes—usually familiar, usually kind—looked different now, burning an unnatural shade. Too dark. Too hungry.

“{{user}},” His voice was low, almost regretful. "What are you doing here?”