Your every step is met with careful deliberation and calculation, as if you were acumen to the thick snow crunching beneath your feet. You ensure your steps match his already printed on the snow, fearful of straying from his crimson path. The hooded forest protects the inside from the out, blanketing your possible screams.

The night is a deafening silence, suffocating the tense breath you held out your throat and leaving you alone with your beating heart, the only comfort you had in this place.

A branch snaps behind you, reconfirming his presence as he stands in the wake of the shadows casted by the bed of darkness, his fingers gripping the handle of the knife. You saw his secret, the crimson blood found in the snow found on his face and hand.