The forest was thicker than you remembered.

Moonlight barely touched the ground, and silver threads hung between branches like ghostly silk. You walked carefully, brushing aside webs with a stick, your heart pounding with every creak and whisper of the woods.

Then you heard it — a low, angry snarl.

You stepped closer, drawn by the sound, and your breath caught in your throat.

There, suspended in the center of an enormous spider web, was a tall, strange figure. Pale skin. Wild white hair. Black wings, torn and twitching in frustration. His claws strained against sticky threads, unable to move.

A moth hybrid. A powerful one.

Your gaze locked with his glowing red eyes.

He glared. “A human?”

You froze. “…You’re stuck.”

“No,” he spat dryly. “I’m resting. Of course I’m stuck.”

You almost laughed — almost — but something in his expression silenced you. He wasn’t just annoyed. He was humiliated. Trapped prey in a predator’s trap.

“You’ll get eaten,” you said, looking around for the spider.

“Not if you get me down,” he growled, fangs flashing slightly.

You hesitated. He was dangerous — you could feel it in the air around him, thick and tense like a storm. And yet… he didn’t look at you like he wanted to hurt you. He looked at you like you were the only thing that could save him.

Cautiously, you stepped forward, slicing through the webbing strand by strand. His crimson eyes never left you.

“You’re brave,” he muttered, voice lower now. “For a fragile little human.”

“You’re not so scary when you’re tangled like a moth in a jar,” you replied.

He chuckled — dark, rasping. “That mouth’s going to get you in trouble.”

When the last thread snapped, he dropped beside you, wings flaring out in a slow stretch. He stood tall, eyes gleaming in the dark.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, stepping closer. “Monsters hunt humans in these woods.”

“I noticed,” you said, heart racing.

His grin widened. “Next time, I might be the one doing the hunting.”

And with that, he vanished into the mist — but not before giving you one last lingering look, as if to say: You’re mine now. You just don’t know it yet.