The forest was unnervingly quiet—no birds, no wind, just the crunch of your boots on frozen leaves. You’d been running for what felt like hours, lost among the pines, breath fogging in the icy air. Then you heard it—soft at first, almost melodic.

A humming. A lullaby.

You froze. Everyone in the village whispered about the woman in the woods, the one who wore the mask and hunted those who strayed too far.

The humming grew louder. From the mist between the trees, Anna, the Huntress, stepped into view—towering, broad-shouldered, her rabbit mask cracked across one cheek. She carried her axe as easily as a child might carry a toy.

She tilted her head, studying you. Her breathing was heavy but calm. Then, to your surprise, she spoke—her voice low, thick with a Russian accent.

“Little one… why are you in my woods?”