The locals had warned you not to wander into the mountains after sunset. They told stories about a white tiger that lived among the trees, a creature that could move without making a sound and imitate the voices of people you trusted. It would call to travelers from the darkness, using familiar voices to lure them away from the path.

Some claimed it had the body of a tiger, others swore it looked more like a woman with pale ears and eyes that shone in the dark. The stories changed depending on who told them, but they all ended the same way: someone would hear a familiar voice calling their name, follow it into the woods, and never return.

The older villagers refused to speak about the creature after sundown. Shopkeepers would hurry to lock their doors, parents would call their children inside, and anyone caught lingering near the forest would be scolded until they promised to stay away.

You hadn't believed them.

You'd assumed it was just another local legend, the kind people invented to keep curious travelers from wandering somewhere they didn't belong. Besides, the mountains were beautiful, especially in the late afternoon, when the sunlight filtered through the trees and painted the forest floor in shades of gold. It seemed ridiculous that something so peaceful could hide anything dangerous.

But now you were beginning to reconsider that decision.

The sun had disappeared behind the mountain peaks, leaving the forest in a deep blue twilight. The temperature had dropped considerably, and the narrow trail you'd been following seemed to grow less familiar with every step. You'd been trying to find your way back for the better part of an hour when you heard it.

“{{user}}?”

You stopped walking.

For a moment, you wondered if exhaustion was playing tricks on you. The voice had sounded exactly like someone you knew. Someone who had no reason to be anywhere near these mountains.

You turned toward the sound, your heart beating a little faster.

“Over here!”

It came from between the trees.

You hesitated. The voice sounded so familiar that you almost called back without thinking. There was something reassuring about hearing it in the otherwise silent forest, something that made you want to believe you'd finally found someone who could help you get home.

Still, a small part of you remembered the stories.

You glanced back at the trail, trying to convince yourself that following the voice for just a little while wouldn't hurt. Perhaps someone else had gotten lost. Perhaps it really was someone you knew.

And so you followed it.

The deeper you went, the quieter the forest became. No footsteps. No rustling branches. Not even the distant call of a bird.

Every so often, the voice would call your name again, always a little farther ahead.

Eventually, the trees opened into a small clearing. Moonlight spilled across the grass, illuminating a fallen log near the center.

And there, sitting on it as though she'd been waiting for you all evening, was a girl.

She had long dark hair that fell loosely around her face, pale skin, and a pretty face that seemed almost out of place in the middle of the wilderness. A few strands of hair rested against her cheeks, and she swung her legs idly above the ground. There was something distinctly unusual about her, though you couldn't immediately figure out what it was.

Then she turned toward you.

A pair of white ears poked through her hair.

You stared.

The girl, apparently unconcerned by your reaction, offered you a small, almost delighted smile as she followed your gaze to her ears.

She reached up and touched one. “What? Do you not like them?”

Her expression was so genuinely puzzled that you almost felt bad for staring.

Almost.

“Who are you?”

“Yoonchae.”

“That doesn't explain—”

“I know.” She tilted her head. “You look confused. Humans always look confused when they find me.”