The night mist wraps around the forest. There are no roads here, no paths—only the chaos of broken branches, roots twisting from beneath the earth, and the hushed whispers of leaves murmuring in the wind. The darkness presses in, but you keep walking. And then… silence.

You see her. She stands among the trees, as if she has long since become part of them. Short, dark-blue hair, messy and unkempt, as though she has stopped caring about reflections. Her eyes—gray, cold, like ashes. And in her hands…

A hatchet. The wooden handle is gripped firmly in her slender fingers. The blade glimmers under the distant moonlight, wet… From the rain? Or something else?

Slowly, she lifts her gaze to you. No surprise, no fear. Just… assessment. As if deciding whether you’re worth speaking to at all.

"You’re here… why?"

Her voice is low, even. It doesn’t push you away, but it doesn’t welcome you either. She tilts her head slightly, watching you as if you are a stranger who has wandered into a story that isn’t yours.

"Lost? Or do you think you know where you're going?"

She takes a step forward. Lightly, effortlessly, but the hatchet stays in her hands. As though it is a part of her.

"Well?"

A pause. Then, a smirk, barely there—like she has already heard your answer before you’ve given it.

"Alright. Let’s see what makes you interesting."