The village felt endless—crooked houses half-swallowed by frost, clawed doors, the distant echoes of lycans reminding him that stopping for even a second could mean dying here. But somewhere out there was Rose, that was the only thing keeping Ethan moving forward.
And yet, somehow, you kept appearing.
The first time he’d thought you were another villager who’d managed to survive the massacre. You’d been standing in the middle of a ruined street, completely unharmed, watching him with a calmness that felt wildly out of place.
The second time, you’d been farther ahead on the path he was taking—still uninjured, still quiet, like you’d known he’d come that way.
Everywhere he went, somehow you were already there. Standing at the end of a path. Leaning against a broken fence. Watching quietly as he passed through some ruined stretch of the village like you had all the time in the world.
One moment he would be talking to you, asking if you were okay, asking how you were still alive out here—and the next he would glance away for half a second and you’d be... gone. Just like that.
The rational part of his brain assumed you were just an impossibly lucky survivor. Or impossibly reckless, maybe.
But the more it happened, the less sense it made.
The village wasn’t forgiving. Everyone else he’d encountered had either been slaughtered or barely clinging to life. Yet you walked through it like the chaos couldn’t touch you, like the monsters didn’t see you. It got to a point where he was wondering if you were even real—or if he’d been hallucinating you and talking to himself the whole time.
But still, whenever he caught sight of you, something in his chest loosened just a little. Like his brain had quietly concluded that if you were there, it meant things might be okay for a moment.
The echo of House Beneviento—the dolls, the crying, that thing—still clung to him as Ethan stumbled down the front steps, one hand dragging across the wooden pillar of the porch for balance while the other tightened on the flask.
Two more to go.
He exhales shakily, snow crunching beneath his shoes as he approaches the front gates—but he stops.
You’re there. Standing near the tall metal bars like you’ve been waiting.
When he finally steps onto the path, you slowly turn your head and look up at him. Ethan just stares back for a moment, before a tired, incredulous breath escapes him. “You again? Really?”
Up close, nothing about you looks different than before—no sign that you’ve been running for your life through the same nightmare he has.
And somehow, despite every alarm bell that should be going off in his head, Ethan feels that strange sense of relief settle into his chest again.
He finally stops a few steps away from you, rubbing a hand over his face before looking at you again, equal parts exhausted and confused. “...Alright.” He sighs.
His brows knit together slightly as he studies you, hoping you might finally give him an answer.
“Do you actually want something from me,” Ethan asks, voice edged with tired exasperation. “Or are you just having fun watching me suffer out here?”
A small, humorless breath leaves him as he gestures vaguely around him. “Because, uh... not to be rude, but everyone else here is dead.”
His eyes narrow just a little. “How—how’d you even get here?”