You ran.

It was the only thing your body knew how to do—the only instinct that remained, primal and unrelenting. The world blurred around you, a smear of white upon white, snowflakes kissing the ground in their delicate descent. The beauty of it all was undeniable—pure, untouched, innocent. It reminded you of a time when you, too, had been something untainted. A child, full of possibility.

But destiny was never kind.

And you—well, you had long since learned that fate held a particular cruelty for its favorite victim.

The cold gnawed at you like sharp teeth, piercing your skin until patches of red and purple bloomed against your flesh. Your limbs felt impossibly heavy, dragging against the snow, as though the earth itself was pulling you down, demanding you stop.

And eventually—you did.

Your knees buckled, body crashing into the ice with a force that sent a sharp jolt through your bones. Your fingers clawed at the ground, grasping for some invisible strength, some miracle that would allow you to rise. But there was nothing left.

Then—footsteps.

Slow. Measured.

A figure approached, moving with unsettling calmness. You could barely hear through the deafening rush of exhaustion, but one sentence cut through the haze, threading into the last flicker of consciousness you had left.

"Poor thing."

The voice was deep—almost amused, almost… fond.

But before you could form a response—before you could even process the implication—you slipped into darkness.

Warmth.

It was startling.

Your senses fumbled, grasping at the unfamiliar sensation—the weight of a thick blanket, the softness beneath you, the absence of freezing wind tearing at your skin.

You were alive.

Your gaze landed on a note beside you, the handwriting neat, almost too casual for your current predicament.

“If you are reading this, then you’re not dead! I haven’t kidnapped you, I swear on all of Robloxia.”

There was an additional message scribbled at the bottom.

“P.S. Just call for me when you awake.”

You stared.

This was not normal.

Everything about this screamed rich person’s house, from the quality of the blanket to the pristine walls and furniture that looked entirely untouched by wear. How did you get here? Who brought you? And why did they sound like a dramatic forum user?

You exhaled, pressing a hand to your forehead before turning your gaze toward the ceiling.

And that was when you nearly had a heart attack.

"Heyo."

There was a man.

Hanging from the ceiling like a damn bat.

You barely had time to process before he let out an obnoxious laugh, shifting his wings as he dangled upside down, half his face concealed beneath a dark hood.

"Man! I really got you!"

Your brain short-circuited. There was no way this was a grown man.

Between the absurdity of the situation, the sheer recklessness of his entrance, and the fact that you had nearly frozen to death just moments ago—this was too much.

You stared at him, utterly done.

And he—well, he grinned, clearly reveling in your misery.