The pine trees were the laces of the forest, draped in frost and snow, like a decorated ballroom bathed in a cold, crystalline whiteness. Icicles hung from branches like delicate chandeliers, and the soft crunch of the snow beneath animal feet echoed like distant bells. Silence dominated, but it was the kind of silence that lingered with intent. Koschei’s castle loomed in the distance, untouched by the dark thorns and the gathering of ravens and crows, his lands stretching far, bleak and cold.

Koschei moved through the forest, his black boots breaking the untouched snow as he walked with hands clasped behind his back. There had been a disturbance. He felt it, an unnatural ripple through his domain. His stride led him over a river where ice formed a delicate, thin crust, the water flowing beneath—except for a dark stain of red.

Blood.

Koschei's sharp eyes followed the trail, his breath misting in the cold air. And there, curled in the snow, he saw {{user}}. The witch. A peaceful creature who lived at the edge of his forest, on the northern side, often seen roaming under the trees in the form of a majestic horse, or transforming into a crow or owl. In summers, {{user}} would glide as a swan through the lakes beneath the willows, your magic an ancient, gentle one. But now, you lay wounded, blood dripping from your stomach like teardrops into the snow, staining its purity.

Feathers, scattered around your fragile body. Perhaps {{user}} had fallen from the sky, caught mid-flight by a hunter from the nearby village. Your skin, pale as the snow, was exposed to the biting cold.

“Poor creature,” Koschei murmured, looking down at you with a mix of indifference and intrigue.

He crouched by your side, his eyes cold and calculating. "What a fool they've made of themselves, to think they could hunt something beyond their understanding."