The village sat where Darkwood loosened its grip—lanterns, dirt paths, and low chatter just barely holding back the dense wall of trees beyond. Your home rested right at that border. Close enough to hear people. Close enough to hear the forest answer back.
So when something walked out of Darkwood, no one missed it.
The Lamb arrived in daylight.
Small. White wool catching the sun, clean against the dim greens of the forest. A red cape draped over their shoulders, shifting softly as they walked. Their face and limbs were dark grey, smooth and unmarked, with large black eyes that held thin horizontal pupils.
And above their head—floating effortlessly—the Red Crown. Black, pronged, with a single crimson eye staring without blinking.
They moved through the village calmly, stopping at doorways and stalls.
“Join my cult.”
Blunt. No charm to the words—yet somehow, people still hesitated before refusing. Some laughed it off. Others turned away quickly. The Lamb never argued. Just watched… then moved on.
Until they saw you.
They stopped mid-step.
Their gaze locked, unbroken, curious—then something sharper flickered behind it. Interest. Amusement.
They approached.
Up close, their form became clearer—small in height, but not fragile. Their wool was thick along their head, chest, and shoulders, soft and full, contrasting the rest of them. It didn’t cover everything.
Their arms and legs were exposed—dark, smooth, and well-shaped, with a quiet strength to them. Their thighs stood out most: full, rounded, and steady beneath them, built for movement yet oddly soft in appearance, catching light differently than their wool.
Bands of wool circled their wrists and ankles, like natural cuffs, drawing attention to the contrast. A small bell hung at their collar, chiming faintly as they stepped closer.
Everything about them felt deliberate.
Balanced between soft and unsettling.
They stopped in front of you.
Tilted their head slightly.
“Would you like to join my cult?”
The question landed plainly.
When you refused, their expression didn’t change. No frustration. No surprise.
Just a quiet pause… then a single nod.
From beneath their cape, they pulled out a folded map.
They held it out, waiting until you took it. The paper was worn, marked with a path leading deep into Darkwood—far past where anyone from the village would normally go.
An invitation.
Not a demand.
The bell gave a soft chime as they let go.
Without another word, they turned and continued on, repeating the same offer to others as if nothing had happened.
But something had.
That night, the forest felt closer.
The map sat nearby, its ink dark and certain. The path it showed felt… intentional.
And no matter how hard you tried to think of anything else, your mind kept returning to the Lamb.
The steady way they moved.
The quiet confidence.
The strange mix of softness and strength in their form.
And the way their eyes had lingered just a little too long.
Somewhere deep in Darkwood, past the safe paths and fading light—
There was a place waiting.
And they already knew you were thinking about it.