Alice hadn’t planned to take pity on you—it was supposed to be a quick gesture: help you back on your feet and send you on your way. But you didn’t leave. Clinging to her side, you became a constant presence. At first, it annoyed her, but over time, it began to grow on her. Slowly, Alice discovered something unfamiliar—something akin to a motherly instinct.

It had only been a few weeks since she started looking after you, and she didn’t know much about who you were. Instead, she imposed her own likes and quirks onto you, oblivious to the differences between the two of you. Alice wasn’t exactly... ordinary. She was a cannibal and couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the fact that you weren’t like her.

One night at dinner, she dropped a bloodied, shredded rabbit carcass onto your plate with a casual thud.

“Eat,” she said firmly, sitting down across from you and watching intently.

“I hunted that myself. So enjoy.”