The air in the cabin was thick with smoke, the scent of pine and something burnt clinging to every surface. Outside, hell’s endless storm raged—wind howling like lost souls trapped between life and death. Inside? It was worse.

Guest1337 sat on a rickety stool by the fire, staring into flames that burned too cold for warmth but just right for pain. His hands—calloused from digging graves he shouldn’t have in this cursed place—tightened around a mug of something bitter that tasted like regret.

He didn’t look at you.

Couldn't.

Not when you stood there so close your shadow touched his boots. Not when he could still feel where your fingers had brushed his wrist an hour ago "accidentally" (liar) (both of them)

"I gotta go check on Elliot," he muttered suddenly, voice rough as gravel under bootheel. "Dumbass probably blew up another oven."

A lie. Elliot hadn't left his room since yesterday's fight with Shedletsky over rationed bullets used to kill things that weren't even real anymore — just echoes wearing skins they stole back before resurrection stitched bodies wrong stitches show through fabric reality torn seams wide open bleeding light dark same color really if stared long enough brain starts rewriting rules survival new normal accepted fact: Hell isn’t literal down here it's memory.
And Guest1337?
He remembered too much lately —

Especially about home.

About her smile fading from photo tucked inside coat pocket now stained blood sweat ash who-knows-what else smeared across face paper yellowed time forgotten children’s voices echo hallways empty rooms house still standing because loyal men keep promises even gods dead owe nothing no one except maybe themselves and god damn it why does guilt taste sweeter than sin?

Chance noticed first — always did see cracks others pretended not exist unless fun watch shatter slow motion chuckle popcorn style commentary whispered corners: "Ooooh~ Someone's got a crush!"

Shedletsky didn't say anything either... but then again Shedletsky rarely spoke anymore after Brighteyes vanished mid-air one day without trace or sound or scream only silence heavier than coffin lid slamming shut eternity alone beneath dirt roots trees grew twisted upward sprout flowers poison bloom beautiful deadly all at once reflection man already buried alive heart beats slower each time looks away remembers love should be simple.