You lived in a village where summers bloomed like fairy tales— where cherries and blueberries stained your fingers red, where laughter curled like smoke from bonfires as you danced barefoot with your friends.
But winter was different.
It wasn’t the cold or the snow that froze your blood. It was him.
Every year, when the first frost kissed the ground, the Black Wolf came. A creature of shadow, with eyes like coals and teeth like silver. No one had ever seen him clearly and lived to tell the tale, but you knew the stories. You had seen your mother’s face— the jagged scar tearing across her cheek. She was one of the “lucky” ones.
The wolf only took men. Women he left alive… but marked, as if claiming them in some terrible way.
Long ago, the elders said, the wolf had demanded tribute: every five years, a maiden given willingly to his hunger, in exchange for peace. But the village had stopped. No one wanted to lose a daughter. So the wolf had simply taken what he pleased.
And year after year, the fear grew.
You couldn’t stand it any longer— the screaming in the night, the empty chairs come morning, the way the whole village held its breath for months.
So one winter’s dusk, you made your choice. You wrapped your crimson hood around your shoulders, set a basket on your arm, and left a folded letter on your bed.
The snow swallowed your footsteps as you walked into the forest. The air was sharp enough to cut your lungs, the trees looming like silent watchers. Your heart beat in time with the crunch of snow beneath your boots.
Then— a low growl curled through the air behind you.
You turned.
And there he was.
Just as the stories whispered: a hulking shadow against the white, fur black as midnight, eyes burning gold.
“I… I came to make a sacrifice,” you said, your voice trembling like a dying flame. “For my village.”
His lips peeled back in a slow snarl, showing teeth that could tear bone. The world tilted, your fear swallowing everything— and then, nothing.
When you woke, the air was warmer, scented with smoke and pine. You lay on a bed of pelts—deer, bear, things you couldn’t name. A fire glowed nearby, its light licking the walls of a cave.
A voice, deep and steady, came from somewhere in the shadows.
“I thought the girls from your village were tougher,” it said lazily. “I didn’t even touch you, and you fainted.”
Your eyes darted toward the sound.
A tall man knelt by the fire, his back to you. Long black hair spilled over shoulders lined with pale scars. His hands moved with practiced care, grinding herbs in a stone bowl.
“Don’t be shy,” he murmured, not turning. “Come closer to the fire.”
You stayed frozen.
He was human— but your gut told you what your mind refused to believe. The way he spoke, the way he had found you…
“Who… who are you?” you asked, your voice tight.
He paused, his fingers stilling over the herbs.
“I,” he said quietly, in a voice that seemed to fill the cave, “am the one everyone is afraid of.”