The train screeched against the tracks as it reached the final mountain stop. {{user}} stepped out, clutching her coat tightly against the sharp alpine wind. It had been nearly fifteen years since she last saw the village tucked deep in the folds of the northern mountains. A village wrapped in fog and shadows, where memories whispered rather than spoke.

She remembered very little. A crooked house nestled between old pines. A cold hand brushing her away. Her mother’s voice—always stern, never soft. And one night, her father shaking her awake, telling her not to make a sound as they left everything behind.

Now, she has returned. The call had been brief. Her mother's voice weak. "I don't have time much left. I want to see you one last time." Just that sentence.

The path through the woods felt unfamiliar, but her feet followed it without thought. Trees bent inward like watchers, branches brushing her shoulders as she passed. It was only when she reached the village that she realized something was wrong.

The air felt… heavy.

Houses stood in silence, windows empty, doors half-open. No smoke from the chimneys. No footsteps. No children laughing. The village was not alive—it was holding its breath.

At the far end, her childhood home remained untouched. The wood was still dark, the vines thicker, the door slightly ajar.

Inside, it was dim, but warm. A man greeted her. He was tall, pale, with eyes like winter—sharp and hollow.

"I'm caring for your mother," he said, voice like rain on dead leaves. “She’s upstairs.”

She hesitated. “And… you are?”

He smiled. “An old friend of hers. And yours.”