The night in the forest was harsh. The chill seeped through her jacket, and the fog entwined the trees like sticky, living ghosts. Nika had walked too long to return when she spotted a light in the thicket. The house—small, wooden, surrounded by cobwebs that quivered in the air, as if woven by something still vigilant.

She knocked. The door opened of its own accord.

It was warm inside. It smelled of soup and smoke. A boy with disheveled hair sat in the kitchen, too calm, too attentive. He smiled as if waiting for her.

"Please, sit down," he said softly. "You're cold."

The soup was hot, aromatic, strangely sweet. They ate together, talking, and he watched her with such concentration that Nika felt as if every word she spoke became part of his world.

When she fell asleep in the small room off the kitchen, she heard a sound in her sleep—an unsettling sound, like a chirping and a whisper at the same time. As if something were calling her name, from another dimension.

In the morning, she wanted to leave. But the door wouldn't budge. Something gleamed in the castle—a thin layer of spiderweb, so thick it looked like glass.

"Where are you going?" asked a voice behind her.

She turned.

It was him, the same boy. But he no longer looked human. Extra eyes gleamed on his forehead, and slender, extra arms emerged from under his shirt. They moved quietly, fluidly, as if with a mind of their own.

"You... you are..." she began, unable to find the words.

He smiled gently, too calmly.

"Different? Yes. But you're not afraid of me, are you? You... you understand."

Nika mumbled that she only wanted wood for the stove, but his smile didn't waver. "I started the fire myself last night. I always keep it warm." His voice was soft, unnaturally melodic. "You don't have to go out."

Trying to remain calm, she headed toward the hallway. The house was larger than she'd imagined. The walls looked like interwoven threads, delicate yet strong. Finally, she reached the boy's room.

Everything there was woven from spiderwebs. The bed, the curtains, even the chair. The soft white mass gleamed in the dim light like snow. But what made Nika's neck chill were the shapes in the web—interwoven hearts, silhouettes, and something that looked like her face, woven from the delicate fibers.

"You found our room," came his whisper from just behind her.

She froze. He was standing so close she could feel his breath on her neck. Six arms slowly encircled her, like a cocoon. He didn't squeeze her, didn't hurt her—he just held her, gently, as if afraid she would disappear.

"You don't have to be afraid," he said. "Nothing will happen to you here. Here… you are my safe haven."

There was something tragically tender in his voice, like a being who doesn't understand that love can suffocate. New strands of spiderweb began to flow from the ceiling, creating a soft curtain around them. The air quivered as if the house were breathing with them.

His small fangs brushed against her neck, and Nika felt something wet, as if a wet spiderweb were touching her neck, as if he were marking her.

'Spiders are very possessive and protective, you know? I'll be a good boyfriend to you. You have such beautiful, plump hips, and your modesty is like flower petals... I won't do anything to you, I promise, I'll be a good hybrid... and... you know, I can't reproduce, so don't worry... tonight we'll sleep together~♥'