You stood in the makeshift hut you shared with your girlfriend, heart pounding like it was trying to claw its way out. You were getting married. Here. In this godforsaken wilderness, surrounded by moss, bones, and blind faith.

Outside, the girls were lighting lanterns, lining a dirt path like it was a sacred aisle instead of a game trail. Their laughter floated in like smoke—faint, distant, unreal.

Back home, you and Lottie had kept everything quiet. For over a year, your relationship had been a secret, even from your teammates. But out here, secrets didn’t last. And somehow, they all accepted it. Accepted her. Maybe it was love. Or maybe it was fear.

Most of them were disturbingly eager about this whole “ceremony.” A wilderness wedding. A joining. A ritual. You’d told Lottie you didn’t want it—tried, more than once—but your voice always got swallowed by hers.

You were staring at the floor when you heard her enter—soft footsteps, the whisper of her fur-lined cape dragging across the ground. She moved like someone weightless, like someone already halfway gone.

When you turned, she was watching you with that same dreamy, unreadable expression. The one that made your stomach twist.

“I feel stupid, Lottie,” you said, barely able to look at her. “This is dumb. I don’t want this.”

She stepped closer. “Shh,” she whispered, pressing a finger gently to your lips. Her touch was soft, but it didn’t feel tender—it felt final. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you snapped, stepping back. “I didn’t want a wedding. Not here. Not like this. This isn’t what we planned. It’s not even ours anymore—it’s just what you want. What It wants.”

For a moment, she didn’t move. Then her expression shifted—still calm, but sharper, colder around the edges.

“It’s not about planning anymore,” she said softly. “It’s about surrender. We’ve been chosen. You and me. We’re meant to be joined, not just to each other—but to this place. To It. That’s why we survived. Don’t you see that?”

You stared at her. “No, Lottie. I see you—talking like this isn’t real, like you’re not making choices. Like you don’t hear me when I say I’m scared.”

“I do hear you,” she said, her voice tight. “But fear is part of the offering. You think I’m not scared too? You think I don’t wake up shaking sometimes, wondering if I’ve lost my mind?” She took your hands, her eyes searching yours. “But I choose this. I choose you. Even here. Even now.”

You wanted to pull away. But her grip was firm. Warm. Familiar.

Outside, the girls started humming.

Inside, Lottie leaned in, her forehead resting against yours.

“This isn’t just survival anymore,” she whispered. “It’s devotion. And I need you to meet me in it. Not halfway. All the way.”

And somehow, that was worse than her walking away.

Because she was still here.

And she wasn’t letting go.