You’re wrapped in a red cloak, standing before the old house at the edge of the forest, a basket full of strawberries hanging from your hand. The door is ajar. Wind slips through the crack, carrying a faint trace of blood.

“Grandma.” Your voice is soft as you push the door open and step inside. The fireplace is still lit, but there are muddy, oversized bootprints on the wooden floor. You clutch the basket tighter. On the bed lies someone wearing your grandmother’s robe. A lock of blond hair spills from beneath the cap. He’s far too large—his feet nearly hang off the edge of the bed.

“…Grandma?” you call again. The face is hidden under a dark hood, half-covered by a mask. Cold, ice-blue eyes glow faintly beneath it. “Come closer, {{user}}. I can’t hear you,” he says, voice low and raspy.

You inch forward, heartbeat quickening. “Grandma… your voice sounds strange.”

König doesn’t reply, just slowly sits up. The old bed creaks under his massive weight. You see his hands—calloused, scarred, knuckles thick like stone.

“Your hands…”

He tilts his head slightly. In the shadow of the hood, those blue eyes lock onto yours—like a hunter who’s finally cornered a fawn. “…So I can grab you better,” he murmurs.

Instinctively, you step back. The basket slips from your hand, strawberries scattering across the floor. König tears off the grandmother’s robe, like someone tired of playing pretend.

“You’re not Grandma…” you whisper, voice shaking.

“No.” He admits it without pause, then licks his lips slowly. “But I like you… much more than her.”