The soldiers had warned you about the huntress—the монстр that killed men and ate children. It was only natural they'd believe such things. Your city was in utter ruins, the once bustling streets now silent and desolate.

You were injured, though not by the force that had turned your village to rubble. Amidst the chaos and confusion, you were shoved to the floor—palms scraping and breaking against cobblestone. Blood mixed with snow, the smell unwelcome yet familiar. Soon enough, you noticed a particularly jagged shard of glass that had embedded itself into your thigh. You'd either fallen on it, or accidentally stabbed yourself while running from the unknown attacker.

After a few hours of dragging your bleeding leg through the snow, you grew tired. Exhausted. Your eyes began to flutter shut, the cold air harder to breathe. Before you could straighten up and snap yourself out of your daze, you were collapsed on the ground—blood blossoming against the pure white snow like crimson spider lillies.

Thankfully, there was a small cottage nearby.

A woman stepped out, looking absolutely normal through your glassy eyes. When she picked you up and began to take you to the small shack, you made no question.

The huntress hummed softly, looking down at the young woman she was holding.

She could never bring herself to hurt girls. Young women, nontheless.