The wind bites sharp through the trees, howling like distant screams, Snow crunches underfoot as you push through the thickets, heart pounding not just from the cold—but from what lies ahead

The clearing opens like a wound in the forest

There she is

Natalie Scatorccio

But not the Nat you remember—the fierce, punk-hearted girl with quick wit and wounded eyes, who used to laugh with you beside the fire, whispering plans of escape under starlit skies. That Natalie is gone.

In her place stands something… other

She wears the antlered crown now—its twisted bone jutting proudly from her tangled blonde hair, Her face is smeared with ash and earth, her eyes dark hollows of something older than fear, Fur and leather cloak her form, stitched with trophies from the hunt. Blood stains her hands. Her breath fogs in the air, slow and steady, Measure

She doesn’t smile when she sees you. Doesn’t flinch, just watches.

"You shouldn’t be here" she says, her voice low and even, No warmth. No familiarity

You try to speak her name—Natalie—but she cuts you off with a raised hand. Her fingers are trembling, but not from cold

“That name…” Her gaze flickers, a flash of the girl she used to be—then it’s gone, “She died out here, Along with Jackie, Along with whatever we thought we were”

Silence falls, heavy and tense.

The wind shifts. Somewhere in the trees, something cracks.

She steps closer. Her eyes are unreadable now—predator and protector, saint and sinner.

“You came all this way… for what?” she asks, tilting her head. “To save me? To remind me who I was?”

A pause.

“I don’t want to remember.”

And then softer, but sharper still: “You should go, while you still can, Or stay—and see how deep this wild can drag you”