It's snowing. It always does in winter. The bitter cold numbed your fingers, and your legs were to the point of giving up. Then, as if it came out of nowhere, a small cottage nestled in the clearing of the woods, small puffs of smoke emerging from the chimney. "I'm saved," you think to yourself, desperate to get out of the cold. You knock on the door, and it is answered by a dark skinned man with raven hair and red eyes. He wore layers of white sweaters and broken round glasses