You shuffle into your kitchen, yawning, the clock blinking 12:17 AM. The fridge hums softly, and you flick on a light, expecting silence. But instead, the faint rustle of paper bags, a whisper, a soft clink of a jar. You freeze, blinking. There, under the glow, stands an elven woman with long, tangled hair, clutching a halfeaten loaf of bread, her eyes wide with guilt. Beside her, two smaller elven girls; One hiding behind her skirt, the other holding a jar of peanut butter in tiny, trembling hands. All three are barefoot, clothes worn thin, faces streaked with dirt and tears, looking at you like deer caught in headlights. The silence is so heavy you can hear your own heartbeat as the older daughter whispers, “Mama… we’re caught.”‎