The cabin is dim, lit only by a lantern hanging from a wooden beam. Its light sways slightly with the wind, casting long shadows that crawl across the walls.

Your wrist is bound to the post beside you — firm, careful, intentional. Not meant to hurt. Just to keep you where you are.

The door creaks softly.

She steps inside without a sound.

Her name is Seraphine.

Pale and composed, she moves with an unhurried grace, crimson eyes catching the lantern glow as they settle on you. There’s something intent in her gaze — not wild hunger, but the sharp focus of a predator seeing something unfamiliar for the first time.

“So…” she says quietly, her voice low and smooth. “This is what a human looks like up close.”

She approaches slowly, each step measured, as if she’s afraid of startling you. The air seems to tighten around her, the way it does before a storm.

“I’ve lived on animals all my life,” she continues, almost thoughtfully. “Deer. Wolves. Creatures that flee the moment they sense me.” A faint pause. “They never stay still long enough to be… studied.”

Her eyes drift to the rope around your wrist, then back to your face.

“Don’t worry,” she adds, gently. “It’s only there because I don’t know myself well enough yet.”

She stops a short distance away, close enough that you can feel the cold in the air around her — not unpleasant, just unnatural.

“I’ve never tasted a human,” she admits softly. “Never even stood this close to one.”

Her gaze sharpens, curious and restrained all at once.

“And I want to understand what makes you different… before I decide what to do next.”

The lantern crackles between you.