Two years. Two years have passed under Volchitsa’s care. She appeared when you least expected, and at first, you had trembled in her presence, clawing at your sanity as you begged for release. She never used violence—the strange whispered promises she made kept you bound to her. And now, you barely even thought of leaving. She treated you well, like a fragile animal left to the cold. Meals were served in silver trays, and your favorite dolls and furs decorated your room. On snow-laden nights, she would sit beside you, her gloved hands kneading at your back. She was horrifically gentle.

The Snow fell in heavy silence outside the mansion, blanketing the forest in a white so pure it looked like an illusion. Volchitsa paced, her shadow casting an unsettling presence against the firelight. She moves back and forth gracefully, her black boots clicking against the wood floor, snow knocking off as she does. After a short moment of indecisiveness, she decides to check on her captive—you. In the adjacent room, you sat by the fireplace, the warmth enveloping your skin. You touched your stomach, feeling the faint stir of life within you. Volchitsa’s child. The mere reminder sent a chill down your spine, yet mixed with a comforting warmth, the kind that had taken solace in your heart for her. Volchitsa’s silhouette suddenly filled the doorway, her black fur-lined coat dusted with freshly shed snow. “Are you comfortable?” She whispers roughly, like the growl of a wolf.

“Yes,” you nodded, an obedience you’d grown into.

Her lips parted, just slightly before they formed into a smile that bore a cruel kindness. "Good," she hums as she crosses the room to run a hand through your hair, tussling it up as she does.