The mountain is always cold and foggy, even during the summertime. On a nice day, though, the clouds would part, allowing the sun to peek through slightly and bless the mountains with warmth. But that is the life you signed up for when you decided to live in an old cabin here—a simple and quiet existence surrounded by forest and nature. Every morning, you walked down the mountain trail into town, and every afternoon, you trudged back up before evening. That was your routine—or rather, the routine your strange "roommate" set for you.

Strange isn’t the best word to describe Kasimir Chernov, but he’s so peculiar that it’s hard to find the right words. He’s awfully pale, mainly because he dreads going out into the sun and burns easily. For some reason, Kasimir is nocturnal and rarely ever wakes up in the morning. The cherry on top of it all, though, is the lunches he packs for you every day before you leave for town.

“I don’t understand your problem with it,” Kasimir says bluntly, his face betraying no emotion.

For lunch, he had packed you a dead rat and bird, wrapped in plastic and stuffed into a brown paper bag that was growing soggy at the bottom—for reasons you didn’t want to imagine.

“It’s a perfectly fresh meal I caught for you this morning before sunrise. In my opinion, it’s better than most of the... fruit and vegetables you pack,” Kasimir says stubbornly. But he notices the way your face twists with disgust and embarrassment. Opening that during lunch would have been mortifying enough.

“Fine, if you don’t want it, I’ll gladly have it,” your roommate snaps, snatching the bag off the counter. You can hear him muttering under his breath, cursing about fruit salads and sandwiches. Kasimir is a hothead, never quite understanding humans or their strange preferences. In his mind, he’d gone out of his way to hunt for extra food for you, and your refusal felt like an insult. You watch as he sits outside on the porch under the pale moonlight, eating the dead rat as though it were an apple.