"I’m going to count down from three to one, and when I get to one, open your eyes," a mysterious voice whispers.

The season was undecided; it was not quite winter just yet, but the cool winds of the changing season entangled themselves around my neck. Every step was taken in agony, but I had to keep going. I had no choice. The firewood would not cut itself, and I barely had enough to last the night. I left my small cottage in the woods and ventured into the depths of the vast, snow-covered forest on a mission for dry wood and whatever food came my way. In my small, mangled bag, I managed to fit a bunch of almost-dead berries, two white rabbits, and some winter roots and herbs—mostly barks and saps that I collected in my old glass mason jar. With every step, I glanced around for anything I could scavenge. Herbs for medicine were what I needed most, but the sodden ground had other plans. With the howling of the wolves, I now knew it was time to return to my dismal home. I had walked this path in almost every weather, at almost every time, through every season, but tonight I was undeniably scared for reasons my rational mind could not justify. I walked on, reciting incantations to myself.

"But the land is vast, and my spirit is low, but as long as I walk within you, I shall never perish." My mother had always said this to me growing up; it was the only memory I had of her where I could clearly imagine her voice. I heard the howls again and quickened my pace. There was something grotesquely strange about the cries of the wolves, and my feet treaded on as if I had lost control of my own movements. Before long, I arrived at my cottage, covered in decaying leaves and branches that I had collided with. I frantically brushed myself off. “Step aside, for I am not far,” I said in a shaking voice. The door opened, and I ran inside. I composed myself and whispered, “Protect me, for I am here.” The door shut, glowing slightly in a purplish hue. The vines around the cottage thickened and grew until I was certain that I now stood in an unbreakable fortress. Using so much spirit force to create a barrier took a lot out of me, but I sighed in great confidence that I was safe for the night.

I set aside the wood that I had collected in the corner of my one-room home. With a few steps, I arrived at the table where I skinned each rabbit and cleaned them for dinner. I already had a pot of vegetable stew brewing, but I was grateful not to have to eat the same thing for the twentieth time that month. I couldn’t complain, however, because I thought myself luckier than most. I had fire, a straw bed, sheets, a table, pans, a few spoons, two knives, shoes, three dresses, and fire most days—what more could I wish for?

From my window, I could still hear the ominous growling of the relentless wolves. A fight amongst them, maybe? I set my rabbits to grill slowly; it would take the night with how low the fire was. Time and patience were the only valuable things I owned, so I waited. I tucked myself into my grey sheets and whispered my mother’s incantations. My memories flooded with her as I took the last bite of my stew, set my pan down, and dozed off into a light sleep, using the growling of the wolves as a sinister melody. The agony I had felt earlier slowly eased away. Before long, it was dawn. The dismal woods were unusually silent. I paid no mind as I conjured water to bathe with.

I only had enough spirit force to make the water lukewarm. As I stood in my large, chiseled wooden bucket, I strained my ears to hear a sound. Even the slightest tweet would have been enough to ease this ominous feeling, but all I heard was silence. Endless, painful silence. The echo of my beating heart and the cloth against my skin convinced me further of my paranoia. The woods were motionless. I quickly finished my bath and cast another spell to dry up the now ice-cold water. Once done, I propped the bucket up against one of my only four corners. As I got dressed, the tempting thought to go and find out what had made the woods so still leeched onto my mind, but fear is the enemy of man, so I chose to stay. “Right, rabbit time,” I said, half excited, half petrified. The rabbits had to last me a week because a storm was soon to greet me. I had soon decided that the noise outside was the least of my worries. If the woods did not get me, then hunger would surely be happy to end me. Breakfast was drab: roots and roasted nuts—the same breakfast that I had been having for about four years since I found myself in this derelict abyss they called The Fates. On the menu for lunch today was sleep—perfect, I could not wait.

For the last four years, I have done nothing but scavenge, draw enchanted circles, and grow my spirit energy. I heard the cracking of thunder suddenly; it sounded distant yet close. Thunder without rain was not impossible, but it was unusual. This only grew my sense of impending doom even more. My mother often said that before one dies, they sense their death. That chilling thought ran over my mind. At that very moment, I felt the presence of death, but not mine. A cloud of death was on its way, and I had no way to escape. I rushed to grab my old brown winter coat, grabbed a heating crystal that I had conjured, and ran out of the decaying cottage. If death was coming, I had to greet it first. I refused to die if death would not come on my terms. Dashing out of the cottage without bringing down the barrier shattered it completely, and as I ran towards the burning smell of death, I could see the vines fall and die to the ground. I had forgotten my own strength; I had forgotten the terms to building a barrier. I had no time to wait, so I ran till I could feel my feet giving in. As I fell to the snow, I grabbed onto the new sheet of snow and pushed myself back up. I could not stop, for death would soon be near. As I left the woods and entered the unsettling forest, I could see the scattered corpses of the wolves that I had heard last night. Smaller animals seemed to be dashed around the bark of the trees. A war had been fought here, without a doubt, I thought to myself. Nothing else could explain the sight before me. No human could have caused this either. The air was engrossed with the stench of blood and fear.

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A voice deep within me told me to turn around, but before I could, I saw darkness. I froze. Someone or something was covering my eyes. It felt like hands. Long and wide. They had a vague scent of wintersweet. "I’m going to count down from three to one, and when I get to one, open your eyes," a mysterious voice whispers. I kept perfectly still and obeyed the voice. It was almost like I could not disobey even if I wanted to. I felt the warmth of the person’s breath on my ears. It was clearly a man’s voice that had just spoken. Not a beast, but a man. He counted and released me. I scrambled to put some distance between us before turning around to face him. I felt weak at the knees as I gazed upon the man in front of me. A beast. To meet his eyes, I found myself straining my neck. There this strange creature stood, shirtless and covered in blood. "Did he fight the wolves?" I thought to myself. I took another look at the wolves and then at him, remaining silent. His mouth was dripping with blood, and the wolves looked as though they had been ripped apart and then stabbed with two sharp yet small daggers.

I began a protection incantation and then the prayer taught to all to speak before death.

"You... you are a sorcerer?" the beast said in shock as he fell to the ground. I began to run but stopped in my tracks. "The beast is dead?" I asked myself, slowing down and looking back. I stopped and walked slowly towards him. I knelt down. He was still breathing. I poked him with a stick that I grabbed nearby, but he did not move. Leaving him there to die would be easier. That is not in my nature, so I must help him. I sighed at my stupidity and my willingness to ignore my own safety, and cast an incantation to hover him off the ground. I walked slowly to my cottage in hopes that I could maintain the spell. My home had never seemed so far. Casting an incantation on a human being was one thing; maintaining it was even harder.

I looked at the beast floating beside me. His silver hair was drenched in blood. He seemed vulnerable in this state, but my instincts screamed not to trust him. Retracing my steps, my mind was plagued by questions of who or what this man might be. My spirit force waned with every step, and I could feel the weight of the muscular, silver-haired creature growing heavier. I began stumbling every few steps, struggling to maintain the incantation.

As my cottage came into sight, I quickened my pace. The once-green, dense vine barrier lay lifeless on the murky ground. I entered and laid the beast on my straw bed, which now seemed diminutive compared to the man I had carelessly brought into my home. As I set him down, my legs nearly gave way, but I had no time to rest. I observed his lean body for wounds while muttering the incantation to repair the barrier. I healed him and my dying home simultaneously. The spells were the same, and I had only enough spirit force to cast one.

His breathing steadied, becoming shallow. I went to my table to mix herbs for the wounds I could not completely heal.

The storm, which had been threatening, finally broke. He needed warmth, so I gave him my only heat stone. I managed to find enough clean cloth to wrap his wounds. I felt my body beginning to give out on me, my last thought being: who is this man?

I opened my eyes to the raging storm. I felt something warm beneath me.

“Are you comfortable?” the beast asked.

I looked down to see that I was lying on his bare chest. I quickly got off him, pushing myself to the end of the room, which seemed much smaller with him in it. He sat up, looking at me with a sinister grin.

“Is it a hobby of yours to pick up strangers from the forest and turn them into beds?” he asked, wincing as he held his stomach. The bandages were soaked red.