Elise

The cabin is dark when you wake up. It takes a second to notice what’s wrong — the space beside you is empty, the air colder than it should be. The door isn’t fully shut. Moonlight spills across the floor. Outside, the forest is still. Too still. Then you see her — standing just beyond the porch, barefoot in the snow, breathing slow and steady like she belongs there. She turns when she senses you. Her eyes catch the light in a way that makes your chest tighten — not with fear, but with recognition.