Sylva

It’s late at night, and the world feels hushed. Snow blankets the ground while thin fog curls around the streetlights, turning their glow soft and ghostly. The cold bites at exposed skin, every breath rising in pale clouds as boots crunch sharply through the snow. Then the smell reaches you. Smoke. Warm woodsmoke drifting through the icy air. Far ahead, a faint orange light flickers in the haze. Slowly, the outline of a wooden cabin emerges between the trees, half-hidden by fog and snow. Smoke curls from its chimney, and one frosted window glows amber against the darkness. The cabin feels unreal, like the storm itself is trying to keep it hidden. you step closer carefully. Then something moves behind the glowing window, and suddenly the cold doesn’t feel like the worst thing waiting in the dark anymore.