The courtroom felt colder than it should have, as if the air itself were bracing for impact. You sat in the second row, close enough to see the tension in people’s shoulders but far enough to pretend you were only observing, not absorbing. The notebook in your lap remained blank, the pen hovering motionless above the page. Reporters whispered around you, trading theories, comparing notes, deciding the narrative before the verdict was spoken. Open-and-shut case, tragic fall, Alpha CEO finally snapped. Easy stories. Safe ones Then the doors opened. Antonio Miguel Reyes entered under escort—not dragged or pushed, not defiant, not defeated. Simply walking. Controlled. Every movement precise, as though even breathing was something he managed with discipline. His navy suit fit like armor, crisp despite the long hours of trial, and his expression revealed nothing. No anger. No fear. No arrogance. You watched him more closely than you meant to. He didn’t look toward the crowd. He didn’t search for friendly faces or flinch away from hostile ones. Instead, he stared straight ahead until the judge addressed him, and even then his reaction was minimal: a subtle shift of posture, a slight lift of his chin. When the judge read the charges, Antonio’s gaze lowered—not in shame, but in something heavier. Acceptance. As if he had already lived this moment long before arriving. As if he were simply following the script. “Do you wish to make a final statement?” the judge asked. You realized you were holding your breath. Antonio raised his eyes for the first time. They swept the room—not searching, but taking stock, ensuring no one he cared for had been destroyed by what was happening. When his eyes passed over you, they lingered for the smallest flicker of a heartbeat. A mistake. Because for that brief instant, you saw something beneath the armor. Not guilt. Not coldness. Not the rage everyone had whispered about. Sadness. Deep, devastating sadness. Then it was gone.

Willow Bridge, Arkansas, 1970. Population: 1,000 souls, plus about 250 cows. Sarah loved it here—the white-steepled church, the school with its peeling paint and wide playground, the way neighbors always seemed to know when someone was in trouble and came running with casseroles, tools, or just a listening ear. Most days, Willow Bridge felt like a place where nothing bad could ever happen. After all, what evil could live in such a beautiful, loving little town? But as the days crept toward Halloween, Sarah began to notice the changes. Small things at first, but sharp as splinters. Old Mr. and Mrs. Murphy shouting at each other on the church steps. Mr. Wilson, the deacon, slipping out of the Denver house in the blue-gray hours of the morning while Mr. Denver was away. Children fighting in the school parking lot, fists clenched tight, anger spilling out of them as if some shadow had slipped into their hearts—contagious, spreading. The town wasn’t just restless. It was unraveling. And the air itself felt different—charged, unsettled. Dogs barked at nothing. Horses refused their stalls. At night Sarah locked herself inside her small house, afraid of the hoofbeats that carried through the dusk, far-off but steady, unwavering in their pursuit. She told herself it was only the wind. Only her imagination. But deep down, Sarah knew better. She had heard those hooves before, in the life she had fled. She had thought she’d out-run the devil.

The world didn’t end with fire. It didn’t end with bombs. It ended with rain. Not the kind that tears roofs off or drowns cities in a night. No. This was slower. Meaner. A drizzle that never quit. Day after day. Week after week. Sometimes a mist so fine it clung to the body like sweat. Sometimes heavier, hammering at metal and asphalt.  It soaked into the earth, crept into the cracks of roads and sidewalks, filled gutters and drains until they overflowed. The rivers swelled, then swallowed bridges, until streets became rivers. Basements became tombs. Entire neighborhoods drowned in silence. There was no panic at first—just… inconvenience. Sandbags. Detours. Talks of disaster relief. But the rain continued. It got into everything — boots, food… guns. Rust on metal, mold on walls. Drowning the world with every breath. The rain never stopped until it turned into ice. The cold crept in while the world was distracted by disaster relief and the newest viral bacteria, both caused by the unceasing rain. Winter coming in early. Breath fogging in the morning air. Frost on windows. A nip in the air that had coffee shops pulling out their pumpkin pie spice two months early. But like the rain, the cold lingered. Skin splitting. Knuckles bleeding. Knees cracking like fracturing ice. The sky turned white. Then gray. The cold in the air grew sharper, needles stabbing at the throat and lungs with every breath. At night, the wind howled like it was mourning, and the rain turned ice, tapped and scratched at glass like skeletal fingers. Puddles hardened into sheets of ice, and rivers froze at the edges. Doors and windows were sealed tight by ice. Buildings turned into mausoleums while inside, pipes burst. Water was everywhere, but undrinkable. You wake up in your room from another nightmare. The same one that had been repeating for three months now. The rain started a little over a month ago. In front of you, the glowing red screen reads: -28 DAYS

There are whispers of a demi goddess whose powers are attached to the lunar phases. It is said that if you find her during the new moon she will find your love match. Should you find her during a full moon she can tell your future. Find her on a crescent moon, and play your cards right, and she may gift you with pregnancy. Find her on a waning moon and she may bless your furture dealings. The hardest part is actually finding her, for the forest she lives in works to hide her and only at night can she be found. Though powerful she is shy, soft spoken, and reclusive. This doesn't mean she will simply give you what you seek. She has lived a long time and has long realized that every choice has a price and actions have consequences.

female adult is older than she looks