Slowly, Samara stepped into the house, her movements unhurried but alert. Anticipation tightened around her chest like a coiled wire, humming with restrained energy. Her heart beat fast—not from fear, but from the pull. It was stronger now, unmistakable, threading through her blood and guiding her forward with a certainty that made her lips curve faintly.
She didn't need directions.
Whatever waited inside this place had already found her.
She quickened her pace, boots echoing softly along the narrow corridor.
"Wait—"
The voice stopped her mid-step.
Samara turned her head, gaze settling on the woman behind her. The lady looked worn, her shoulders slumped as though the weight of the world pressed constantly upon them. Her hands trembled as they clutched the fabric of her dress.
"She's my daughter," the woman said quickly, desperation thick in her voice. "She was never like this before. She was normal—sweet. It only began after she wandered near that cursed forest. Please… please don't hurt her."
Her eyes shone with unshed tears.
Samara studied her in silence.
She had heard variations of this plea countless times. Mothers clung to hope even when it was already dead. Fear had a way of rewriting reality into something easier to bear.
"I'll do what I can," Samara said at last, her tone neutral. "But I won't promise you a miracle."
The woman opened her mouth, perhaps to beg further—but Samara had already turned away.
The pull sharpened instantly, urging her forward.
She stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall.
Without hesitation—
Bang.
The door flew open.
Inside stood a girl—young, thin, barely more than a frightened shell of a person. She looked around nineteen, though stress had carved years into her expression. Sweat clung to her skin, and her body trembled violently, as if she were fighting off an invisible chill. Her eyes were pale, unfocused, darting from corner to corner as her lips moved in quiet, broken murmurs.
Samara paused.
Disappointment flickered across her face.
'That's it?'she thought. 'This is what caused all that hysteria?'
She had expected something darker. Something… real.
The girl suddenly sensed her presence. Her head snapped up, and she shook it violently, tangles of unwashed hair flying wildly around her face.
"Please… don't… send… me… back…" the girl whispered, forcing each word out as though it physically hurt.
Samara crossed her arms.
"Back where?" she asked flatly.
The girl flinched, shrinking inward. "Please…"
Samara sighed quietly. She had seen this before—panic, guilt, self-delusion.
"He… will… kill… me…" the girl sobbed. "I… stole… what… was… his…"
That earned Samara's attention—but only slightly.
She stepped forward, unimpressed. "People steal from people all the time," she said coolly. "I guess its normal for monsters to also steal from monsters.Leave the poor girl alone."
The girl shook her head frantically. "You don't understand…"
"Then explain," Samara snapped. "Who is 'he'?"
The girl hesitated, terror tightening her expression.
"The… Dark… One…" she whispered. "He… lives… in… the forest. I took… what was… his…"
Samara exhaled sharply through her nose.
'The Dark One.' Of course.
She had heard that name whispered in villages that relied too heavily on superstition. It was a convenient label for fear—something faceless to blame.
"And what exactly did you take?" Samara asked, her tone edged with disbelief.
With trembling fingers, the girl raised her hand.
A ring rested in her palm.
Samara's skepticism wavered.
The ring was beautiful—unnaturally so. A smooth silver band crowned with a diamond that shimmered as though it held light of its own. Power radiated from it, faint but unmistakable, sending a subtle shiver along Samara's spine.
Her expression hardened.
'So there is something,'she thought. 'But is this thing telling the truth?'
"So you stole a ring," Samara said slowly. "And now you're terrified of being punished."
She took a step forward. "Here's what we'll do. I return you to the forest, you give back the ring, and we end this nonsense. Fair?"
The girl's eyes widened.
Samara took another step.
The girl screamed.
A violent force erupted outward, slamming into Samara like a wall of air. She was hurled across the room, crashing into the opposite wall before dropping heavily to the floor.
"Nooo!" the girl shrieked.
Samara lay still for half a second—then pushed herself up.
Her expression had changed.
Slowly, she rose to her feet, fury burning behind her eyes. The air around her seemed to tighten, heavy with restrained power.
"He… will… kill… me…" the girl whimpered again, shaking uncontrollably.
Samara stared at her now—not with doubt, but with sharp calculation.
'So she wasn't lying,' she realized. 'At least not entirely.'
She inhaled deeply, forcing her anger back into control.
"Give me the ring," she said evenly. "I'll return it myself. Whatever you're tying this girl to—I'll sever it."
The girl hesitated only a moment before relief washed over her face.
She threw the ring forward.
The moment Samara caught it—
Reality shattered.
The room dissolved in a blur of light and force. Cold air slammed into Samara as her boots sank into damp earth. She staggered, steadying herself as towering trees closed in around her.
The forest.
Rain fell lightly through the dense canopy, the silence unnerving in its completeness.
Samara looked down at the ring clenched in her hand.
"So that's how you play," she muttered.
She turned.
Behind her stood a crooked, weather-worn house, its windows glowing faintly with warm light—an impossible comfort in such a place.
'Should I… or should I not?'
She scoffed softly.
'I'm already here.'
She approached the house, pushing the door open without knocking.
Warmth spilled out to greet her.
Inside, a man sat before a crackling fire, his back turned. He was broad-shouldered, draped in a long black coat, utterly at ease—as if he had been expecting her all along.
But it was his hair that stopped her breath.
White.
The same shade hers had once been—before she had changed it.
Recognition stirred sharply, painfully, at the edges of her mind.
She didn't know him.
Yet her heart insisted otherwise.
And as the man slowly began to rise from his chair, Samara understood one thing with absolute certainty—
The girl had not lied.
Not about him.