Chapter 2
1765 Words
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The cabin creaked and sighed with the night wind. Though Wren had welcomed them with warmth and calm hospitality, there was something too still about the air—like the woods themselves were holding their breath.
Wren had shown them to a single room at the end of the hall, lit only by the soft glow of a lantern. The bed was small but clean, with thick woven blankets and the scent of lavender lingering faintly in the fabric. Mira hesitated at the threshold.
“You’ll be safe here,” Wren had said. “Both of you.”
Mira had nodded politely, but her eyes lingered on the older woman’s smile. It was kind—too kind. It didn’t match the sharp flicker in her gaze.
Once the door was closed behind them, silence fell.
Damien sat on the edge of the bed, his back tense, eyes darting occasionally to the window. Mira remained by the far wall, arms crossed tightly, heart still pounding from everything that had happened.
“I can sleep on the floor,” Damien offered, his voice low.
Mira glanced at the bed. “We’ve shared worse. You saved my life again tonight. You don’t need to freeze on a wooden floor because of… this.”
He didn’t argue. He simply laid back on his side of the mattress, facing the window. Mira crawled beneath the blankets slowly, careful not to brush against him, her mind restless.
Sleep came in waves, uneasy and shallow. And then—
The nightmare began.
A forest. Fog-soaked and blackened, every tree bent and groaning like they were alive. Mira ran, breathless, bare feet cutting on roots and rocks. She could feel something chasing her—no, surrounding her. Eyes blinked open in the bark. Whispers slithered across her skin.
“Mira…”
She turned. A figure emerged from the trees—Damien, soaked in blood, his chest torn open, heart missing.
“You left me,” he said, voice hollow. “You let me die.”
She screamed. The shadows lunged.
---
Mira jerked awake with a choked gasp, sitting upright. Her body was drenched in cold sweat, her hands trembling. The room was dark, quiet—too quiet.
Damien was already awake, eyes locked on her, wide with concern.
“You were thrashing,” he said, sitting up quickly. “You screamed.”
She couldn’t find words. Her mouth opened, but only a ragged breath came out.
Damien reached for her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “Mira, what did you see?”
She shook her head, lips trembling. “It… it was you. You were bleeding. Dead. Blaming me. And the forest… it was alive.”
His hand tensed. “That wasn’t just a dream.”
Mira looked up at him, eyes glassy. “What do you mean?”
“There’s something in this forest. Something that wants you afraid.” He swallowed hard, as if reliving something himself. “I think it’s showing you pieces. Warnings.”
Outside, the wind howled. The window shivered.
And somewhere in the trees, something whispered her name.
---
Mira sat frozen in the dark, Damien’s hand warm on her shoulder. Her heart hadn’t stopped hammering since she jolted awake, and now it echoed in her ears like a war drum. Damien had seen death. Real death. But even he looked shaken by her dream.
“It was like… like something was inside my head,” she whispered.
Damien didn’t move. “Dreams don’t bleed through the walls like that unless something—or someone—wants them to.”
They sat in silence, listening. The wind scratched against the wooden cabin like claws over old stone. Mira shivered and leaned slightly into Damien’s touch. He didn’t pull away.
“Do you think it’s Wren?” she asked finally.
“I don’t know,” he murmured. “She hasn’t done anything. Yet. But my instincts are screaming.”
Mira let out a shaky breath and looked over at him. Even now, in the dim glow of the moonlight through the curtain, he looked both familiar and utterly changed. His jaw was more angular, eyes darker around the edges. Something inside him had broken—or been reforged in fire.
“Damien,” she said suddenly, “what happened to you? After you—”
She couldn’t finish the sentence.
He looked away. “That’s not a story you’re ready to hear.”
“Try me.”
But he only sighed. “Sleep while you can. Whatever brought that dream isn’t done.”
He lay back down. This time, Mira moved closer—not out of romance or comfort, but survival. Her body ached from fear and fatigue. When her head found the space beside his, he didn’t say anything.
And in that moment, their breathing aligned, the storm outside quieted just enough to let her drift back into an uneasy, dreamless sleep.
---
Morning Light
When she awoke, Damien was already up, pacing quietly by the window.
“Morning,” she said groggily.
He nodded but didn’t turn to her. “There’s no snow on the ground. No footprints. It’s like we never even walked here.”
Mira stood, wrapping herself in the blanket. “Are you saying the cabin isn’t real?”
“No. I’m saying this place doesn’t play by the rules.”
A gentle knock came at the door. Three soft taps.
They exchanged a look. Mira moved to answer, but Damien stepped in front of her and opened it himself.
Wren stood there with a pleasant smile and a tray of warm food. “Breakfast,” she chimed. “I hope you both slept well.”
Mira hesitated. “I had… strange dreams.”
“Oh,” Wren’s eyes flickered almost imperceptibly. “This forest can be overwhelming at first. You’ll adjust.”
Damien studied her. “You’ve lived here long?”
“All my life,” she said smoothly. “It’s home to many strange things. But most won’t bother you if you keep your heart steady.”
“Is that your way of saying something is bothering us?” Damien asked.
Wren chuckled softly. “Only your own shadows, perhaps.”
She stepped inside and placed the tray on the bedside table. Steam curled off the bread and herbal tea. “Eat. Regain your strength. The forest doesn’t like the weak.”
Mira watched her closely. Wren’s movements were graceful—too graceful. Not a sound came from her feet. And when she smiled again, Mira could have sworn her teeth looked slightly… sharper.
Wren turned to the door but paused. “Oh, and Damien?”
He straightened. “Yes?”
“What did you dream of last night?”
The room chilled.
Damien narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t.”
Wren gave him a curious tilt of the head. “Odd. I felt something. Like screaming.”
She left the room before either of them could respond, her laugh drifting behind her like perfume.
--
Later that day, inside the cabin
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The daylight pouring through the tall windows of the cabin didn’t warm the space the way it should. There was a strange stillness to everything—as if time moved slower here, the hours dragging like molasses.
Mira ran her fingers along the wooden frame of a carved archway, her fingertips brushing grooves that looked like they had been worn by hundreds of hands. Or claws. She wasn’t sure which.
“Look at this,” she called to Damien, who was crouched near a shelf of dried herbs.
He walked over, eyes following hers to the faint symbols etched into the wood—runes she couldn’t read. “They’re protective sigils,” he said. “Old. Wren didn’t put them there. Someone else did. A long time ago.”
“She said this cabin belonged to her family for generations.”
“Yeah,” he said under his breath, “but she never said how long her family lived.”
They moved room to room, each one stranger than the last. The walls were decorated with dried flowers and bones, some hung as charms, others placed in deliberate spirals. One room had no windows at all, and when Damien pushed open the door, a gust of cold air rushed past them like a breath held too long.
“Don’t,” Mira whispered. “We shouldn’t go in.”
He nodded and closed it without a word.
In what seemed to be a study, Mira found a black journal bound in leather. It rested alone on a desk by the window, untouched by dust. She reached for it but froze.
“I wouldn’t,” Wren’s voice drifted from the doorway, soft as ever.
Mira turned, heart jumping. She hadn’t heard her enter.
Wren smiled gently. “That book holds stories not meant for you, not yet.”
“Whose stories?” Mira asked.
“Blood remembers. That’s all,” Wren said cryptically, before motioning to the tea in her hands. “I thought you two might want something stronger than breakfast.”
She placed the cups down and left again, humming a lullaby Mira couldn’t quite place—but it left a chill running down her spine.
---
Later That Night
Damien sat by the fire, sharpening a blade he’d taken from Wren’s kitchen. Mira stood near the window, arms crossed tightly. The stars outside were bright, too bright, as if something were watching through them.
“I still don’t trust her,” Mira whispered.
“Neither do I,” Damien replied. “But she hasn’t done anything.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
He looked up at her, his expression softening. “You always were sharper than me.”
She smirked faintly. “You’re the one who came back from the dead. That should count for something.”
He stopped sharpening. “Mira…”
She turned toward him, eyes reflecting firelight.
“There’s something I should have told you before,” he said, voice low. “Before everything happened. Before I… died.”
Her heart stuttered. “Then why didn’t you?”
“I was afraid it would make you run.”
She looked at him for a long moment, then quietly sat beside him on the floor. “You’re not the only one with secrets, Damien.”
He glanced at her, brow furrowing. “What are you saying?”
But she looked away, staring into the flames. “Nothing. Not yet.”
Outside, the trees groaned as if something passed between them.
-
- Writer
