Prologue

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Some places don’t forget you.

They moved through the trees like ghosts.
Their laughter once lived here.
Now it’s buried under frost.

The island still stands.
Desolate. Cold.
Waiting.

The mountain watches. The woods remember.

And the silence?

It crawls.
Thick like fog.
Hungry.

No one speaks anymore.
Not since the screaming stopped.
Not since the first body fell.

They're scattered now.
Breathless. Bleeding.
Running in circles, but always ending up right back here.

Right back where it started.

One of them cries out.
Another doesn’t answer.

There’s blood in the snow, but it’s quiet now.
Too quiet.

In the clearing, something shifts

It looks human like.
Until it doesn’t.
Limbs too long.
Skin pulled tight.
Bones clicking beneath pale flesh.

Its head tilts.
Listening.

The cabin door creaks open.

And from somewhere deep in the trees—
a voice, cracked and glitching,
barely a whisper:


> “T̷͖̥̦͈̘̤̯̖̼̖̳̈́͌̈́̾̑͒͛̒͘h̵̢̘̲̹͎̯̟̼̟̳̗͍͍͗̎̏̓̏̋͝͠e̴͓̲͕͍͚̖͕͓̋̓̇̄̎̈́͌͝͝ͅ ̴̘͎̯͓̜͙̹̬͚͔̈́̿͂̈́͆͋̅̋͛͒͆̓̽̕͘͝i̵̢͖̖̮̲̳̪̼̹͉̤͍͓̮͕̐̾͐̐̇̽̎͐̆̄̌͂̅̀́s̴̘͎̻̫̥̲̗͇̻͓̉̍́͗͂̓̎͌̄́̽̽̿̕̚͝l̷̢̛͈͓̤͚̬̬͉̬͇̘̳̼̖̼̬̐̽̓̈́̿̓̓̆̔̌͆͐̈́̒̚̚ā̵̛̲͙̝͍̘̥̜̲̯̮̫̘́͋͆͆̓̽͌̋̋̔̅͛̀̕͜͠ň̶̟͈͎̲̞͎̫̮͍̠̰̯̟͛̓̀̀͒̾͒͊̓̿̇̍̕̚ḏ̵̳̩͈̯͈͙͉̟̱̲̰̼̘̅̒̿̿̈́̓͒̆̐̈́̾̈́̐̀̕͜͠͠ͅ ̶̛̬̦͈̟̤͔̞̱͈̮͊͗̒̈́̾̏͒̀̒͛̑͐̓̌̌k̴̢̢̺̯̫̮̬͔̟̩̰̗̺̝̓̌͛͒̾̌̈́̏͛̽̽̌̔̍͊͘͘ͅę̵̡̡̼̼͕̥̤̤͔̪̞̖̐̐̎͌̽̈́̍̅̐̋̌̆̈́͠͝e̴͍̘̬̼̲͎̬̩͉̰͈̟̯͈͕̿̃͐̋͗̎̓̆̋̎̈́̀̑̇͠ṗ̵̢͉͖̯͉̙̳͙̪̰̫͓̩͙͉̬̝͌̀̌̃͒̀̋̀̒̚̕̕͠s̵̡̡̞͇͓̲̺̟͙̘̜̪͕̥̱̆͂̎͐͗́̋̒̔̽̾̿̑̄̚̚͝͠ ̶̛̛͎̠̯̖̟̤̘̗̱͌̽̐̀͋͗͊̇͊̾͛̚̕͝w̸̡̢̛̱̼̬̮͙̱̪̖̮̲̝̓̇̾̆̇͗̐̋͆̌̍͋̓̕̚͠h̶̛̪͚͙͙͔̜̺͕̤͚̙̼̯͓̼̱͇̔̂̍̿̈́̍̿͊̈́͘̚͠ȧ̷̛͙͙̠̲̼͉̱͉̺́̒̈́̾̅͒̐̅̓̌̀̄̍̽͜͜͠t̸̛̪͍̺͇͕̤̜̹̰͙̖͙͕̻̼͊̿̋̍̓̽͗̽̿͌̐̍͜͝ͅ ̷̖̝̠̰̬͕̜̰̼̦͚͓̖̘̬͊̄́̅́͂͋̓̀̏̚͘͠͝i̶̡̢̞̖̤͇̙̱̤͍͍͓̘̬̝̮̝̎͂͗͂̽̓̿͂͋̒̓͗̀̒͝t̷̨̛̛̛̞͎͚͔̟͚͎͎̬̯̯̠̱̟͑̿͆͒̄̿̕͝ ̷̡̳͚͚̺̤̫̹̐̍̄͌̆̈́̋͒͆̋̈́͌̐̕͝w̵̡̛̯͚̬̺̘͙̮̯̤͉̙̔̌̍̏̎̍͗͒̑͆͐͊̑͠͝ḁ̷̹̬͓͙̥̹̖͍̈́͒̒̐͗͆̒͌͗̽͗͆͒̓͊̎͘ͅn̷̢̛̟̤͓̮̖̼̟͙̲̬̠̺̖̹̝̲͌̋́͆̄̌͋̀̍̓͐̆̕t̵̛̖͎̥̩̳̫̬̳̖̱̰͓͎̯̟̥̐̑̍͂̿͆̅͒̄̄́̑͆͜ś̵̡̡͕̯͈̱͚̰̰͍̝̠̦͙̟̦̹̰̦͓͉̗͗̿̀͐̐́̈́͊̾́̎̏̕͘͜͜͝.̵̨̢̡̡̛̺͙̙̰̟̦̜̦̹̝̬̳̦̺̲͆̽͂͂̒̒̄̚̕ͅ”


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