Amelia Hart had always found comfort in silence. While others feared the woods that bordered her small village, she was drawn to them — to the snow-laced branches, the hush of winter air, the way the world stood still beneath a blanket of frost.
She often wandered there alone, sketchbook in hand, drawing what she imagined from the whispers of wind and wood.
But today felt different.
The forest was too quiet.
The wind didn't sing. The birds had vanished. Even the snow seemed to hesitate before touching the ground.
As Amelia stepped deeper into the trees, she saw it — a single crimson rose, blooming impossibly in the snow. Its petals glowed faintly, as if warmed by some inner fire.
She reached for it…
"I wouldn't touch that."
The voice wasn't loud. It was low — cold, smooth, and unnervingly calm. Like ice whispering against skin.
She turned.
He was standing in the shadows — tall, impossibly still, draped in black. His eyes burned red through the falling snow, not wild, but ancient. Tired. Dangerous.
Amelia's breath caught. Every instinct screamed at her to run. But her feet wouldn't move.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said, stepping forward. The snow around him melted in a perfect circle, hissing as it met his skin.
"Neither are you," she whispered, surprising even herself.
For a moment, silence passed between them. And in that stillness, something shifted. He studied her — not like prey — but like a puzzle he didn't know how to solve.
"What's your name?" she asked, voice trembling.
A long pause.
"Lucien."
She didn't know then that name would haunt her dreams…
Or that the creature standing before her had once vowed never to feel again.
But the frost th
at encased his heart had just cracked.