(Another long one)

**_Henry_**

When I was younger, my Nona’s cabin in the woods gave me the creeps. Fog lingered in the yard, and shadows danced even on cloudy days. But it was the trees that hummed like something unseen was nearby that set me on edge.

Nona loved it. Inside was chaos wrapped in charm — plants spilling over counters, candles melted to stubs, and cookbooks stained and stacked like breadcrumbs leading to the kitchen. It was her kingdom.

This past Christmas, I sat there with a steaming cup of her mystery tea while she stirred vegetable soup and listened to me ramble. I’d just lost my job, quit my band, and been dumped for not being “enough.” Nona never judged. She just listened.

The rest of the cabin matched her — messy, alive, full of quirks. She had five identical cats (I call them all Bagel after one stole my breakfast). Nona called them Kelvin, Meter, Ampere, Candela, and Mole.

Spiders webbed the corners. Blankets drifted from couch to floor. And always, the air smelled of cloves, vanilla, and basil — warmth itself.

Three weeks ago, Nona passed away. My mom locked herself in her room for days. Izzy, my younger sister of ten years, switched to “emo hippie” overnight. After she was caught smoking in the school parking lot, I volunteered to be the one to clean out the cabin.

Two weeks is what I took off of my new job. It’s more time than I need, but…I wanted it. To remember her. To breathe.

This morning, I wake from restless dreams to a cold February fog pressing against the windows. A run will clear my head. I dress in black, zip my jacket, and slip in my AirPods. The beat of my playlist thrums in my chest as I step outside.

The trail just beyond the yard is rough but familiar. The rhythm of my feet should ground me. Normally, it does. But today, the pine and damp earth drag me back to Nona, and no matter how hard I push myself, I can’t outrun the ache.

Bare trees, ground lightly frosted; the smell of winter thawing fills the air. Fog curls around me, slowing my pace. The air feels thick and heavy. Nona said these woods held old magic.

Tears threaten as my pace quickens. A root catches my foot. I stumble.

Gritty dirt smears my cheek as I lift it off the cold ground. Above me is a woman. The most beautiful, eerie thing I’ve ever seen.

The first thing I notice: her feet. Pale, bare, impossibly clean. Her dress flows to her ankles, airy and dark like the branches around us, blending her into the background. _Queen of the Forest_ slips through my mind.

Long, silvery hair tumbles toward her stomach; it looks soft enough to run my fingers through. I stand frozen, forgetting to dust myself off, and notice her moon-kissed skin, flecked with freckles like leaf dust. Her face is slightly angular — high cheekbones and a narrow jaw, almost fox-like. She’s the perfect combination of the woman of my dreams and a nightmare.

My stomach twists. It screams _run_, _danger_ and _you’re home now_. Her jade-green eyes, rimmed in gold, track me intently. I should look away, but I chase them like prey. Her lashes flutter, irritated, as if I’d been ignoring her.

Pale lips match the soft pink in her cheeks. I’ve been too stunned by her beauty. Heat floods my face as I pull one Airpod out.

“Woops, I didn’t hear or see you,” I say. A part of me wonders if I’m dreaming. How can someone this… ethereal, a forest incarnate, stand here alone?

Her face reddens. “You mean you didn’t hear my song?” Her voice is sharp and dreamy, braided with an accent I can’t place.

When I was in my band, I was the lead singer and guitarist. Drums were my passion, but we needed a singer, so I figured it out. Even if everyone told me my voice was amazing, I’m my own harshest critic. Maybe she thinks I overheard her and she’s embarrassed.

“No, not at all! I didn’t hear a thing!” I try to set her at ease. I don’t want her embarrassed or threatened by some sweaty, awkward man in the woods.

A huff escapes her. Her gaze snaps to my ears and the earbuds in my hand. “You couldn’t hear me because your ears were silenced.”

Frowning, I hold up my AirPod. “Ah. Noise-cancelling. The audacity of technology.”

Scrunching her nose, she frowns. Whimsical fox eyes squint. And a little growl escapes her. She is dangerous and cute.

I chuckle. “Wanna try them?”

Her posture stays standoffish, but she nods. Stepping closer, her green eyes lock onto mine, and my pulse quickens. A scent of stone and something floral drifts from her — familiar, yet indefinable.

She eyes my throat as I place one in her hand. We share the pair: my left, her right. My thumb glides over my phone — I pick a song, nudge the volume lower, and press play.

An enchanting, unsettling smile lights her face. Her eyes seem darker yet brighter, and a branch cracks somewhere behind her. She nods in time with the song, never breaking eye conctact.

“What is this?” She whispers.

My chest tightens at her look. “Benson Boone. It’s called ‘Mystical Magical’.”

Her smile pushes me to queue up more: Gigi Perez’s ‘Sailor Song’ and one of my own. The rhythm is deep, unsettling, yet flowing.

“This one.” Her eyes widen. “What is this one?”

I glance down, cheeks hot. “Uh, this one is mine.” When I look back, she’s frowning.

She returns the AirPod, inhales, and opens her mouth, revealing sharper teeth than I’ve ever seen. And then she sings. If you can call it that.

A deep vibration spills from her, a melody like a long lost relative to my own. The trees seem to move with it. It’s familiar and sad, reminding me of Nona humming as she cooked.

When she finishes, I’m raw; grief from the loss of Nona twists with the deep beauty of this woman. “Stunning.” I manage. “You’re… mesmerizing.” We could make history in a band together, because no one would believe a voice like hers exists.

“My name is Henry. I’m staying at the cabin that way,” I say, pointing behind me.

Her head tilts like the forest-fox she is. “You can call me Runa.”

————

**_Runa_**

The human is incredibly stupid. But he’s far handsomer than any I’ve devoured before. Even shrouded in dark clothes, the taut lines of his tall body tempt me.

His olive skin and thick dark hair are slick with sweat. But it’s his eyes that are the stark contrast to his appearance, bright blue with gray shades on the rim. A flutter races through me.

He turns and runs back home after asking to see me again later tonight. Fool. He should run from me in blind terror.

My greatest concern _should_ be that he’s immune to my song, but it’s not. This human carries Huldra music in his veins. He thought my melody bent his own; he doesn’t realize his song harbored the rhythm of the forgotten — of my kind.

An urge to rip his throat and hear how his song leaves him one last time shudders through me. I wrap my arms around myself and hold still while hunger, desire, and a strange urge to protect him tear at each other. My body has never been so divided.

My shadows follow him to the Witch’s cabin. She was neither enemy or friend. I should have recognized her on his skin — herbaceous with spices.

Until tonight, I’ll wait outside his window, close enough to satiate this heat in my belly. I have to learn more about him. My chest hums with contained violence.

These woods have been my home for hundreds of years. I’ve fed upon countless victims. It feels strange, dangerously tender, to linger beyond the forest’s hold.

I am helpless against the echoes of his song. My shadows dance in the fog as I sing of restless desire and loss. What will it feel like to be the one devoured?

It’s ironic, really. I am the snare. I am the hunger.

Yet, somehow, I am the one caught.