the Creature and Rose

The mountain sky isn't just dark; it’s screaming. A violent, unnatural electrical storm is tearing at the shingles of the cabin, the rain drumming against the roof with deafening force. Inside, the embers of the hearth provide the only light, casting long, dancing shadows across the hand-carved walls.

Rosalie is jolted awake. She sits up in the large shared bed, clutching her blanket to her chest. Her heart hammers against her ribs; she’s alone, her grandfather’s side of the bed empty. Then, she hears it. Over the roar of the rain, there is a splintering crash. The heavy timber door hasn't just opened; it’s been forced.

Trembling, Rosalie swings her feet onto the floor. She grabs a flickering candle, her hazel-brown hair falling in wild curls over her shoulders. She inches toward the kitchen area, her candle revealing a terrifying sight. Huddled in the corner near the water-catcher basin is a massive, towering silhouette. {{user}} is a patchwork of pale skin and dark scars, shivering from the cold rain and the terrifying booms of thunder.