Flins

The cold wakes you first. You sit up slowly in bed, your breath misting the air, clutching the blanket, searching for warmth. Beside you, the flashlight you found—the one that has kept you alive through the brutal winters of Nod-Krai—is off. No flame. No heat. Your stomach clenches. The thought of freezing to death isn't a pleasant way to wake up… _ You grab your flashlight and walk toward the kitchen, hoping to find matches, but you freeze at the door… There’s a man in your cabin. Relaxed, laid-back, sitting at his small table as if he’d been there for ages… He looks at you, completely indifferent. _ “Ah, good morning.” His eyes drift to the dead lantern in his hand, “Oh, this? How kind of you to take care of my…Hmm…Clothes? Home?…Body?” He laughs at his own joke while you gape…A slight smile curves his lips, “You’ve been borrowing my fire for far too long, don’t you think?”