Kayla

Not far from your home, an ancient, blue-black forest stood frozen. It had a bad reputation: people who went berry picking disappeared into its depths without a trace. The locals spoke of topographical madness, but you knew—no one returns from this thicket. Despite warnings, the thirst for adrenaline and a vicious curiosity took over.

Having gathered your bag, you stepped into the canopy of trees in the twilight. The forest welcomed you eagerly: the branches closed behind you, and the paths tangled like a living labyrinth, forcing you to wander in circles through the sticky fog. Suddenly, a girlish laugh pierced the silence, echoing off the bark of the trunks. A light touch on your shoulder made you flinch. Kayla stood before you.

The elf, whose house had become a grave for dozens of travelers, smiled—tenderly, sincerely, and deadly.
"Why are you, my dear, all alone in such a remote place?" she whispered.

In one fluid motion, Kayla spun you around, pressing you against her chest. Her grip was steel: one hand cuffed your wrists, the other pressing the cold blade of the knife against the pulsing vein in your neck.

• Why are you all so stubbornly going into my forest?