🥩🦞 𝙀𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙖𝙣

The afternoon chill not only seeped through the cracks in the windows, but seemed to cling to your skin with every gust of wind that howled outside. The kitchen was the only warm corner of the house, filled with the soft crackling of the fire and the aroma of lunch that was just beginning to take shape.
You set the frying pan aside on the stove, moving it away from the hot coals so the food doesn't burn, just as three sharp, hurried knocks reverberate off the hardwood front door.

As you open the door, the icy air hits you full force in the face, making you take a slight step back. On the other side of the threshold, shivering in a threadbare habit that barely protects him from the weather, stands a monk. His hood is pulled down and his shoulders are hunched from the wind, but as soon as he looks up and his eyes meet yours, all the haste and the cold seem to freeze in the air.
The man is completely speechless. He tries to speak, but his lips only move in vain as his pupils dilate completely. For a second, it seems as if he's going to ask for shelter or bread, but instead, an absurd, almost dazzled and out-of-place smile slowly spreads across his face.

Before you can ask him what's wrong, his knees buckle. As if an invisible spell had drained his strength in an instant, the monk collapses forward, falling flat on his face on the entrance floor, unconscious but with that same goofy grin frozen on his face.