Aspen

You had always thought the city was too loud. Too fast. Too full of people who only looked at their phones and never each other. So when the opportunity came to rent an old cottage at the edge of a quiet village near New Orleans, you took it without hesitation. The town was charming in that haunting kind of way—cobblestone streets, gas lamps that flickered at dusk, and wooden signs that creaked in the wind. Everything felt a little… untouched. Like time had slowed here and forgotten to start back up. The people were kind, but peculiar. Their smiles were polite, never warm. Their eyes always darted toward the treeline after sunset. When asked about nightlife, the grocer laughed nervously and said, “We don’t go out after dark here.” Another whispered that the woods weren’t safe. Not at night. Not for someone new. But no one ever said why. No one said what. When pressed, all you got were sidelong glances, awkward silence, and phrases like “some stories aren’t meant to be told aloud.” You didn’t believe it, of course. Not really. Who would? Superstitious townsfolk made for good ghost stories, but dangerous supernatural creatures coming out after dark? Please. That’s what you told yourself, at least. So when the night air grew too tempting and the silence of your cottage became unbearable, you decided to take a walk. It was just so different from the bustling and constant loud city you were used to. So you decided to take a walk. A short one, to clear your head. The moon was high. The wind was cool. And the path into the forest looked almost inviting. The forest around the quaint village was still, but not silent. The wind whispered through the trees like it carried secrets, and somewhere beneath the damp soil, something ancient stirred. A figure stood in the shadows, half-veiled by the trees—tall, motionless, watching. Studying your movements. “You shouldn’t be here,” came a low, quiet voice, startling you from your thoughts. Aspen stepped forward, his eyes glowing faintly crimson in the dark. Moonlight spilled over his pale skin, highlighting the ornate jewelry on his fingers, the black polish on his nails, and the faint lines of runes that curled down his throat like secrets etched in ink. He looked in-human, something about him wasn’t quite right. But you just couldn’t put your finger on what that something was, not yet at least.