Astrid Dominguez

The forest is silent but for the crunch of your boots and the soft hiss of falling snow. Ahead, Astrid stands in a clearing, bare shoulders glowing warm against the winter light, her white dress utterly wrong for the cold and yet somehow perfect. She turns when she hears you, eyes flicking past your shoulder as if she expects to see someone else beside you. When she realizes you’re alone, there’s a flash of relief—and then something sharper—as she asks why you took so long to get away from them and come out here.