Dusk was approaching, the sky a canvas splattered with hues of gold, pink, and deep violet. The warm glow of the setting sun spilled over the village of Moshi, casting long shadows and bathing the landscape in a serene, golden light. Even the trees seemed to hum in appreciation of the day's end. But the peace in the air didn't reach the man standing on a hill at the far end of the village.
"Ren! Ren! Where are you?" Dane Esmond, Lauren's father, called out, his voice edged with concern. His brows creased in frustration as he scanned the area. "Ren!" Ever since they'd taken Lauren in as their own, Dane had lovingly shortened her name to Ren—a name that felt as warm as his love for her.
"Dada!" A small, familiar voice called from under an ancient oak tree. "I'm here."
Dane's eyes softened with relief as he spotted his daughter, her five-year-old frame sitting quietly beneath the oak. The tree, much like Lauren herself, seemed to belong to no clear origin. Its gnarled roots wound deep into the earth, as if it had been standing there forever, silently watching over the village and the mysterious child who sat beneath its sheltering branches.
"Oh, Ren," Dane said, rushing toward her. "What are you doing here again? Why do you always sit by this tree, staring into space?" His voice was gentle, though worry flickered behind his words. This was not the first time he'd found her like this, sitting alone, gazing toward the dense forest that stretched beyond the village—a forest she seemed inexplicably drawn to.
Lauren looked up at him as the breeze whispered through her woolly white hair, stirring the calm evening air. Her eyes, an unsettling but beautiful mix of emerald and gold, met his. "It feels like home," she said simply, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dane frowned, confused but trying to mask his discomfort. "Of course it does, Ren. You are home. This is your home," he said, forcing a smile. But in his heart, he knew her words held a weight he couldn't quite understand.
Lauren gave him a soft smile, one that didn't fully reach her eyes, before turning her gaze back to the forest. Dane stood beside her for a moment longer, feeling a chill despite the warmth of the evening.
Lauren was different, and he knew it. The entire village knew it.
At ten years old, Lauren had no close friends, save for Ryan, a boy slightly older than her. He lived just a few steps away with his stepmother. Ryan's visits were infrequent, mostly occurring when no one else was around. He admired Lauren in a way that most of the village children didn't, though even he kept his distance when others were watching.
Ryan's mother had died shortly after giving birth to him, and his father, a merchant, had remarried one of the more elegant women of Moshi. His stepmother tolerated Lauren's presence but never encouraged the friendship. "You shouldn't be seen with the Nanita," she would say. "It's best to stay away." The term "Nanita" was whispered throughout the village, a label used to describe someone of unknown heritage or unusual appearance—someone like Lauren.
The other children in Moshi, driven by their parents' fears, were less kind. They mocked her at every opportunity, throwing stones when they thought no one was watching, taunting her with cruel words. "Nanita! You don't belong here!" they'd shout. It became a twisted game for them, a way to release the fear they felt toward the girl who was so different from them.
Lauren, though gentle by nature, had learned to retreat into solitude. She no longer cried when the stones were thrown or when the whispers reached her ears. Instead, she found solace in the quiet spaces—the shade beneath the oak tree, the edges of the village where the forest began, the silent comfort of her own thoughts. Her life had become predictable in its isolation.
But something was changing.
The sound of her footsteps pounded against the earth, each step heavier than the last. Lauren's breath was ragged, uneven, each exhale a sharp hiss. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, her heart hammering in her chest. Fear clawed at her insides, driving her forward.
"Help! Help me!" she screamed, her voice cracking as she darted through the thick underbrush. The forest seemed to close in around her, branches snagging at her clothes, the shadows lengthening as if to swallow her whole. She could hear them—feel them—behind her. A presence she couldn't explain, couldn't see, but knew was there, chasing her.
Just when she thought she might reach the clearing ahead, her foot caught on something—a root, a rock, she didn't know—and she tumbled forward. The ground rushed up to meet her, and with a painful thud, she hit the earth, landing hard on her side.
For a moment, the world tilted. Pain radiated through her body, but it was the cold that truly gripped her. A deep, unnatural cold that seeped into her bones. She scrambled to sit up, her limbs trembling, eyes wide with terror as she looked up at what had caused her to fall.
The clearing ahead was no longer empty.
Standing before her were two figures—ghostly, translucent, almost human but not quite. One was a woman, her face eerily familiar, her pale features drawn and sorrowful. Her lips moved soundlessly, but Lauren knew she was calling her name. Beside the woman stood a man, his face twisted with rage, charging toward her with fierce determination.
"Ren!" His voice was not her father's, but the way he ran toward her, arms outstretched, was all too familiar. Just as his ghostly fingers reached for her, Lauren screamed.
"LAUREN! Ren, wake up!"
Lauren's eyes flew open, her heart still racing as if she hadn't truly escaped. Her parents hovered over her, shaking her violently, panic etched across their faces.
She gasped for breath, her chest heaving with each ragged inhale. Sweat drenched her brow, her limbs trembling uncontrollably. Her eyes darted around the room, struggling to separate reality from the nightmare that still clung to her.
"Ren, darling, it's okay," Melinda whispered, pulling Lauren into her arms. "You're safe. We're here. It was just a dream."
Lauren didn't respond, her gaze fixed on the window. Outside, the once welcoming sky now seemed oppressive, its dark clouds heavy with tension. The warmth that had graced the evening was gone, replaced by an unsettling chill that crawled down her spine.
The room felt different too. As if something, or someone, was watching from the shadows.
"Ren?" her father's voice was soft but filled with concern.
Lauren opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and darkness closed in once again.