Mei
The brass key felt like a shard of ice against Mei's palm, even through the thick fabric of her apron. The trek back to the eastern hollow felt twice as long as the first, the mountain itself seemingly conspiring to slow her progress. The mist had thickened into a grey, suffocating soup that clung to the needles of the pines and dripped like slow, rhythmic tears onto the forest floor. Every step away from the manor felt like a step further from the world of the living.
She reached the clearing just as the sun began its final, bloody descent behind the jagged peaks. The corrugated shed didn't just look like a building anymore; in the dying light, it looked like a gargantuan, rusted ribcage thrust out of the earth, protecting some long-dead beast.
