blood orange sky (bwwm horror)

cabin fever

Lucas leans back in his old wooden chair, the flickering flames from the cabin's fireplace casting dancing shadows on the rough-hewn walls. The fire crackles and pops, filling the silence that surrounds him like a thick blanket, but the quiet only seems to deepen the noise in his head. The day's hunt had been a bust, and now, instead of unwinding, he's left to wrestle with thoughts he doesn't often let himself acknowledge.

He thinks about his parents. Growing up in this remote cabin, he had watched the way his father and mother moved together—a quiet, unspoken rhythm, two people who had been through the same years, the same struggles. His father, strong and steady, was always there to tend to the fire or fix things around the cabin. And his mother, a soft presence, always there with a warm meal, a quiet word. They had a partnership—something Lucas had never known.

He hadn't resented it, not at first. He'd been too young to understand. But as the years passed, he started to notice something he hadn't seen before his father had his wife. Someone to share the weight of life with. And Lucas? He had no one. No woman to lean on, no one to come home to after a long day. Just the cabin, the forest, and his solitude.

It's not that he'd ever wanted to be like his father—not exactly. But that kind of connection, that shared life, had always seemed so distant, like something out of reach. It's as if the world outside had passed him by, leaving him alone in this remote corner of the woods.

Lucas runs a hand through his hair and sighs, his breath visible in the cold, still air. He's spent so many years alone, wandering the woods, hunting, living the same life day after day. It wasn't bad, not exactly, but it had grown... lonely. He's never really been the type to seek out company, but now, more than ever, the weight of that isolation feels more tangible.

The girl by the river. Calliope. The memory of her flickers to the front of his mind again, as if his brain can't help but pull her image from the shadows. She had been so different from anyone he'd seen in this place—so different from the people he knew. Her dark skin, smooth and rich like polished mahogany, had caught the sunlight in a way that felt otherworldly in the dim light of the forest. The calm, confident way she had sat there, fishing alone, so in tune with the nature around her—it had been almost striking.

And then there was the way she'd looked at him when he'd appeared, as though she knew exactly who he was as if she could sense the awkwardness in his approach, the tension he hadn't meant to show. The way she had looked at him—steady, unafraid—had thrown him off balance, and that unsettled feeling still clung to him, like something he couldn't quite shake.

His fingers rest on the edge of his worn-out shirt, fidgeting, as his mind churns with thoughts he doesn't often entertain. She wasn't just a woman passing through, wasn't just a random face. No. She was... something else. Someone outside his world. A person who didn't belong to the same circles, the same life that he knew so well. And that had felt... well, uncomfortable. Unfamiliar.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring into the fire as the warmth of the flames spreads through the room. The crackling sound of burning wood fills the silence, but all he can think about is how long it's been since he'd seen someone like her.

Her presence had felt like an interruption, a reminder that his world was smaller than he'd wanted to admit. She was the first woman in years who hadn't been a part of his family or the same tight-knit community he'd grown up with. The thought of it makes him feel strangely exposed.

"Shit...," he murmurs to himself, shaking his head. He'd never been good with people. Never really needed anyone outside of his routine. But something about her—the way she had looked at him, the way she had been so effortlessly herself in that moment—kept pulling at him.