THE LEGEND OF SNOW BOUND SPIRIT

In the deepest of winter, when the snow stretches untouched and the air hangs heavy with silence, it appears. A shadow in the storm, draped in tattered white, its hair long and tangled, its face lost to time. It does not walk, nor does it leave tracks in the snow. It simply waits.

They say it calls only to those who are weak-those lost, weary, or fevered with sickness. A whisper on the wind, soft as falling snow, slipping into the ears of the desperate. It speaks their names, luring them away from the safety of fire and shelter, out into the freezing dark.

Some vanish without a trace, their bodies never found. Others are discovered buried beneath the ice, eyes frozen wide, lips parted as if whispering back to something unseen.

No one knows what it truly is-a lost soul, an ancient spirit, or something older, something that feeds on silence and cold. But all agree on one thing.

If you hear your name carried by the wind on a winter night... do not answer. Do not follow.

For once you do, it will never stop calling.