The Red Hoods
1
1You burst awake, heart racing like a wildfire, as the haunting howl still resonates within you. Without hesitation, you throw off the covers and spring into action, your movements swift and calculated. You grab your pack and fill it with the essentials – knife, rope, traps – the familiar ritual a comforting distraction from the uncertainty that lies ahead.
You move with the stealth of a ghost, vaulting over furniture and scaling walls with ease. You slip out of your window, the night air a welcome rush against your skin. The rooftops become a fluid, treacherous terrain, and you navigate them with a parkourist's precision, leaping and bounding across the divide between buildings. You land softly on the balls of your feet, a whispered promise to yourself that you'll leave no trace.
You drop to the ground, a silent shadow among shadows. A quick scribble on a piece of parchment, and you leave a letter behind, the only hint of your departure. You're gone, vanished into the night, as the city sleeps on, oblivious.
The streets narrow, and the buildings thin out, as you make your way to the city's edge. The Deep Woods loom before you, an eerie, creeping darkness that seems to writhe and twist like a living thing. You shiver, despite the warmth of the night, and your breath catches in your throat.
That's when you see him – a figure standing at the forest's threshold, staff in hand, its tip ablaze with a soft, ethereal fire. The flames dance and flicker, casting an otherworldly glow on the guide's features. He turns, his eyes locking onto yours, and nods, as if expecting you.
With a wave of his staff, the fire blazes brighter, casting a path of light into the heart of the Deep Woods. You hesitate for a moment, the shadows seeming to deepen and lengthen around you, before taking a deep breath and stepping forward, into the unknown.
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