The thing at the cave mouth was wrong in every way a body could be wrong.
It moved like something stitched from nightmares—two-legged, hunched, pale fur clinging to ribs, a face too long for its skull, and a grin that stretched where a mouth should not. Its eyes were glassy, pinpricks that reflected the bioluminescent pond like dead stars. Every time it tried to push against the cave's threshold, its shoulders bowed as if invisible hands shoved it back. It snarled, a sound like a child wailing and a blade scraping stone at the same time.
Isabella stared, stomach dipping. Her heart beat hard enough to rattle her teeth. For a second she thought of every choice that had led her here—greed for more resources, running away from the village because she wanted 'space', trusting a system called Bubu—and she wanted to laugh or cry and punch a tree. Preferably all three.
