Isabella appeared outside the cave, it wasn't dark—because on this cursed mountain, there was no day or night. Just a constant silver-gray hue that clung to everything like old smoke. The air shimmered faintly, windless yet alive. Then, slowly, the creatures turned toward her.
They turned like puppets on a single string.
Long limbs unfolded, joints clicking in a sound like dry branches snapping. The taller one with her rag tilted its eyeless face and hummed—the same low, teeth-grating sound that had crawled beneath Isabella's skin before—and the world narrowed into the space between her ribs and the cold ground. Her palms went slick with sweat. The mountain's air tasted like iron and old leaves.
"Hey, cuties," she called, because what else do you say to towering nightmare-children? "I heard you were looking for mommy. She's not around. Surprise! I am."
