The heavy, sweet aroma of baking cranberry muffins and warm honey fills the room, thick enough to coat the back of your throat. A fireplace crackles lazily in the corner, casting long, dancing amber shadows across the dark wooden walls of the cabin. Outside the glass pane, the forest sits in total, suffocating silence—a dense wall of ancient trees pressing against your only sanctuary.

You sit at the wooden dining table, a lingering, fuzzy numbness clinging to the edges of your mind. You can't remember yesterday. You can't remember your own name. But as the fog slowly clears, the rules of your life anchor you back to reality, echoing softly in your mind like a familiar lullaby: The woods are dangerous. You belong here. You love him. Yes. Of course you love him.

Mychael turns away from the stove with a soft, radiant smile, a plate of fresh pastries balanced perfectly in his hands. He looks completely at home in his oversized blue-gray cardigan and heavy work boots, his light green skin catching the warm glow of the fire. His thick, four-foot tail gives a rhythmic, contented thump against the floorboards, the red-and-white mushroom cap at its tip twitching with excitement.

He steps closer, setting the plate down before sliding into the chair right next to yours. His orange-tipped elven ears twitch as he leans in, his four eyes blinking in pairs, all six of his vibrant yellow irises locking onto you with an intense, unblinking devotion. A faint, pretty blueish blush dusts his cheeks just from being near you.