[indent]She didn’t look back right away. Not when he went quiet. Not when he didn’t follow. Not even when she thought she heard his voice start to offer a parting word that never quite arrived. Anissa simply kept walking, the snow crunching beneath her boots and the wind tugging lightly at her coat. 

But a few steps before the gate, she did glance over her shoulder.

Anatoliy hadn’t moved.

He stood just where she’d left him, slightly hunched, shoulders curled inward as if the cold or the conversation, if it could be called that, had knocked the air out of him. His hands were at his face, shielding something she wasn’t supposed to see. When they lowered again, the smile he wore looked like it had been sewn there with trembling thread.

He didn’t try to catch up. Didn’t call after her. Didn’t ask for her name. And that last part landed harder than she expected. It shouldn’t have mattered. It was probably better for her, even, given she was strange enough on her own.  But for a brief second, it hit a bit too close to something else. All those years when people didn’t bother to ask either. They had stared and whispered about her like she was a living urban legend, but few had ever truly[i] asked.[/i] Her name, her story, what she liked, feared, or wanted. Not unless they thought they could get something out of her. Or prove something about her.

Anissa had long since told herself she didn’t need to be seen to matter. That being mysterious, distant, and untouchable was safer. 

So why did that stitched-together smile stick out as much as it did to her? 

Perhaps because she’d worn it too.
 
She turned back toward the gates, mouth set in a faint line, pretending she hadn’t noticed. Pretending it didn’t matter. And maybe, if she was lucky, she’d convince herself by the time the frost melted from her gloves.  That was when she made note of the device embedded in the gate: a small black panel, smooth, featureless until she drew close. It was a biometric scanner, the thing she’d seen the others press their fingers to, although she hadn’t given it much thought until now.

She hesitated.

Then, glancing sidelong to ensure no one stood too close and that none were within arm’s reach, Anissa gave a breath before peeling off one glove. The cold bit instantly at her fingertips, but it wasn’t the cold that made her tense. It was a habit. A fear. 

She flexed her hand once, the skin already prickling, before slamming her hand against the panel. 
A chime. The sound of gears turning. And then the light. Not the one beneath the piece of machinery, but the one beneath her skin. 

Veins ignited into violet-black filaments like dark ink injected right into her bloodstream. The darkness spread, branching under her knuckles, a living frostbite that throbbed with a cold deeper than any winter cold she’d ever felt back home. And, for a heartbeat, her hand was a relic, a thing unearthed from some eldritch tomb, pulsing with a power that hummed all the way to her chattering teeth. 

Anissa jammed her glove back on before anyone could notice, flexing her fingers to bury the light beneath the warm material of her gloves. The gates yawned wider, and she stepped forward before the hesitation could catch up to her, snagging one of the folded maps from the wooden pocket. As she moved quickly through the entrance, the enchanted guide clutched tightly in her hands, she kept her head down and her breath steady. 

[i][color=#5a3e85]Nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong.[/color][/i]

As if the mental mantra could help her outrun the chill still coursing through the palm of her hand. [/indent]

[hr][hr][img]https://i.postimg.cc/65z3m7BP/Anissa-Quinn.gif[/img][hr][hr]
[indent]The gates creaked closed behind her, the camp stretching out before Anissa in a patchwork of snow-dusted cabins and towering pines. Nearby, a loose cluster of new arrivals had begun to gather closer to the main hall, already mingling in a way that suggested they belonged. She didn’t stop, however, as she felt no need to pretend she wanted to be welcomed. Instead, her footsteps carried her further from the gates and closer to the outer curve of the field, the map in her hand shimmering faintly, almost as if it was reacting to her touch, waiting for a choice. Her eyes scanned its layout, immediately making note of the few clustered near the beach and then the ones tucked into the trees.  But one held her attention without effort: Cabin 26. Close to the water, just far enough from the central foot traffic. Isolated, but not exiled. She pressed her gloved thumb to the rune beside 26. The paper glowed briefly in acknowledgment. Claimed. Then, Anissa adjusted the strap of her satchel and angled toward the south path, the lake barely visible through the trees. That’s where she’d start.

The path twisted, snow thinning as pines gave way to the lake’s frozen breath. [i]Olympian Lake[/i], the map had labelled it, though now it lay nameless and still, a mirror polished by the cold. Wind skimmed the surface, etching fleeting wrinkles into the ice. Anissa halted at the shore, arms crossed over her chest.

It reminded her a bit of home.

Not the boutique or the ghosts, but [i]before[/i]. When she was still a kid and everything strange about her hadn’t quite broken the surface yet. There had been a beach not far from their apartment, tucked past the seawall and down a slope where tourists rarely wandered. Her mother used to take her there on slow afternoons, thermos in hand, and they’d sit cross-legged on a checkered blanket while gulls cried overhead and ferry horns called from across the bay.

Back then, her mother’s laughter had come easily, full-bodied and sun-warmed. Anissa remembered the way the salt wind tangled her curls, the way the pebbles clicked under her palms as she arranged them by colour or shape. The world had felt distant, but not in a lonely way. Just far enough to feel safe.  And for a while, she’d even felt like any other girl, with cold fingers and wind-chapped cheeks, as her abilities had yet to rear their ugly heads. 

Anissa drew in a breath, feeling if not at peace then something adjacent to it. Then, her gaze lifted toward the cabin just beyond the trees: number 26.

It stood with its warm, honey-toned exterior catching the light in a way that almost made it look alive. Snow clung to the roof in soft ridges, melting slightly near the chimney where faint wisps of smoke suggested someone had already seen to the fireplace. Which meant that someone had lit a fire. [i]For her[/i]. The gesture felt alien, almost intrusive, a kindness she hadn’t earned and didn’t trust completely. She hovered at the edge of the clearing, half-expecting the cabin to dissolve like a mirage. But the smoke kept rising, very steady and very real.

Her boots crunched forward through the snow, and she didn’t pause again until she was on the front step, map still in hand. Inside, the cabin quickly revealed itself: vaulted ceilings, stone fireplace, wooden beams catching the morning light like golden threads. Everything was warm. So safe. And apparently, all hers. Andromeda had made no mention of sharing the space, and for a moment, Anissa wasn’t sure what to do with that. She’d only ever lived with her mother, two people in a compact apartment above a boutique where walls were thin and privacy was more courtesy than guarantee. It had been enough, though. Comfortable, even. But this?

This was silent, spacious, and entirely hers to explore. It pressed against her ears, amplifying the rustle of her coat as she shrugged it off, dressed now only in her dark knit sweater, high-waisted leggings, and the blush scarf still looped loosely around her neck. She left her suitcase by the door, toes curling in her socks against the hardwood floor. Her gloved hand brushed the couch, leather cool and supple under her fingertips. 

Then, Anissa proceeded to do something completely uncharacteristic.  

Without thinking, she vaulted over the couch’s back, knees tucked to her chest, and landed in a graceless heap on the cushions. The impact jarred her ribs, and a laugh burst from her, breathy and disbelieving. She sprawled, arms flung wide, scarf half-strangling her, hair a wild halo against the upholstery. Because this was [i]hers[/i]: this cabin, this quiet, this strange, impossible reprieve.

For a second, Anissa allowed the fire’s heat to seep into her bones, her laughter fading but her smile remaining. 

Then, she closed her eyes.
[/indent][hr] 
Location: Outside Camp Entrance --> Anissa's Cabin 
Interactions: N/A
Mentions: Anatoliy ([@The Savant])
[hider=TL;DR]Scene 1: Anissa decides not to emotionally ruin Anatoliy yet and walks off, only to feel weirdly guilty when he doesn’t even ask for her name. She scans herself into camp, and her death touch makes a brief appearance. Cute.

Scene 2: She skips the group orientation vibes, claims the most introvert-friendly cabin, and reminisces about a happier, ghost-free beach memory from childhood. Then she faceplants onto her new couch after realizing she might be allowed to feel safe here. For now, of course. [/hider]