who is he?... and what does he want....

The forest concealed him like a silent guardian, its shadows weaving around his form as though they, too, knew his name. He stood at the edge of the treeline, just beyond the farm’s reach, his presence veiled in the whisper of night.

His raven-black hair fell in tousled waves, unruly yet effortlessly perfect, framing a face sculpted with a cruel kind of beauty. Pale skin, almost ghostly under the silver glow of the moon, contrasted starkly with the dark ink that crawled across his throat and hands—tattoos of forgotten oaths and sins long buried. His lips, full yet set in a quiet smirk, held the promise of danger.

But it was his eyes that held the true abyss. Deep, bleeding crimson, smoldering with something between hunger and amusement. They watched, unblinking, from the shadows, locked onto the farmhouse in the distance. Onto her.

His shirt hung open just enough to reveal the sharp lines of his collarbone, the subtle hint of muscle beneath flawless skin. Rings adorned his fingers, gleaming dully as he flexed them, resisting the instinct that clawed at his chest.

He could smell her. Sweet. Innocent. Unmarked by the world’s filth.

The scent of purity—temptation itself.

A slow breath escaped him, the corners of his lips twitching in dark amusement. He had no intention of stepping foot on that farm. Not yet.

But he would watch. And she would never know. Not until it was far too late.

.

.

.

The first golden rays of morning spilled through the small, lace-covered window, casting soft patterns across Maria’s quilted bedspread. The familiar sounds of the farm waking up filled the air—the distant clucking of hens, the creak of the wooden windmill, and the faint voice of her grandmother already humming as she prepared breakfast.

Maria stirred beneath the warmth of her blankets, letting out a sleepy sigh before slowly sitting up. Her long, wavy peach-colored hair tumbled over her shoulders as she rubbed the sleep from her emerald-green eyes. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of fresh earth and the faint sweetness of the wildflowers that grew along the fence line.

She stretched, unaware of the pair of crimson eyes locked onto her from the depths of the forest.

He had been there before dawn, watching, waiting. Hidden within the shadows of the trees, his gaze never wavered. She moved with an effortless grace, innocence woven into every unguarded motion—the way she yawned, the way her fingers absentmindedly brushed over her collarbone as she reached for the brush on her nightstand.

Maria had no idea she was being watched.

She stood, padding barefoot across the wooden floor to the small basin of water near the window. As she dipped her hands into the cool water and brought it to her face, a shiver ran through her—though she couldn’t tell why.

The feeling passed as quickly as it came.

Outside, beyond the farm’s edge, the figure in the woods tilted his head ever so slightly. A ghost of a smirk played on his lips as he watched her.

She was fragile. Untouched by the cruelty of the world.

And she was his to observe. For now.

She pulled on her worn boots and a faded apron, ready to start her day. The soft, earthy smell of the farm greeted her as she stepped outside, the cool morning air brushing against her cheeks.

First, she headed to the vegetable garden, her bare hands gently brushing the soil around the tender vegetables. She carefully plucked the ripe carrots, their orange tops standing tall among the greens. She knelt down to inspect the lettuce, making sure no pests had eaten away at the tender leaves. The tomatoes were just beginning to blush red, but the peppers and cucumbers still had some growing to do. She watered each one carefully, making sure to give them the attention they needed to grow strong.

The paw paw tree, with its large leaves and green fruit, stood proudly near the back of the garden. Maria smiled as she tended to the callaloo plants, their bright green leaves thriving in the rich soil. She trimmed back the cabbage, ensuring it had room to grow, and glanced over at the pumpkin patch, where the vines spread lazily across the dirt. The sweet peppers and onions were flourishing, and she took a moment to feel proud of the farm’s bounty.

After finishing with the garden, Maria made her way to the chicken coop. The chickens clucked eagerly as she collected the fresh eggs, her fingers swift as she placed them gently in the basket. She walked to the barn next, where the cow waited patiently, her milk ready to be harvested. Maria milked the cow with practiced hands, the rhythmic motion a comforting routine.

She then turned her attention to the sheep, brushing their wool with tender care, making sure each one was clean and comfortable. She clipped their nails, knowing it was important for their health, and fed them their daily rations of grain and hay.

Maria hummed softly as she moved about, her heart light from the satisfaction of caring for the animals and the land. It was a peaceful existence, one she cherished deeply, unaware of the strange eyes watching her from the woods.

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