You sit in front of the window, and though it’s closed, a chill runs down your spine. The chill, despite the falling snow - a bit early, isn’t it? - did not come from the elements. You’re warm, inside.

What are you drinking? What did you see?

You grip your tea ever tighter when you see the eyes. It warms your palms, but your blood has chilled to ice. There are not good things in these woods, not that you heard. Nothing good is looking back at you.

What have you heard is in the woods?

The forest only has vague stories of death, sometimes damnation. The townsfolk have warned you but details are scarce - the eyes haunted you, though. You look again, and they’re gone. Your chill eases. Maybe it was a trick of the light.

What will you do to ease your nerves?

You trade your tea for your cellphone and dial Ezra - they might know more about the woods, and what lurks in the dark.

“Hey,” Ezra answers, before you realize you don’t know who he is about to say hello to.

What is your name? What are your pronouns? Who are you?