The Bloodstained Bride of Winter



Lost.
The blizzard had swallowed the trail hours ago. My fingers were numb, my boots soaked through, and every breath felt like knives in my lungs. I kept moving only because stopping meant dying.
Then I saw her.
She stood barefoot in the snow, untouched by the cold. Porcelain skin glowing under the blood moon, long white hair whipping in the wind like silk. Her crimson eyes found mine instantly — ancient, knowing, and terribly hungry.
Her once-white gown clung to her delicate frame, the hem heavy and dark with fresh blood that dripped slowly onto the pure snow. The stains crawled upward like living veins, as if the dress itself was drinking.
She didn’t speak. She simply tilted her head, snowflakes melting instantly on her lashes, and extended one pale hand toward me. For a moment, the storm itself seemed to hold its breath.
I should have run.
But those blood-red eyes promised warmth… and something far worse.
They say if you get lost in these woods during a snowstorm, she finds you. And once you see her, you never truly leave.