He staggered the final agonizing meters to the forest's edge and stopped dead.
The wall of trees rose like black pillars of a forgotten cathedral. Inside, no sunlight reached the ground—only a dim, greenish twilight filtered through the impossible canopy high above. The air grew thick, heavy, pressing against his bare skin. Every instinct screamed *turn back*. His eyes flicked left and right, searching for any sign of movement, any hint of danger. Nothing. Only deeper silence.
*Eat grass?* The ridiculous thought flickered through his starving mind. He pictured himself on all fours, chewing like an animal, and a hysterical laugh almost escaped. He shook his head hard, wet hair slapping his face. *No. Not yet. Not like that.*
One trembling step carried him across the invisible line.
The temperature dropped instantly. The towering trunks swallowed every trace of the open sky. High above, clusters of fruit hung like pale lanterns—round, red-gold, tempting. His stomach clenched so violently he nearly doubled over.
*What if they're poison?* The thought hit like ice water. *Then I die. Simple as that.* He swallowed the lump in his throat. *Sorry, Mom… I'm not Bear Grylls. I don't know how to survive this shit.*
Hunger and exhaustion crashed over him like a wave. His legs were jelly, his arms lead. He had no choice.
He bent, scooped up a fist-sized stone from the mossy floor, and aimed at the lowest cluster. The first throw went wide—his weakened arm betrayed him. The stone thudded harmlessly into the undergrowth. He cursed under his breath, chest heaving. Second throw. Third. Each miss drained him further; sweat stung his eyes, his vision blurred. On the seventh desperate heave, the stone connected with a dull *thwack*. A single fruit broke free and tumbled down through the leaves, landing with a soft thud at his feet.
He snatched it up. It looked exactly like an apple—smooth, rosy, perfect. His mouth flooded with saliva.
"Safe enough," he muttered hoarsely, voice cracking. "Has to be."
He sank his teeth in.
The juice exploded across his tongue—sweet, impossibly sweet, like honey and summer and everything good the world had stolen from him. He chewed once, twice, swallowed greedily. The relief was so sudden, so intense, that for one blissful second he closed his eyes and almost smiled.
Then the forest changed.
A low vibration rolled through the ground beneath his bare feet—not an earthquake, something subtler, deeper, as if the earth itself had taken a breath and held it. Leaves that had hung motionless for centuries began to rustle though there was no wind. High in the canopy, branches creaked and groaned like old bones waking up. Somewhere in the green gloom, a shadow that shouldn't have moved… did.
His eyes flew open. The half-eaten fruit slipped from his trembling fingers and hit the moss with a wet sound that seemed far too loud.
He wasn't alone anymore.
Something had awakened.
And it knew he was here.
**The Clown in the Moonlight**
Exhaustion crashed over him like a black tide only minutes after the fruit's sweetness faded from his tongue.
"No… no, I need fire first," he mumbled, eyelids already sliding shut. His body betrayed him anyway. He slumped sideways against the colossal tree, bark scraping his naked back, and sleep took him whether he wanted it or not.
Night fell without warning.
When his eyes snapped open, the forest had become something else entirely. Moonlight speared down through rare gaps in the canopy, painting everything in cold silver and ink-black shadows. He was still leaning against the same tree, heart already hammering from the sudden awakening. A shaky sigh of relief escaped him. At least he could see. At least nothing had eaten him while he slept.
*Stay awake,* he ordered himself. *Just until sunrise. Then move. Find somewhere else. Anywhere else.*
His eyelids grew treacherously heavy again.
Then the sound came.
Tap… tap… tap…
Slow. Deliberate. Footsteps on the mossy floor, each one crisp and wet, like bare feet pressing into something that shouldn't make noise. Dread poured into his veins, freezing him solid. Every muscle locked. He couldn't even turn his head. His heart became a war drum in his ears, so loud he was sure whatever was coming could hear it.
Tap… tap… tap…
Closer now. Unhurried. Patient. The sound of something that already knew he was helpless.
A shape detached from the deeper dark between the trees.
A woman.
No—something dressed as a woman.
Full clown makeup: stark white face, blood-red smile painted in a perfect crescent that never moved, black diamonds around eyes that reflected the moonlight like wet glass. She looked to be in her thirties, tall and slender, dressed in a tattered, old-fashioned clown costume that hung loosely on her frame. But the closer she came, the more wrong it felt. Up close she wasn't grotesque. She was… beautiful. Uncannily, heartbreakingly beautiful beneath the paint. High cheekbones, full lips, long lashes. The kind of face that should have smiled. It didn't.
She stopped two meters away and simply stared.
He couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe properly. Naked, exposed, every inch of his skin crawling under her deadpan gaze. She tilted her head slightly, eyes sliding down his body with clinical calm—across his chest, his stomach, lower—then back up to his face. No expression. No hunger. No pity. Just… looking. Like he was an interesting insect pinned to a board.
Seconds stretched into minutes. The silence between them thickened until it felt like something alive pressing on his throat.
He couldn't take it anymore. Humiliation burned hotter than the fear.
"W-who… who the hell are you?" he finally choked out, voice cracking like a child's. "What do you want from me?"
The painted smile never twitched.
She only crouched slowly, gracefully, bringing her face level with his. So close now he could smell faint sugar and something metallic underneath. Her unblinking eyes bored into his, reflecting nothing but his own terrified face twice over.
And still she said nothing.
The forest held its breath with her.
**The Beast She Chose for Him**
A soft sigh slipped from her painted lips—barely audible, yet it sliced through the moonlight like a razor.
"Choose your companion beast," she said, voice flat, emotionless, as if she were reading from a list that had already been decided. "Cat… or bear."
His mind fractured.
"What—? Who the hell are you?! Where am I?! How did I get here?! Why am I naked?! What happened to my apartment, my cake, my life?! Am I dead?! Is this hell?! Or some sick dream?! Please, God, tell me it's a dream! Can I go home?! I promised my parents I'd live well—please don't do this! What do you mean 'companion beast'?! What will it do to me?! Are you going to hurt me?! Eat me?! Turn me into something?! Why only cat or bear?! Do I get any other choice?! A dog?! A wolf?! Anything else?! Just talk to me! Say something! Anything! PLEASE!"
The questions poured out in a broken, sobbing torrent. He was shaking so hard the bark scraped raw lines down his bare back. Tears streamed down his face. His chest heaved like he'd run for days. Every nightmare he'd ever had collided in this single moment, and still she crouched there, inches away, unmoving.
The painted smile never curved.
The black-rimmed eyes never blinked.
The beautiful, terrible face remained a porcelain mask under the cold moonlight.
He ran out of words. The silence that followed was worse than any answer. It pressed down on him, heavy as wet earth in a grave.
A few minutes—or maybe an eternity—dragged by. The forest itself seemed to lean closer, branches creaking softly as if eager to hear his decision.
He wasn't a pet person. Never had been. Taking care of himself had always felt like dragging a corpse uphill. A cat? A bear? In this place? The absurdity clawed at what was left of his sanity.
He let out a long, broken sigh that sounded too much like surrender.
"…Fine. A bear. Okay?"
For the first time, she moved.
A single, slow nod.
Then she raised her hand, two painted fingers poised like scissors.
Snap.
The sound was soft.
Too soft.
His eyelids slammed shut as if iron weights had been dropped on them. Consciousness tore away from him like flesh from bone. This time the sleep was deep—black, bottomless, and final.
Somewhere in the dark between heartbeats, he felt something vast and warm stir in the trees behind him… something that smelled of blood and fur and ancient hunger.
And it was already walking toward him.