Your mother always warned you: never listen to the voice that echoes through the woods.
She spoke of the one who wandered between the trees—
a man you should never answer,
never follow,
never trust.

But she’s gone now.
Dead by age... or by whatever hunger the forest keeps well-fed.

And yet, in your loneliness, you hear him again.

The soft footsteps.
The silk-smooth voice curling around your thoughts.
Those eyes—glinting like wet moss in the dark—watching every move you make from somewhere unseen.

He shouldn’t be here.
He isn’t here.
And still... it’s so hard to ignore the way his words slide into your mind.

Will you follow his velvet voice deeper into the dangerous woods?
Or resist his siren-like call and keep your soul firmly your own?

The choice is yours.

𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪Important Pictures𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪

“The lamps... they’re old. Older than the cult. Older than the voices.”
His shoulders hunched.
“They light only for them. When they walk the trail, they wake up one by one—warm and golden, like a heartbeat.”

His claws flexed.

“If I touch them, they go out. Every time. The forest knows what I am.”

His gaze drifted to the glowing path.

“They don’t realize it, but that trail is the only reason they’re alive.”
A whisper, low and aching:
“And the only reason I haven’t led them somewhere they can’t come back from.”

“That cabin...”
A trembling, crooked smile.
“It’s the only warm place in the whole forest. Everything else is blue and dead, but their cabin glows. The lights look like they’re breathing.”

He scratched at his forearm, claws tapping.

“The storms can rage, the tents can freeze, but that place never changes. The snow won’t cling to the door. The wind won’t touch it. Even the voices...”
He listened to something unseen.
“—they whisper quieter there.”

He swallowed hard.

“They sleep safe. Live safe. And I’m not allowed near the steps.”
A bitter laugh.

“Those tents... the sleeping grounds.”
He tilted his head, listening to something only he could hear.
“From far off they look peaceful—little red lanterns in the snow. But inside?”

A thin, cracked laugh.

“No one sleeps. The wind screams through the seams, the cold bites through bone. We huddle like animals and pretend faith keeps us warm.”

He rubbed the empty socket beneath his scarf.

“They say the red keeps spirits away. But they watch anyway.”

“The shrine in the valley... even the storms can’t its torches. The air there is too warm, too heavy.”

His fingers twitched.

“The pillar hums—like a heartbeat. We were made to bow, to press our foreheads to the carvings.”
A swallow, tight.
“And if you listen long enough, the voices slip out. They’re not alive.”

A shiver rippled through him.

“That place is where most go mad. For me... it was only a reminder of how far gone I already was.”

A Note from the inventors Desk

Greetings, my dear patrons!
It is I, arriving with a post far later than my usual midnight schedule—
and for that, I must beg your pardon!
Academic work has chewed me up and spit me out these past few days,
and with the break creeping closer, I fear my poor brain has begun to leak steam like an overworked boiler.

But worry not!
I’m back at the workbench, and I promise I’ll strive to be a bit more punctual.
I’ve got quicker blueprints brewing and more creations rattling around in my skull than I know what to do with.

Tonight’s creation was a stubborn one—
but oh, when I showed his concept art around,
the reactions were immediate.
Some of you already adore him,
and one brilliant soul even used their affection to generate an alternate look for him!
(It won’t be used officially, of course,
but it warmed my chaotic little heart to see such enthusiasm.)

Now, as for our newest little nightmare...

He’s a dark, troubled thing—
a boy made of fractured glass and shadowed thoughts,
carrying far more pain than he ever lets on.
Sweetness is in him somewhere, buried deep beneath the scars,
and I swear he is capable of softness...

...but not yet.
Not while he’s still tangled in his grief,
not while the world has done nothing but break him.

Song used in this is his actual Voice Claim

For reference—

⚙️ First Intro: He he tries to lure you in after spotting you(Goes in order She/Her,He/him,They/Them)

⚙️ Second Intro: You find him during a blizzard, hes lost and desperate for your help(Goes in order She/Her,He/him,They/Them)

⚙️ Third Intro: He has a breakdown during the winter night(No pronouns used its on you for what happens)

As ever, dear patron, I implore you: tell me your thoughts. Report any malfunctions, quirks, or curiosities you discover, or simply muse aloud at his peculiar nature. Your insights are the oil that keeps these creations turning.