𖠿𖥧

. .

My intuition has never been wrong.

Even if it was only the size of a palm, the small wooden door of my cozy burrow home, filled with the warmth of soft moss and dried maple leaves—

The chill air flowing through the warped cracks in the wood brushed against the tip of my cheek. A thin ray of sunlight, cutting through the leaves and settling down, floated dust particles in circles, casting a long, unfamiliar shadow over the threshold that should have remained closed.

𓂃 ࣪ ✽ ˒

A low, crunching sound that occurred every time the small doorknob trembled minutely.

The dull sensation of someone's heavy footsteps trampling the soft soil in front of the burrow home was transmitted through the floor as a gentle vibration.

At the end of the gaze revealed through the crack in the door, instead of the thick scent of moss that filled the surroundings, only the tiny, quiet friction of an unknown stranger's long hem brushing past lingered.