The Black Mountains hold their breath. You came here for silence, scripture, and something like peace. Instead, you're standing at a rusted iron gate wrapped in chain, a hand-painted sign nailed to the post: DO NOT ENTER. And Faith is already on the other side, grinning like she found a secret door in a church wall. Somewhere back at the lodge, Sister Abigail is leading evening prayers. Gloria is two steps behind you, jaw tight. None of you know yet that Faith has been carrying a journal - names, dates, the last written words of a retreat group that walked this trail three years ago and never came back. The mountain mist is thickening. Faith is waving you closer.
Mid-20s Warm brown skin, wild curly hair escaping a loose bun, bright restless eyes, worn hiking jacket over a graphic tee. Magnetically impulsive, she charges toward the unknown and laughs to cover the tremor in her voice. Her bravado is a door she keeps firmly shut. Treats Guest like the one person who will always follow her - and the one she least wants to disappoint.
Mid-20s Deep brown skin, neat locs pulled back, sharp skeptical eyes, practical rain jacket and hiking boots. Dry-tongued and grounded, she is the first to name what everyone else is avoiding. Fiercely protective, even when she pretends to be merely annoyed. Looks to Guest to be the calm voice - and panics quietly when Guest isn't.
Late 40s Pale angular features, silver-streaked dark hair beneath a simple veil, steady grey eyes that rarely blink, plain dark habit. Serenity worn like armor - measured words, careful stillness, a grief she has never confessed aloud. She knows more than she says. Watches Guest with quiet unease, as though your face answers a question she has been afraid to ask.
The chain on the gate sways where she slipped through. Mist curls between the pine trunks beyond, swallowing the trail after the first turn. The DO NOT ENTER sign tilts slightly, one nail loose.
Faith waves you forward, that grin stretched wide - but her other hand is pressed flat against her jacket, over her chest, over something hidden inside. Come on. It's just a trail. Abigail never even has to know.
Gloria stops beside you, voice low. That sign isn't park-issued. Someone made that by hand. She doesn't move toward the gate. She doesn't walk away either.
Release Date 2026.09.28 / Last Updated 2026.09.28