In an isolated corner of a dark green forest, a wooden cottage was having a peaceful nap.

Loud chirping could be heard in the dense treetops of tall pines, like it was intentionally ignoring the dark grayness of the rest of the world.

It was almost evening. A lazy smoke was coming out of the cottage, losing itself between the trees, and if by any chance some unlikely passerby would find himself in the proximity, he would be greeted with an alluring smell of a freshly baked strawberry pie and a warm orange light coming from the window, inviting him to come in.

But those more cunning would sense great unpleasantness in the wind.

For inside the cottage, that passerby would surely meet his doom. The old, thick, dark green blanket would provide him with warmth in the coldest of nights, but with the help of all the strength from his body. The big white pillow would provide him with the most beautiful dreams, but steal his memories away. The yellow, already faded paper and pencils would kill the boredom in the biggest of dawdlers, but also slowly drain all the will to leave these comfortable, wooden walls, which might not sound that bad… But would be far from good. Although modest, the inside of the cottage provided a sense of comfort you could rarely find anywhere else.

That comfort, though, would awaken a hunger of the soul, a hunger whose victim wouldn’t quite be able to pinpoint in the midst of this mystifying confusion.

Someone was enjoying the charms of that cottage at this very moment.

It was a man, whom a distant observer wouldn’t quite fully fathom. He would likely only notice the early aging of the man’s tired skin and a lost, hysterical look.

If someone were watching from a distance, he would see him open the door, and with an eerily wide smile, grab a wooden bowl with freshly gathered strawberries, and then take it back inside the cozy wooden cottage, deep inside the forest.

No one was watching, though.

At least, no one human.