Chapter Text
It was a day like any other for Misty Quigley. The same monotonous Friday routine: waking up at 7:00 a.m., breakfast for her and Caligula, rushing to work, enduring endless hours trying not to jab the most annoying patients with syringes, heading back home, drinking tea, going for a walk…
The usual, dull rhythm of life.
That day the sky was foggy. A light breeze stirred the air, though it wasn’t too cold for a November 3rd. The clouds loomed high and dark above, towering and ominous. Sunlight barely pierced through, and the scent of moss and damp earth clung to the wind.
Misty was feeling particularly lucky. She decided to head into the woods near her house—on a day like this, she was sure to find mushrooms for a stew or some unique herbs. Yes, she felt lucky.
She put on her boots, coat, grabbed her basket and keys, and headed to her car.
The drive was short. The driveway was still slick with last night’s rain, and a few drops hung in the air. She got in, started the engine—and barely two meters in, the car began to swerve.
Misty stepped out, suspecting something was caught in the wheels. What she saw, however, was strange. Strange didn’t even begin to cover it.
A massive deer skull was wedged between the rear tires. Its antlers blocked the path entirely, preventing Misty from going any further.
“Weird,” she thought.
She picked up the skull and examined it carefully. The bone had an iridescent, almost pearly white hue, and the antlers were slightly darker—rougher in texture, speckled in places.
“Shame to throw it away. Someone must’ve left me a gift,” she muttered, voice tinged with doubt.
Her thoughts shifted to the mushrooms waiting in the forest. She decided to set the skull aside on the front steps and worry about it later.
She got back in the car and, trying to shake the unease clinging to her, turned on the radio.
“Some music will definitely help,” she told herself.
She tuned in to the first available station. The haunting, mechanical notes of Nowhere Girl by B-Movie began to play.
> “Nowhere girl, you’re living in a dream,
Nowhere girl, you stay behind the scenes…”
The melody amplified the eerie stillness of the morning.
As the lyrics drifted on, Misty found herself thinking about high school. Those years had forever changed the girls she once knew—girls once so bright, so full of life.
> “Nowhere girl, you never go outside,
Nowhere girl, 'cause you prefer to hide…”
Her thoughts wandered to Lottie Matthews. The verses described her perfectly.
She had been one of the most enigmatic figures of their adolescence—connected only to a few people. She was kind, radiant… but Misty had seen it in her eyes. Something had always haunted her.
She preferred being alone. She was friendly with everyone, knew everyone, and everyone knew her—but no one could say anything about her beyond her name, her surname, and her favorite color.
It had been seven months since her disappearance. Seven months of "intense investigations" by the authorities, and heartache for her closest friends.
She still hadn’t been found, and by now, everyone had lost hope.
Natalie had shut herself off completely. She’d begged Misty—and even threatened her—to use her “amazing detective skills” to extend the search, since the police were clearly doing nothing. Misty had agreed, of course, but even she had limits.
Lottie's credit card had been active for three days after her official disappearance. Misty had traced the route and gone searching herself. She’d involved all the online detective groups, but no one could say for sure what had happened.
Lottie had simply vanished.
Finally, Misty reached the woods. She parked near a walkable path and began her usual forage.
The forest was alive: snails slithered up the tree trunks in a neat line, birds sang overhead in the branches.
Misty gathered some mushrooms at the base of the trees, in the moistest spots, and headed toward a patch of wild fennel—until she heard it.
A scream.
A guttural, heart-wrenching cry shattered the forest's calm.
Misty froze, paralyzed. Then again:
A scream—louder, more desperate, a cry soaked in agony.
She didn’t think twice. Gripping her mushroom knife, she ran toward the source.
With each step, the sound grew louder, clearer, more frantic.
She veered off the trail, deeper into the forest’s heart. She crossed a small stream, circled a massive tree—and then she saw her.
Completely naked.
Her back turned.
Her body bruised and battered—deep purple and yellow marks spread across her skin. One especially vicious bruise stretched from beneath her breast to her hip, mottled with angry red spots.
Lacerations of various sizes covered her body, and strange symbols—unfamiliar, primitive—were drawn everywhere in what looked like charcoal.
A triangle. A circle. A hook at the edge. Vertical lines. One symbol repeated again and again—etched and drawn across her skin.
The girl trembled and moaned, lost in confusion, muttering something inaudible under her breath.
Misty tried to move closer. One step. Then another—until she snapped a twig underfoot.
The sound cracked through the air.
The girl turned.
Lottie Matthews was suddenly right there, close enough for Misty to hear the broken whisper on her lips:
“Natalie… Nat… Natalie…”