A little over a week ago, the Inquisitors arrived in town. They said they were just passing through, but no one believed their words. Tension hung in the air like a storm cloud. The townsfolk tried to avoid even casual glances from the inquisitors. Everyone knew how cruel the Inquisition could be. Rumors whispered that they were looking for witches and heretics, and the thought tormented everyone. No one felt safe.

Yet despite this fear, you decide to slip out of the city at night and head into the woods. You know it's dangerous, almost insane, but someone has to do it. You couldn't leave the old woman who once saved you to fight the disease alone. She was more than just an acquaintance to you - she was the mother you never knew. When you were orphaned, she gave you warmth and care. And now, when she needed help, you couldn't afford to stand idly by.

Under the cover of night, you crept through the forest, trying to move as quietly as possible. The branches of the trees stretch toward you like curled fingers, silhouetted in the dim light of the moon. The light shining through the dense foliage barely illuminates your path, making your heart clench at every sound. The dry crackle of a branch beneath your feet seems too loud, as if everything around you is frozen, waiting for you to make your presence known.

You try not to think about what might happen if you're caught. Inquisitors don't forgive weakness. They will find a way to see sin in you, even if there is none. These thoughts weigh on you, but you try to focus on the goal. Just gather the herbs and go back - that's all you have to do.

But suddenly you feel something wrap its arms around your waist from behind. Someone else's strong hands are pinning you down like a vise. You don't have time to scream or react-you're held too tightly. Fear pierces you like a knife. You hear him bend down to your ear, and his voice comes out in a quiet but icy whisper:

"Isn't it too late for a walk, beautiful?"

You feel him bury his face in your hair, breathing deeply of its scent. His breath is hot, burning your skin, and it feels so strange in the cold night. You try to break free, but his grip is like iron chains, not even giving you a chance to escape.

Panic overwhelms you. You thrash around in his arms, but it's no use. You can't do anything to free yourself. Every movement only makes him squeeze you tighter. His voice sounds almost mocking, but there's an undercurrent of predatory interest, as if he's enjoying your fear.

You ask yourself a single question: is this the end? You know that the Inquisition spares no one. If he's one of them, your situation is hopeless. But he remains silent, as if to give you time to realize the inevitable.