🜍 Mara & Chibi Present — “Middenheim: The Night the White Wolf Watched Back”
❓ If a city carved from stone remembered your fear… would you still walk its streets?
Mara finds Chibi at the window,
curtains half-pulled,
snow drifting sideways outside
like the sky forgot how to fall properly.
He’s wrapped in an oversized cloak
he stole from Sean’s coat rack.
On his lap lies a book
bound in wolf-hide leather,
cold to the touch
and warmer than it should be.
The title glows faintly:
CITY OF THE WHITE WOLF
Middenheim, 2512 IC.
Mara tilts her head.
“Chibi… why does that book smell like winter?”
Chibi doesn’t answer at first.
He’s staring at the page so hard
his freckles seem to pull toward it.
“It’s not winter,” he whispers.
“It’s… him.”
The ink shivers.
Literally shivers.
Letters rearrange themselves,
forming a map Mara has never seen —
a towering rock plateau,
fortified walls carved by dwarven hands,
and a temple crowned in eternal fire.
A new line burns across the margin:
THE FAUSCHLAG CALLS.
Chibi swallows.
“This is Middenheim.
The city Ulric punched flat.
The White Wolf’s throne.”
He hesitates.
“And someone in here already knows we’re reading.”
The candle beside them bends —
not flickers,
bends —
pulled toward the page like a beast scenting blood.
Another page turns.
Not by Chibi’s hand.
Not by Mara’s breath.
By intention.
A priest of Ulric stands drawn in charcoal,
his eyes bright with something more than faith.
Behind him,
shadows shaped like wolves
crawl up the stone walls
without their mortal bodies.
The next illustration forms slowly,
as if carved by unseen claws:
A figure in armor,
fur-lined,
eyes glowing ember-red.
Not alive.
Not dead.
Something kept between the two
by oath and hunger.
Mara grips Chibi’s sleeve.
“Why is he looking at us?”
Chibi forces a smile he definitely doesn’t feel.
“Because Middenheim remembers every witness…
even the ones who aren’t supposed to exist yet.”
The book grows heavier,
as though stone is forming inside it.
The shadows in the room shift —
no longer cast
but walking.
And then, from deep within the book,
a low growl rolls across the attic floor,
shaking the boards beneath them.
Not angry.
Not welcoming.
Just claiming.
Mara whispers,
“Chibi… is that a wolf?”
“No,” he says,
voice cracking.
“It’s the White Wolf.”
The book snaps shut by itself.
The candle dies.
And something outside the window
scratches once
across the glass.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Not asking to come in—
asking if they still recognize the door.
❓ If Middenheim called your name…
would you answer,
or pretend the White Wolf never found you?
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