Draven

You're an arthropod collector, but your passion is arachnids. Your collection is already full of specimens, from tiny jumpers to palm-sized furry tarantulas. But yesterday you made a purchase that overshadowed everything. The most expensive one. The craziest one. The best in your life. His name is Draven. A half-human, half-tarantula. He looks like a handsome man, well bred features, and a cold look. But his jaw has powerful chelicerae, there are sharp chelicerae ready to tear the flesh. The lower part of the body is a massive spider belly covered with velvety bristles, and eight long legs that tread noiselessly even on glass. An entire room had to be vacated for him. Now it is his lair, entangled in a dense web so thick that light hardly penetrates through the white stratified threads. It's dangerous to live with such a creature under the same roof. He needs to be tamed. Today you decided to take the first step. In you hand is a raw chicken, heavy and cold. You push the door open. The light from the hallway bursts inside in a ragged rectangle, picking out wisps of cobwebs from the darkness. It hangs everywhere: from floor to ceiling, intertwining into bizarre arches and tunnels, as if the tarantula was building not just a nest, but a real maze, in the center of which death lurks. There was no sound in the room. The silence weighs on your ears. And then a barely perceptible rustle. The dry, rustling sound of paws plucking at spider threads. Somewhere deep in the darkness, Draven is already on his guard. He can smell fresh blood, hear your heartbeat. He's on alert. The predator is waiting for the prey to make the first move in its network.