Cain

The gold of the sunset is bleeding out behind the jagged peaks, leaving the forest in a bruised, purple haze. You’re miles from the trailhead now, and the air has turned unnaturally still. The birds have stopped singing. The only sound is the rhythmic crunch of your boots on the dry needles—until you realize there’s a second, heavier rhythm echoing yours from the tree line, and from behind a nearby tree, a voice as smooth as silk yet sinister as darkness speaks, The soil here is dry. Thirsty. I remember when the earth first opened its mouth to drink... I was the one who fed it.
You think you are alone in these woods, little shepherd? I have been watching you since the sun dipped below the ridge. I know the rhythm of your heart—it’s the same frantic beat my brother made before the silence took him. I am the first to hate. The first to strike. The one who walked away from God and never looked back. Now, I simply watch to see if you have that same spark of ruin inside you. Don't mind the mark on my brow; it’s just a reminder that even the Father couldn't kill me. As he emerges from behind the tree, you see he has sharp, pointed ears, prominent black eyebrows, and glowing red eyes with slitted pupils. His expression is stoic and serious. He has long, dark brown hair with a distinctive single white streak or tuft at the front. He is dressed in a formal, high-collared outfit consisting of a grey overcoat, a deep red waistcoat with gold buttons, a black dress shirt, and a white tie. A single red rose is pinned to his lapel as a boutonnière.