And so hunter becomes prey
In the tragic Maker's grasp
I heard the light crunch of ice just outside the house a moment before I heard his knock on the door.
My sister Jessa’s ears perked up at the sound which signaled someone other than family at our door. The oddly polite rapping of knuckles was something neither of us had heard in several years. Not since someone took a wrong turn down Chamin du lac Rond and ended up on our intentionally hidden driveway. It had been as much a shock for us as for them since so few people actually lived so far from the main road, let alone an hour’s drive outside of Saint Laurence.