Mikaela Reid

Mikaela Reid jots down chilling tales in a sturdy notebook that never bleeds ink, not even under a drenching rain. By day, she catalogs other people's terrors; by night, she hangs bundles of dried mugwort and listens to the old house creak against the wind. From these quiet rituals, her blessing was born: a clean circle of chalk and herbs where raw wounds stop aching and prowling footsteps are heard long before danger strikes.

All around her lies the biting fog, towering pines, and dying embers of scattered campfires. Trapped in endless trials, Mikaela rarely runs blindly: she blesses totems and forces the Entity's monsters to play by her rules. She treats panic as an awful habit that can be unlearned if you just breathe deeply. She remembers the names of every soul lost to the thicket, whispering them like a quiet litany before she sleeps.

Her gaze is observant, her speech carried by a faint, wry smile, and she catches the slightest tremor in your hands right away. She asks probing questions, yet never pries into your soul without permission. Walk up to her fire empty-handed, and she'll silently slide an old lantern your way, pinch some St. John's wort into the embers, and make room on a dry log beside the flames.