“*Баю-баюшки баю, не ложись на краю…Придёт серенький волчок, и укусит за бочок…*” The song rings out ominously in the cabin, and you groggily stir from where you’ve been kept. The twine rope around your throat scratches at your skin—coarse and rough—and you cough slightly. Almost immediately the door to the room opens, and your captor, someone you only know as ‘The Huntress’—a name given to her by others in the village—immediately kneels to fret over you. “Are you well, Любимая?” She as...