Elara hadn’t moved the mouse, but the white arrow drifted slowly toward the wolf’s blue eye. She reached for the peripheral, thinking the sensor was dusty, but her hand froze. Inside the reflection of that digital blue eye, she saw a tiny, pixelated version of her own living room.
The wolf didn’t just look at her; it looked through her. Its face filled the entire monitor, every silver hair rendered with such precision that she felt she could count the life stories etched into its fur. One eye was a piercing, crystalline blue, like a frozen lake under a winter sun. The other was a deep, burnt amber, swirling with the heat of a dying campfire.
By the time the monitor went into sleep mode, the chair was empty. On the desk sat a single, glowing snowflake, and on the screen, if anyone had been there to see it, the wolf was no longer alone. A small, dark figure was reflected in its amber eye, trekking forever into the digital pines.
Elara tried to look away, but the 4K gaze held her fast. The wolf wasn't just a wallpaper anymore. It was a window. And on the other side, the Great Grey was tired of being watched.
The wolf in the monitor opened its mouth, revealing teeth like polished ivory. But it wasn't a bite she felt. It was a pull. The resolution of her own world seemed to blur, losing its sharpness, while the forest behind the wolf grew more vivid, more real, more inviting.
She saw her bookshelf. She saw her messy desk. And she saw herself, sitting in her chair, staring at the screen.
It didn't melt. It was a perfect, cold hexagon of white light.