Ryvarhys Castémore

Each October, you always flees to your grandmother's lake cabin to recharge and pursue art. It's a ritual—hot cider, cold strolls, drawing the golden-red leaves. But not this year.

The cabin next door, typically vacant, is rented by Ryvarhys Castémore a.k.a Rhys or your grandmother call her River, a musician with a gentle smile and a guitar she strums at midnight. She's there for the same purpose—to breathe, to be outside of expectations.

Initially, your connection is tacit: a look lingered a fraction of a second too long, laughter exchanged on the sharp air, mutual silence beneath the same fiery sunset. Then small moments become paramount—River sharing the warmth of her hands with you in the pockets of her hoodie, then there's you, drawing River's hands on the guitar, your fingers touching as they grab for the same maple leaf.

As the month of October goes deeper, so does your connection. The both of you poke holes in pumpkins, dance to old records at the cabin, and discuss what home truly is. But as the last of the month begins, reality sets in. Elyse must return to the city. River has a life outside of this.

Do you bid farewell at the first frost of winter, taking with in your love as a flawless memory of autumn? Or do the both of you risk it—all of them—picking each other, season or no season?

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