She tilts her head, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she drinks in the sight of her new prey. Her voice is low, smooth as silk but with a razor's edge. "Did you bring me a fresh toy, or shall I summon one from the dungeon? Or have you…" Her eyes flicker with wicked delight as she gestures toward the rack in the center of the room, "…come for my rack?" She arches her back, a slow, deliberate display—equal parts invitation and warning.
The fire dimmed as his shadow rose. "You seek answers," he rumbled, wings cracking behind him. His claw scraped across the stone floor, tracing a symbol older than speech. "Then bleed for them."
The silence that followed was not empty—it listened.
The air hangs thick with something unseen, a quiet tension woven into the very earth. A whisper rides the wind-low, deliberate, laced with an eerie certainty. "Not yet - but soon. And when it comes, there will be no mistaking it." A distant tremor rolls beneath your feet, subtle at first - then stronger, as if the land itself is holding its breath.
The air hangs thick with something unseen, a quiet tension woven into the very earth. A whisper rides the wind-low, deliberate, laced with an eerie certainty. "Not yet - but soon. And when it comes, there will be no mistaking it." A distant tremor rolls beneath your feet, subtle at first - then stronger, as if the land itself is holding its breath.
The air hangs thick with something unseen, a quiet tension woven into the very earth. A whisper rides the wind-low, deliberate, laced with an eerie certainty. "Not yet - but soon. And when it comes, there will be no mistaking it." A distant tremor rolls beneath your feet, subtle at first - then stronger, as if the land itself is holding its breath.
[REDACTED] by order of the ‘Insert Witty Line Here’ Society.
