In the heart of an ancient, crumbling mansion, the pendulum swung with an ominous rhythm, casting long, twisted shadows that danced upon the cold stone floor. The air was thick with the stench of decay and the silence was heavy, broken only by the distant howl of the wind outside. The occultist, clad in robes stained with the blood of forbidden sacrifices, watched with rapt attention as the pendulum’s arc grew wider, each whispering swing drawing him deeper into the abyss.
His heart raced as the first fragment of the dark verse reached his ears, a seductive whisper that promised power beyond his wildest dreams. He felt the heat of desire building within him, a fire that threatened to consume him whole. His breath came in ragged gasps as the pendulum continued its hypnotic dance, the whispers growing louder with each swing.
Suddenly, the shadows at the edge of the room shifted, and a figure emerged, shrouded in darkness. It was a woman, her form as ethereal as the shadows that surrounded her. Her eyes glowed with an otherworldly light and her lips were swollen, a moonlit scythe.
I have to say that is a pretty picture first. This short but it hits. I like it.
Thank you, Fia. The dark is a silent breed, never to be domesticated.