Cecilion couldn't tear his eyes away from the woman.
She stood there, the same woman he'd seen outside the door before everything turned to darkness.
His heart pounded as his gaze fixed on her. The forest around him had fallen into an eerie stillness, and the thick air seemed to close in, trapping him in the oppressive quiet.
The woman, draped in shadows, didn't move. Her face, partially obscured by dark strands of tangled hair, was emotionless, but her eyes, Cecilion can finally see them even from a distance—those eyes—they burned through the gloom like twin, unblinking stars.
Cecilion's pulse quickened as the masked figures began to gather around her. More figures, draped in long, tattered cloaks, appeared from the trees like ghosts. Their masks were different yet still grotesque, twisted, deer-like shapes that seemed to mock the very essence of life itself. They circled the woman with reverence, as if they were preparing for some kind of ritual.
