The air was dark. This place—her homeland—was supposed to be serene, beautiful. The towering spires of magicwood and stone should have shimmered under the twin moons. The air should have been crisp and pure. The elven guards should have stood tall, clad in silver armor, their emblems gleaming with pride. But they did not.
They were grotesque. Their once-elegant forms were now twisted abominations, monstrous shapes that would make even demons recoil in horror. Their faces were warped, their bodies wreathed in corruption—defiled, cursed beyond recognition. And the world around her was wrong. The rivers did not flow with crystal-clear water but pulsed with blood. The castle walls were not built of stone but stitched from human skin. The ground itself was alive, shifting beneath her feet, hundreds of unblinking eyes embedded in its flesh.
