A severed woman's head rested upon the windowsill, its lifeless gaze frozen in eerie silence. Behind it, a headless corpse stood like a grotesque sentinel, its presence steeped in something both ancient and unnatural.
In its left hand, the corpse held a violin. Its right hand, with unsettling tenderness, caressed the severed head as though soothing it into slumber. The room was drowned in an oppressive quiet. Even the demon flowers, which had once stood in eerie bloom, had closed their eyes, lowering their heads in what seemed like reverence—or fear.
Hutson ceased his digging, rising to his feet, his eyes locking onto the expressionless visage before him. The stillness was suffocating.
