773: Story 773: The Hollow Gift 773: Story 773: The Hollow Gift Selene Nocturna stood in the dim glow of candlelight, her gloved fingers curling around a small blackened box.
The lid was scratched with cryptic etchings, remnants of an ancient dialect long forgotten by mortal tongues.
The air around it vibrated with an ominous hum, a whispering presence curling through the dust-laden chamber.
She tilted her head, her bloodstained lips twitching into sothing resembling a smile.
This was no re trinket.
This was a curse made manifest, a relic woven with the screams of those long buried beneath the bones of Vareth.
“A gift,” she mused, her voice soft yet laced with venom.
The Rotting Cathedral’s throne hall stood in eerie silence.
The ruined banners of the city’s fallen clergy still draped from the rafters, their sacred symbols now defiled, painted over with sigils of decay and tornt.
At her feet, a groveling figure twitched—one of the king’s captured knights, his armor now rusted from the necrotic fus that had eaten through the city’s defenses.
His eyes, wide and glassy, flickered between the box and the Pale Widow’s face.
He could feel it—its pull, its wretched promise.
“Do you know what this is?” Selene whispered, kneeling beside him.
She tilted the box toward his trembling face, letting him gaze into its abyssal depths.
A dull red glow pulsed within.
The knight shuddered violently.
His breath hitched as sothing inside the box stirred, unseen hands brushing against his very soul.
“It calls to you.” Selene tilted her head, watching his reaction with cold amusent.
“It knows your na.
It knows your sins.”
His lips quivered, but no sound ca.
Selene sighed.
She had hoped he would at least attempt to beg.
The broken ones were never any fun.
With a flick of her wrist, she opened the box.
The chamber’s candles flickered violently, their flas stretching unnaturally before snuffing out entirely.
A sudden, wretched gasp filled the air as the knight’s body arched backward, his mouth stretching open in a soundless scream.
His shadow convulsed, twisting into sothing no longer human—sothing grinning.
Selene rely watched as the knight collapsed, his breath rattling as the final shreds of his soul were devoured by the curse.
A mont passed.
Then, the body twitched.
Slowly, it rose.
A grotesque gurgling laughter spilled from the knight’s lips.
His movents were jerky, unnatural, like a puppet dangling from invisible strings.
Selene’s smirk widened.
“Good boy.” She leaned in, whispering softly against his ear.
“Now, take my gift to your king.”
The cursed knight turned, shambling toward the palace.
In her hands, the blackened box pulsed once more.
The Pale Widow laughed.
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