Member-only story
Fiction
Callous
There was no place for sentiment
In the dying embers of twilight, Seraphina walked the crumbling path of the forsaken monastery. Its stone walls, cold and callous, whispered forgotten tales of faith and betrayal.
Once, hymns of devotion filled this sacred space; now, silence reigned, fractured only by the mutterings of wind through stone.
She pressed on, ignoring the biting wind that tasted of sorrow. The sigils carved deep into the walls glistened with light, thrumming in sync with the pulse in her ears.
Every step resonated with the ghosts of those who once worshipped here. Memories of laughter and warmth clawed at her mind, but she shrugged them off.
There was no place for sentiment; only the unyielding call of vengeance. Time had made her callous, stripping away kindness and leaving raw purpose.
The altar loomed before her, an blackened shadow veined with the blood of past sacrifices. It called to her, a promise and a warning intertwined. The darkness within stirred, restless and eager, waiting for the command that would unleash it upon those who had made her this way.
Seraphina took a breath, not of hesitation, but resolve. The time for mercy was long past. Now was the time of initiative.
