The wind tore across the Unplace, shrieking with the pitch of wolves being skinned alive -raw, flayed agony that filled the air with sound too sharp for ears to bear. It didn’t blow from any single direction. It surged from everywhere, as if the world itself were exhaling its final breath. With each gust, the fabric of this place shifted, the ground flickering between polished bone, rusted mirrors, and cracked obsidian that reflected nothing.Evangeline staggered forward, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts, her eyes narrow against the onslaught. The world stank of iron and ozone, and beneath that - something older, more intimate. The scent of forgotten blood and the tang of stolen memory. Her boots struck a surface that was not earth, not stone, but something smooth and chill—like skin that had long since turned cold. Every step echoed like a heartbeat left behind.To her left, Emma muttered under her breath, her voice thin and failing. The incantations Evangeline taught her
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