AylaThe sky is red.Not sunset red, not the warm hue of dusk. It’s bleeding. A deep, oozing red that spills across the clouds like an open wound. The moon hangs too low, too big, glowing a heavy silver that thuds in the air with every pulse. I feel it in my ribs.I’m walking barefoot on a carpet of thorns. Each step bites into my skin, but I don’t bleed. My dress is made of ash, shifting and crumbling with every movement, smoky threads trailing behind me like ghosts. Around me, the crowd stands silent; faceless and motionless. Their eyes shine like mirrors, blank and unblinking.At the end of the hall, he waits.Alpha Lugh.He stands tall in the centre of the altar, surrounded by dying roses that grow from cracks in the stone floor. They wilt as I pass, petals dropping one by one like they’re bowing to him. He wears black, as always. But now, it’s not fabric: it’s smoke. His cloak moves like mist and shadows. His eyes burn gold, and they are colder than the moon.I reach out to him.
Last Updated : 2025-05-29 Read more