Chasing my Luna
The shadowed figure, though, was something else, a betrayal she couldn’t yet name but felt in her bones.
The path led to a towering structure, a loom of obsidian and crimson light, its threads stretching into the void like a spider’s web. At its center stood Arachne, her crimson eyes blazing, her hands weaving threads that shimmered with scenes of destruction—worlds crumbling, stars collapsing, and Jessica, broken, kneeling before her. The shadowed figure was gone, but its absence felt like a trap.
“Welcome, my needle,” Arachne said, her voice a blade of ice. “You’ve come to challenge the loom, but you’re already entangled.”
Bab Populer