Whispers Of My Incubus Guardian
With the same detached air, she pulled out something small, wrapped in black cloth.
The cloth was simple, but the way she held it with such care made me wonder what it concealed. She extended her hand toward me, and without a word, she pressed it into my palm.
I unwrapped it with a slow, deliberate motion, feeling the texture of the cloth against my fingertips. Inside, nestled carefully against the fabric, was a pendant. It was unlike anything I had ever seen.
The design was intricate, swirling—obsidian and silver interwoven in an endless pattern that seemed to move, shift, and pulse, as though it were alive. The dim light in the room reflected off it, making the pendant glow with a faint, o
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