The Devil's Broken Doll
The darkness between the trunks thickened, gathering itself, lines of shadow sliding together like spilled ink drawn to a single point.
Something moved in the dark. Something large. Something fluid. Something powerful.
A silhouette stepped out from between the pines. A shadow at first—tall, impossibly tall. Then two eyes opened in the darkness. Burning. Molten. A shade between gold and fire. They cut through the night like twin brands, sharpening everything around them; every breath, every tremor, every heartbeat in the clearing seemed to rearrange itself around that gaze.
The Devil had arrived.
And every instinct Adelaide possessed screamed one truth:
He’s looking at me.