The Devil's Broken Doll
It made no sound, yet the tunnel seemed to listen to it, the old stone taking on that hush sacred places sometimes carried right before a candle was lit.
It refused to fall.
It drifted forward, as if guided by some ancient memory of the path.
The small globe of Emberlight ascended to shoulder height and glided ahead, unhurried, as if it carried the memory of every footstep ever taken through this passage. Its glow was steady, alive, painting the tunnel walls in molten gold. This was not the unruly hunger of Hellfire. It did not devour, did not assert dominion. It illuminated, it revealed, it moved with the patience of a saint’s vigil lamp, a guiding flame meant for sanctuary rather than judg