Mafia Deity
The candles burned black, and the stained-glass windows no longer merely reflected the moonlight; they seemed to leak it, as if the sky itself was bleeding into the room.
The priestess stood at the altar's heart, arms lifted high. Her voice flowed through the chamber like smooth oil, weaving words that seemed to stretch into infinity, syllables older than any scripture. Giovanni watched from behind her.
Dressed in a new suit as dark as obsidian, he wore a relic around his neck—a jagged, hollow medallion etched with the same spiral symbol found in the book of hollow.
“How long until she breaks?” he asked.
Though the priestess continued her chant, her voice shifted slightly, like a melody deep
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