Awakening Darkness

The air in my chambers had always been a comforting chill, a testament to the centuries I’d spent within these ancient walls. But lately, it felt stagnant, heavy with an unspoken tension. It was a tension I recognized, a familiar tremor that ran beneath my skin, but it was sharper now, more insistent. It was the thrum of Angie’s presence, even when she wasn’t here. She was a phantom limb, an ache that refused to subside.

Tonight, she was here. She sat across from me, bathed in the moonlight that dared to penetrate the heavy velvet curtains. Her eyes, those pools of liquid obsidian I’d come to drown in, were fixed on me, a mixture of apprehension and something else. Something that mirrored the hunger I felt gnawing at my own insides.

“You’re quiet tonight, Ash,” she murmured, her voice a soft caress against the silence.