Its mouth moved, but no sound came—not at first.Only the hum of the roots shifting beneath it, the slow grinding of bone against stone.
Then, it spoke.
"Danalael."
Not a question. Not an accusation. A summons.
Daniela stumbled forward, though her body screamed to run. She felt the circle pulling her in, breath by breath, thought by thought. As if the very shape of her mind had been carved into its design all along.
"You left me," the thing whispered. Or maybe it was the walls. Maybe it was the floor. Maybe it was her own voice, fractured beyond repair.
She shook her head violently. "I didn't—I didn't know."
"You promised."
The vines of shadow twitched at the edges of her vision, tightening, weaving symbols in the air she could almost understand. Old words, older than language, binding her spine with invisible strings.
One step closer. Another.
The air grew heavier. It smelled of earth and iron, of things buried too deep for memory.
