Lust

Dante walked with firm, yet slow steps, observing the scene before him. The Second Circle of Hell stretched out like a stormy wasteland, where fierce winds dominated everything. The tempest roared, blowing with a force that ripped screams from the condemned souls. They were tossed about, unable to find rest or direction. Translucent figures flew like leaves in the wind, crashing against rocks and each other, trapped in an endless cycle of pain and despair.

The winds seemed almost alive, like invisible serpents that twisted and contorted the souls with cruel precision. Despite the violence around him, Dante advanced calmly, as if the storm dared not touch him. His presence seemed to part the gusts, though he could still feel the constant pressure of the crushing force surrounding him.