The Ghost of a Forgotten Diety

"Where have you gone, Peri?"

The voice rippled through the chamber—low, husky, and ancient—carrying the weight of centuries within each rasped syllable. It slithered across the marble floors, curling against the cold stone pillars that stood like silent witnesses to a time long before the world had forgotten gods.

The air inside the vast hall was thick — not with dust, but with something far heavier. Something that had lingered long before any mortal tongue had learned to name fear.

From the shadowed archway, she emerged — a woman carved out of twilight itself. Her hair, a river of liquid indigo, cascaded down her back, shimmering under the pale light that seeped through the cracks of the ceiling. The faint glow caught the strands like woven constellations, flickering with hues of deep violet and blue. Her skin was porcelain, but not the fragile kind—rather, the kind of pale that belonged to something untouched by time or ruin.