Story 711: The Kiss of Rot

Kruger sat on the edge of the ruined barricade, wrapping a bloodied bandage around his forearm. The wound from Selene’s trap still burned, the infection spreading like fire beneath his skin. He knew it wasn’t ordinary decay—it was her venom, her alchemy.

"She’s playing with us," Sergeant Dorian muttered, pacing the broken cobblestone street. His eyes flickered with unease.

Kruger didn’t respond. He knew it too well.

The Pale Widow never attacked outright. She spread sickness through whispers, through slow death, through the mind. And now, she was getting bolder.

Then they heard it.

A soft knocking.

Three slow taps. Measured. Deliberate.

Kruger stood, gripping his blade, as Dorian cautiously approached the rotting wooden door of a nearby chapel. It hadn’t been there yesterday. He knew that for certain.

The knocking came again.

Then, a voice. Sweet, lilting. Amused.

"Knock, knock, little soldiers. Won’t you invite me in?"