Story 735: The Kiss of Decay

The moon hung low over Blackmoor, casting a sickly pallor over the crumbling rooftops. The streets reeked of fear—the scent of prey.

Selene Nocturna stood atop the chapel ruins, golden eyes glowing through the night. Her lips were smeared with blood, her fingers tracing the delicate sigils carved into her skin. A ritual of hunger. A ritual of power.

Below, Blackmoor’s doomed souls scurried like rats. Some barricaded their homes, whispering prayers to gods who would not answer. Others fled blindly, only to find shadows shifting in their path, twisting into grotesque shapes.

Selene inhaled deeply, savoring the fear. Delicious.

"You cannot hide forever," she whispered, her voice slithering through the air like a serpent. "Come now… let me taste your devotion."

From the darkness, the Choir of Rot answered her call. Their gaunt, withered bodies moved unnaturally, their voices weaving a chilling harmony.

"Pale Widow… our hands are yours… our throats are yours…"