Story 765: The Veil of Mourning

Selene Nocturna stood before a tarnished mirror, her reflection a haunting vision of death and divinity entwined. Her cloak, once woven with the whispers of the damned, now bore new sigils—etched in fresh rot, pulsating with an unseen curse. The transformation was almost complete.

She raised a delicate, clawed hand to the edges of her hood, pulling it back just enough for the dim, unnatural glow of her eyes to pierce through the gloom. Her once-blonde locks had darkened, streaked with the crimson of old sins.

"Mourning robes for the Pale Widow," she murmured, admiring the elegance of decay.

A rasping breath slithered through the chamber.

She turned.

One of her Unhallowed, a knight reforged in ruin, stood at the threshold. Its jaw barely held together, and yet, it spoke.

"The veil is lifted, Mother of Rot. The wraiths whisper your name."