Story 792: The Rotting Process

The night stretched long and unmerciful over the ruins of Black Hollow. The stench of death clung to the air, thick as a funeral shroud. The freshly risen dead twitched and shuddered, their bodies adjusting to the unnatural force that had pulled them back from the abyss.

Selene Nocturna, the Pale Widow, stood at the edge of the carnage, her gaze fixed on her latest creation—the girl she had turned mere moments ago.

The girl, once weak and fragile, now stood still as stone. Her skin had turned a sickly gray, the veins beneath spreading like ink in water. She breathed, but it was a hollow, forced motion—a habit left behind by life.

"How do you feel?" Selene asked, her voice velvet-smooth.

The girl blinked. Her lips parted, but no words came. Her throat worked uselessly, trying to remember how to form speech.

Selene tilted her head, amused.

"Ah. Not quite there yet."