Story 793: The Feast of Decay

The candlelight in The Rotting Cathedral flickered, casting sickly shadows over the damp stone walls. The scent of decay was thick in the air—a mixture of damp earth, old parchment, and something far more putrid.

Selene Nocturna sat upon her high seat, a throne of bone and rusted iron, her lips curled into an almost serene smile. Her hood obscured most of her face, but the dark ichor staining her pale lips hinted at the feast she had just indulged in.

Before her, a body lay crumpled—a man who had once been a devoted priest, now nothing but a hollow husk. His skin had been drained of color, shriveled like old parchment, his mouth frozen in a scream that had never finished.

Selene sighed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"He was not enough," she muttered, her voice smooth yet filled with quiet hunger.