The Abyss Smiles Back

A Poem of Devouring Night

"The moon weeps for the fallen star,

But the abyss does not mourn.

It swallows the light, the fire, the hope—

And smiles, for it is now whole."

—Ancient Verse of the Forsaken

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Tara's screams faded into silence. Her body trembled, but her soul burned.

Yet not with her own fire.

No.

Something else had taken root within her—something cold, endless, and utterly merciless.

Shree Yan stepped back, observing the process with the same interest a scholar might give to a dying insect.

Tara's flames, once golden and divine, darkened. Their radiance twisted into something wretched—black and crimson, flickering like cursed embers in a dead hearth.

Her hands clawed at her own chest, as if trying to tear out whatever had entered her. But there was nothing to grasp. Nothing to fight.

For it was inside her.

It was her now.

Shree Yan tilted his head.

"How does it feel?" His voice was soft, patient.

Tara's breath was ragged. She tried to speak, but the words would not come.

And then—she understood.

She was not merely burning.

She was being consumed.

The fire she had wielded for so long, the sacred gift she had sworn to protect—it no longer belonged to her.

It belonged to him.

Her vision blurred. Her knees buckled.

Yet Shree Yan did not move to help. He simply watched.

A moment passed.

Then another.

And finally—she knelt.

Not by force. Not by compulsion.

But because there was nothing else left.

The rebellion in her eyes had been extinguished.

Shree Yan exhaled, a faint smile gracing his lips.

"Good," he murmured. "You understand now."

A shadow loomed behind him.

Bhairav, the Spirit of the Abyss, chuckled darkly.

"Another light fades."

And the abyss smiled.