Two friends go for a walk
Virgilius
The Soulfire in the Woods
The moon was swollen that night, pale and watchful above the skeletal trees. Between their withered trunks, a violet figure drifted—Wraith Devout Faye of the Undying Chill. Her hood shadowed a face of bone, and from the hollow sockets of her skull gleamed two cruel lights, yellow as lanterns burning low.
In her hand burned the Soulfire: an orb of smoldering orange, a prison of countless whispers. Each flame flicker carried a voice begging to be released, but Faye’s skeletal grin only widened as she drank in their torment.
Padding silently at her side came her companion—a zombie cat. Its body was a patchwork of bone and rotting fur, its eyes glowing red, its purr a rasping growl. The beast had once been her pet in life; now, it was her sentinel in death, bound by her cruel devotion.
The woods recoiled at her passing. Mist twisted, runes carved into tree bark glowed faintly blue, as if warning of her approach. She relished the fear—they could sense what was coming.
For Faye was not simply wandering. She was hunting. Each night she sought a new soul to feed the orb, to stoke the Undying Chill that flowed through her bones. Where she walked, the air turned colder, the silence deeper. And when she finally found her prey, the Soulfire blazed, and the screams of the living were added to her eternal flame.
She laughed then, a hollow sound that rattled the branches, and the zombie cat hissed in chorus. Together they moved on, into the next village, into the next dream, into the next shadow.
The Fey Woods would never forget her name.
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Two friends go for a walk
Virgilius
The Soulfire in the Woods
The moon was swollen that night, pale and watchful above the skeletal trees. Between their withered trunks, a violet figure drifted—Wraith Devout Faye of the Undying Chill. Her hood shadowed a face of bone, and from the hollow sockets of her skull gleamed two cruel lights, yellow as lanterns burning low.
In her hand burned the Soulfire: an orb of smoldering orange, a prison of countless whispers. Each flame flicker carried a voice begging to be released, but Faye’s skeletal grin only widened as she drank in their torment.
Padding silently at her side came her companion—a zombie cat. Its body was a patchwork of bone and rotting fur, its eyes glowing red, its purr a rasping growl. The beast had once been her pet in life; now, it was her sentinel in death, bound by her cruel devotion.
The woods recoiled at her passing. Mist twisted, runes carved into tree bark glowed faintly blue, as if warning of her approach. She relished the fear—they could sense what was coming.
For Faye was not simply wandering. She was hunting. Each night she sought a new soul to feed the orb, to stoke the Undying Chill that flowed through her bones. Where she walked, the air turned colder, the silence deeper. And when she finally found her prey, the Soulfire blazed, and the screams of the living were added to her eternal flame.
She laughed then, a hollow sound that rattled the branches, and the zombie cat hissed in chorus. Together they moved on, into the next village, into the next dream, into the next shadow.
The Fey Woods would never forget her name.
