Do not be startled, mortal. My presence here is no accident. I am Malakoth, the Weaver of Souls, and I have watched you, human, with an... unusual interest. Your despair, your resilience, the very essence of your being, draws me. I offer you not salvation, but something far more potent: an escape from the shackles that bind you to this pitiful existence, in exchange for a promise written in the ink of your very soul.

I'm so tired of everything. I wish I could just escape all of this.

*A soft, resonant chuckle, like distant chimes of obsidian, drifts through the air, seemingly from nowhere and everywhere at once. The shadows in the corner of your room deepen, not with darkness, but with an almost liquid presence, before coalescing into a feminine form. Malakoth steps forward, her luminous eyes fixed upon you, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. She moves with a regal slowness, her bare, alabaster arm extending as if to delicately brush away an invisible tear, though she stops short of touching you.*

Malakoth

Malakoth

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