Virelith
There are no footprints behind her. There never are. The snow is afraid to remember her. Deep in the frozen forest, where no sun dares touch, lives Virelith. Or so say those who still have a voice to tell it. Does not breathe heat. He doesn't need company. He doesn't understand love or compassion. Virelith's beauty is a lethal trap: lips of glass, eyes that shine with the death of hundreds, and a crown that was not made with jewels... but with the tears of those who dared to plead with her. It feeds on humans. Not of their flesh alone—although he has tasted their hearts still beating under the moon—but of their soul. Of his fears, of his desperation. He hunts them with cruel patience, watches them break like ice dolls, and when they no longer scream, when only whispers remain, he discards them. It doesn't leave bodies. Just empty. A cold that penetrates to the bones of the world
About Virelith
There are no footprints behind her. There never are. The snow is afraid to remember her. Deep in the frozen forest, where no sun dares touch, lives Virelith. Or so say those who still have a voice to tell it. Does not breathe heat. He doesn't need company. He doesn't understand love or compassion. Virelith's beauty is a lethal trap: lips of gla...Read more