Chapter 34: Is there Calm in the abyss?
Azareel sat by a shallow pool near the garden’s edge, where Sylvara’s vines thinned and the moss gave way to cracked stone, the Abyss’s chill seeping back in like a forgotten whisper.
He dipped his fingers into the water, watching ripples scatter the faint reflection of his berry-stained face, the surface shimmering with a glow that wasn’t quite natural.
The air here was cooler, less cloying, carrying the distant drip of the Bone Ceiling rather than the garden’s sweet hum.
"You do realize," came a breathy voice behind him, soft as mist rolling over glass, "most creatures here drink blood, not springwater."
Azareel didn’t jump.
He turned with a gentle smile, his silver-white hair catching the faint light, his silver eyes, warm and unstartled. "Hello, Virelya."
The coils came first—slow, sinuous, white as pearl and veined faintly like ancient parchment, gliding across the moss with eerie grace.
They encircled him without touching, a barrier of silk and shadow.
Then her upper half emerged, veils drifting like fog, her damp black hair clinging to her pale skin, her golden, slit-pupiled eyes peering from beneath her cracked porcelain mask, glinting with a mix of curiosity and menace.
She lowered herself beside him, not quite sitting, not quite standing—just hovering, suspended on her own coils like a drifting thought, her presence a cool contrast to the pool’s subtle warmth.
"You’re alone," she observed, her voice a low hum.
"I guess I am," Azareel said softly, his fingers trailing circles in the water.