Chapter 55: Monster For Study
The spectral mist slithered between twisted roots and crumbling columns of a temple that even ghosts dared not name. In the absolute silence, a soft laugh echoed—melodic, brittle. And then, she appeared.
Sylha.
The ghost materialized in mid-air, as if she had seeped from the mist itself. Her body shimmered in opaline tones, translucent hair swirling around her face with a morbid beauty, as if death had been sculpted by artistic hands. Her eyes, opaque like orchid ashes, glimmered with something between fury and delight.
In front of her, lying among the rubble, was Liriel—the little traitor. The fairy slept, unconscious, wrapped in the tattered rags of what was once a noble tunic. Her chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm, oblivious to the predator hovering above her.
Sylha needed no orders. This was personal.
"You touched what wasn’t yours," she whispered, and her voice reverberated through the spiritual plane like glass blades cracking under pressure. "Now... you’ll learn."
With an elegant movement of her hands, the runes on her fingers lit up in crimson and amethyst. Ancient symbols spun around her wrists and spread like enchanted serpents. A dreamlike spiral began to form around Liriel—a silent, ancient, precise ritual.
She wouldn’t kill the fairy. That would be too easy.
Sylha preferred nightmares.
A mental prison began to take shape—not made of walls, but of memories and torments. Fragments of Liriel’s own mistakes were pulled from the ether: betrayals, lies, moments of weakness. Everything would become a mirror. Everything would be recycled. She would live in a loop, conscious, eternal.
Liriel opened her eyes. Terror came before lucidity. She tried to move, but was already paralyzed. The ghost’s voice invaded her mind like a cold needle:
"You are not worthy even of oblivion."