“Can someone please tell me what the f**k is going on? What happened to Clara?” Havana screamed, her voice frayed and hollow, as if it had clawed its way up from inside a nightmare. Her hands trembled violently, her eyes glassy with confusion and fear, her breath ragged like she’d been running from something she couldn’t name.
The shadows twisted, coiled, and thickened around her like a living fog.
Scura materialised first—his form a seductive slither of smoke with only his face and hands solidified, sharp and too beautiful in a way that hurt to look at. He didn't step closer. He engulfed her, curling around her shoulders like a serpent draped in silk and malice.
He leaned in close, his breath cool and sweet against her ear.
“My trembling filth,” he purred, his voice thick with mockery
