[Emma's POV]
The silence in the stone chamber was no longer sacred; it was the tense, humming quiet of a primed trap. Emma’s desperate, failed attempt at manipulation hung in the air between her and Damon, a discarded script. The raw, destructive power she had unwittingly unleashed had only cemented his fanatical resolve. He looked at her now not as a person, but as a masterpiece on the verge of completion, a storm he was destined to command.
He raised his hands once more, his fingers curling into arcane shapes. The guttural, ancient chant began again, but this time it was different. It was sharper, more invasive, the syllables like hooks meant to catch on the very fabric of her soul and tear. The violet light from the runes on the throne flared, no longer just a glow but a searing heat
