The silence after the slaughter was almost sacred. The village of Black Hollow had been reduced to a rotting corpse, its streets littered with the mangled remains of its people. Selene Nocturna stood at the heart of it all, her black lips curling into something between amusement and hunger.
The Pale Widow had done this before. Many times. But tonight, she was in a mood for something more... intimate.
She walked through the wreckage with the grace of a queen surveying her kingdom. Flickering green light danced across her skin, a soft necrotic glow leaking from the wounds of the dead. Their souls had not yet fled—she had made certain of that.
A single survivor remained.
A young woman, no older than twenty winters, crawled toward the remnants of a burning home. Her skin was pale with terror, streaked with ash and blood. She had hidden beneath the bodies of her family, pretending to be dead. But Selene had always known.
"You poor thing," the necromancer whispered.
The girl gasped, scrambling backward on shaking limbs. Her voice was gone—stolen by fear.
Selene crouched beside her, tilting her head. The Pale Widow's eyes shimmered in the darkness, not human, but something deeper—endless pits where suffering and pleasure entwined.
"Does it hurt?" she murmured, brushing the girl's cheek with gloved fingers. The touch sent a sickly warmth through the girl's body, her skin prickling as unseen magic seeped into her veins.
She reached into the folds of her cloak, withdrawing a small vial of sickly green liquid. The alchemical mixture inside swirled and pulsed, almost alive.
"I have use for you, little one."
With a swift motion, she uncorked the vial and forced it against the girl's lips. The survivor struggled, thrashing, choking, her body convulsing as the poison burned through her.
Selene held her in a lover's embrace, whispering dark lullabies into her ear.
The girl's screams faded into gurgled gasps. Her veins darkened, black tendrils spreading beneath her skin like roots of a dying tree. Her eyes rolled back, then snapped open—now empty, clouded with death.
Selene exhaled, pressing a gentle kiss to the girl's forehead.
A new daughter, another whispering specter in Selene's growing legion.
The Pale Widow turned toward the distant horizon, where the next village still slept, blissfully unaware. Her hunger was not yet sated.
"Come, my dear," she cooed to her new creation. "We have more work to do."
The dead followed in silence.