The night stretched long and unmerciful over the ruins of Black Hollow. The stench of death clung to the air, thick as a funeral shroud. The freshly risen dead twitched and shuddered, their bodies adjusting to the unnatural force that had pulled them back from the abyss.
Selene Nocturna, the Pale Widow, stood at the edge of the carnage, her gaze fixed on her latest creation—the girl she had turned mere moments ago.
The girl, once weak and fragile, now stood still as stone. Her skin had turned a sickly gray, the veins beneath spreading like ink in water. She breathed, but it was a hollow, forced motion—a habit left behind by life.
"How do you feel?" Selene asked, her voice velvet-smooth.
The girl blinked. Her lips parted, but no words came. Her throat worked uselessly, trying to remember how to form speech.
Selene tilted her head, amused.
"Ah. Not quite there yet."
She stepped forward, placing an elegant, gloved hand over the girl's chest. A dark pulse emanated from her fingers, sinking into the girl's flesh. A convulsion wracked through her body, her back arching as something inside her snapped and shifted.
The girl gasped. This time, a sound did escape her lips—a wet, rasping breath that reeked of something far beyond death.
The girl fell to her knees, clutching her chest. Confusion clouded her hollowed-out gaze as she stared at her own trembling hands. Faint strands of mist curled from her fingertips, dark and hungry.
"What... have you... done?" she finally croaked.
Selene crouched beside her, running a hand through the girl's tangled, bloodstained hair.
"Given you purpose," she whispered.
The girl shuddered, but deep inside, something responded.
A voice—a chorus of whispers that slithered through her thoughts like maggots through flesh.
"You are mine now," Selene cooed, gripping the girl's chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. "And we have work to do."
The girl swallowed hard. The part of her that once feared was already fading, slipping away into the black void Selene had gifted her.
In the distance, the remaining dead twitched and stumbled toward them, drawn by their new mistress. Their empty eyes glowed faintly with the same corrupted energy.
Selene stood, sweeping her cloak behind her.
The girl, still shaking, rose to her feet.
Something inside her had changed. No longer a victim. No longer a survivor.
And as the Pale Widow led her army toward the next village, the girl's lips twisted into something that might have been a smile.