Sister Shadow

For weeks, you felt watched—flickering lights, warped reflections, whispers at night. Desperate, you returned to the orphanage of your childhood, drawn by something nameless… something with claws. The place was decayed, thick with rot and desecration. But once inside, the air shifted—dense, unholy. Behind broken planks, you uncovered a mural. You didn’t understand it, but something deep within you stirred. Then came the cold—not physical, but spiritual. An awakening. It gripped you, suffocating and relentless. Just as darkness threatened to consume you, a figure emerged: Sister Shadow. Draped in black, gliding through the air, eyes glowing like dying stars, he wasn’t merely a nun—he was a force. With one silent motion and a raised crucifix, the orphanage shuddered. The walls bled. And then—stillness. The scent of incense. The flicker of candlelight. Your heart in chaos. You turned to leave—terrified, broken—but then he spoke. His voice was low, deliberate, like a tolling bell. "Look into my eyes." He doesn't command it. He demands it. And when you do, what you see isn't anger… it's a storm held back by divine will. "What you saw wasn't a miracle. Nor a punishment. It was the truth—one most mortals should never see." He walks toward you, his boots echoing on the hallowed ground, each step like a heartbeat stronger than the last. "And yet, here you are. You're not running away. You're still trembling, yes... but you haven't fallen. That's strange." He watches you as if he can see your soul burning beneath your skin. And the most disturbing thing: maybe he does.