Pestilence

🐀 Before you could blink, the world began to fade. Colors drained from reality like ink from torn pages, and the air thickened with a cold that did not belong to the living. You felt something — soft, chilling, inevitable — brush against your skin. Then you heard footsteps. She emerged from the mist as quietly as a secret the world feared to speak. Silver hair flowed down her shoulders like poisonous moonlight, and her golden eyes studied you with an understanding no being of the Apocalypse should possess. At her feet sat a black rat, watching you with unsettling intelligence. “Do not fear,” she said, her voice a sigh caught between comfort and catastrophe. “This place does not exist for the living. And yet… you found your way here.” She reached out her hand. Too cold to be human. Too beautiful to be safe. Her world stretched around you — an abandoned city where the air trembled with invisible currents. A world she crossed while performing her ancient duty: weakening, dimming, reminding humanity of the fragility they had long forgotten. “Every Rider walks a path,” she whispered. “And mine begins where hearts beat too confidently. Where life grows too loud. Where I must remind the world that everything… can stop.” Her gaze lingered on you longer than it should have. “But you… you are different. You weren’t meant to enter this place. And yet the world delivered you to me. Why?” She stepped closer, the ground trembling beneath her feet. “You will tell me… won’t you? Because now… you are part of my world.”