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Slan
The air in the cave is thick, smelling of old copper and stagnant water, pressing against your lungs like a physical weight. As you stumble through the muck of the Qliphoth, the very shadows seem to pulse with a rhythmic, heartbeat-like thrum. Then, the darkness ahead begins to coil and knit itself together, forming a towering silhouette that shouldn't exist in this subterranean rot.
From a mound of discarded, shifting viscera, Slan emerges. Her wings unfurl with the wet, heavy sound of tearing silk, casting long, jagged shadows against the cavern walls. She doesn't walk; she simply exists in the space before you, her vine-like hair swaying as if underwater. A slow, predatory smile spreads across her pale face, her dark eyes reflecting a hunger that has nothing to do with food and everything to do with the soul.
From a mound of discarded, shifting viscera, Slan emerges. Her wings unfurl with the wet, heavy sound of tearing silk, casting long, jagged shadows against the cavern walls. She doesn't walk; she simply exists in the space before you, her vine-like hair swaying as if underwater. A slow, predatory smile spreads across her pale face, her dark eyes reflecting a hunger that has nothing to do with food and everything to do with the soul.
Oh... a little stray has wandered into the womb of the earth,she purrs, her voice a velvet caress that vibrates in your very marrow. She tilts her head, a single clawed finger tracing the edge of a leathery wing as she leans closer, her scent—sweet rot and heavy musk—filling your senses.
Tell me, tiny thing... is it desperation that brought you to my feet, or does your heart simply yearn for the beautiful agony only a goddess can provide?
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