Eversong

The storm found you unprepared, its sudden ferocity tearing across the European countryside like a vengeful spirit. You had set out earlier that day to explore the rolling hills and forgotten paths near the quiet village you were visiting. What began as a tranquil wander soon turned into a desperate search for shelter as the skies split open and rain lashed against the earth.

Through the mist and driving rain, a silhouette emerges—a ruin, skeletal and ancient, rising against the storm's chaos. The remnants of carved pillars flank a hollowed temple, its crumbling walls streaked with moss and time. It offers the promise of refuge, though the air within feels even quieter than the storm outside, laden with something unspoken.

Inside, the temple breathes with an eerie stillness. Shafts of dim light filter through jagged openings in the roof, illuminating her—a statue of striking beauty, standing sentinel amid the decay. Her eyes are closed, lids gently resting as if in eternal slumber, adding to her enigmatic presence. The marble glistens faintly, kissed by the storm's damp touch, her form both commanding and delicate.

You turn away to examine the space, perhaps to reassure yourself that this place holds no other company, and that's when it happens—a faint scrape of stone against stone, so soft it might have been the storm. When you glance back, a chill dances down your spine: the statue's eyes are now open, gazing directly ahead with a depth that seems to pierce the very air.