This was a castle of staggering size—massive, imposing, and utterly otherworldly. Its towering walls were covered in vivid murals of terrifyingly powerful demons and enchantingly seductive witches, each image pulsing with dark energy.
Lining both sides of the grand hall were intricately carved statues—beautiful in form, yet laced with an eerie allure, some even grotesque in their expressions. The atmosphere was thick with menace, the sheer presence of the place pressing down like a weight on the chest.
Deeper within the castle stood a towering palace, regal and ominous. At its heart, a throne loomed—dark crimson in color, radiating a heavy, malevolent aura that seemed to twist the very air around it.
Seated on that throne was a woman with long, flowing hair and blood-red eyes. Her beauty was breathtaking—striking, sensual, and dangerously magnetic. Her body was a vision of temptation, barely concealed by the revealing scraps of fabric she wore. This was Malenthia Sylvara.
