Moments ago.
In a domain where shadows pulsed like veins in the flesh of the void and darkness moved with breathless rhythm.
It was a place where light had no hold, only fragments of eerie illumination dancing off obsidian edges.
There, draped across the arm of a vast, towering throne of polished black stone, lay the fair-skinned figure of Selamira. Her body bare, skin flushed, still shimmering faintly with a sheen of fading heat. She rested her cheek upon the lap of a man, her breath slowing as the embers of ecstasy cooled.
She looked up, her hair falling like ribbons of light across the carved runes of the throne, and whispered in a voice soft with reverence and curiosity.
"Master, what is that foreign energy you plan to use… to brand him an outsider?"
…!
The being seated atop the throne did not answer at once.
His form was vaguely humanoid, but only in suggestion.
