Despite being crucified, Arachne was still breathing, albeit faintly. Each rise and fall of her chest was shallow, strained against the nails that held her in place. The sound of her breath was little more than a rasp, yet it was enough to confirm she clung to life.
Adam gritted his teeth, his jaw tight enough to ache. His fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms as his body trembled. He had expected torment, had braced himself for cruelty, but the sight before him clawed deeper than he could have prepared for.
"Arachne," he whispered again, the name tasting like ash on his tongue.
Her head tilted weakly, dark strands of hair falling away to reveal her half-lidded eyes. They shifted, sluggish but deliberate, until they landed on him. For a fleeting moment, her cracked lips curled upward, the barest shadow of a smile. Then her body shuddered as one of the black nails pulsed, drawing more ichor from her wounds.
