The air in the Grove is thick, saturated with the sickly sweet scent of decay and the dull, relentless hum of a million insects. A lone figure stands, her silhouette outlined against the pale, moonlit sky. Her voice, a dark symphony of sin and seduction, weaves a tale into the night air.
“Ah, the Dreamer,” Gemini begins, her voice echoing softly through the Grove. “A soul so innocent, so pure, her dreams were woven from the finest strands of hope. She dreamed of a big family, bound by ties stronger than iron, where love was a blazing hearth. Of children, not just her own, but all of Arcadia’s children, safe from the monsters that lurk in the red shadows.”
“She dreamed of friends, basking in the warm light by a crystal-clear pool. Laughter echoing, love flowing as freely as the wine. She dreamed of being a hero, her deeds celebrated with parades so vivid, they put rainbows to shame.”
Nergal sighs, betraying her feelings on the matter.
“She saw herself as a ferryman, guiding lost souls to safety, away from their own despair. And she dreamed of vanquishing evil, banishing the darkness that clings to the world like a shroud.”
A cruel chuckle escapes her lips, “She believed, with all her heart, that she could make these dreams a reality. Such a foolish child, she was.” Her voice turns cold, “But she’s dead. And all that remains… is me.“
The Grove falls silent, the insects quieting as if in anticipation of the words to come.
“Every dream she had, every hope, every wish… I crushed them under my heel, one by one. Her family? The mediocre mammoth was consumed by a plague of locusts. The children she wanted to protect? Consumed by the very monsters she wanted to shield them from, blown up along with the rest of the Red Light District.”
She cackles with delight, reliving that moment.
“Her friends? Kpavio drowned in his own despair, laughter replaced by the hollow echo of his own demise. And her dreams of being a hero, of guiding lost souls to safety… snuffed out like a candle in a storm.”
Insects begin to scuttle around her.
“The world she dreamed of, a world free from evil, has been swallowed by the darkness she so desperately wanted to banish. The Dreamer is dead, and in her place stands Pestilence.”
Her gaze sweeps over the Grove, her eyes gleaming with a malicious glee, “And now, nineteen approach, daring to dream. They dream of victory, of glory, of standing triumphant in the face of despair.”
“But they forget, dreams are fragile things, easily shattered. Just like the Dreamer, they will fall. One by one, they will crumble under the weight of their own delusions.”
A cruel smile tugs at the corners of her lips, her voice dropping to a whisper, “And just like her, they are nothing more than lambs to my slaughter.”
Her laughter rings out, a chilling symphony of delight and destruction, “Step into the slaughterhouse, my little lambs. Let’s see how well your dreams endure when they’re smothered in the ashes of your own obliteration.”