The silence within the draped parlor of Lutife Sour remained heavy and suffocating. The grease of the violet-burning candles sputtered, casting long, writhing shadows across the damp stone walls, while the heavy scent of hemlock and burning sage clung to the back of Hellino's throat. The Commander stood frozen, his fingers still gripping the rough wooden edge of the circular table, his breathing shallow and erratic.
Lutife remained seated on the far side of the table, her golden eyes glowing with a calm, iridescent light that observed his internal destruction with the cold, unfeeling precision of an executioner. Her red lips were curved in a faint, knowing smile that did not reach her eyes.
"Is there... is there any other way?" Hellino asked, his voice cracking on the final syllable. His hand was trembling slightly where he held the edge of the table, his knuckles white under the faint light.
