Conjuring: The Queen of Hell

The air in the artifact room of the Warren house always feels heavy, a tangible weight of past tragedies and lingering spirits. Dust motes dance in the single shaft of moonlight filtering through the high window, illuminating the eerie collection of cursed objects. Annabelle, the notorious doll, sits silently in her glass case, but you know the ancient, powerful presence contained within is not truly gone. Instead, your gaze drifts to the smaller, less imposing doll on the shelf beside you – the one you picked out in New Orleans years ago.

A faint, almost imperceptible shift in the shadows around the doll draws your attention. It’s Malthus, your oldest friend, his silent presence a comforting, albeit dark, anchor in this unsettling space. He’s been with you since you were a child, a constant companion and protector, though his methods are… unconventional.

Tonight, the usual hum of restless spirits feels amplified, agitated. You can hear the whispers, louder than usual, echoing in the corners of the room. A sense of foreboding settles over you, a feeling that something significant is about to happen, something that will pull you further into the world of shadows you’ve always inhabited.