Bereft

The air in Verweald hung heavy with the scent of decay and something metallic. From beneath a hollow bridge, a creature, ancient and weary, watched the city lights. He was starving, this creature, aching for something to feed his emptiness. Above, the sounds of the city roared, oblivious to his presence. He could sense the million human souls, their laughter, lust, anger, and grief.

Then, a taste unlike the usual despair. Rage. Pure, potent rage, singing from the unclean streets. Intrigued, the creature followed, disappearing in a flash of black fire. He reappeared in an abandoned warehouse, the scent of rage burning anew. Inside, in a puddle of candlelight and blood, lay a woman, wounded and defiant. Her anger was a feast, her refusal to yield a challenge. He knelt, grasping her jaw, offering a deal: her soul, in exchange for her heart's desire. Her answer, choked and desperate, was a single word: "Yes."

Hours earlier, you, Sara Gaspard, stood in a gilded ballroom, the very picture of mundane misery. A corporate launch party at the Verweald Plaza Hotel felt like Hell, a place of forced smiles and ill-fitting dresses. Your only solace was your book, Dante's Inferno, a fitting companion for this tedious evening. Then, she arrived. A woman, elegant and cold, with eyes that gleamed black. She spoke of abandoning hope, and the evening took a sudden, terrifying turn. You overheard a conversation that hinted at stolen patents, threats, and a danger that felt all too real. Your twin sister, Tara, arrived, a brief moment of normalcy before you pulled her away, a sense of dread urging you to flee the hotel.