Nothing else mattered. Not the shadows closing in around him, not the fact that it was the witching hour, not the dread sinking into his bones like ice. His only thought was the rose-blushed moon rising before him. The spectral allure of a goddess so powerful, she shifted tides and caused night madness. Only she mattered, and only she would command his next actions, though the night drew deep around him. Calamity or serenity; horror or platonic peace; inferno or the frigid chill of death. Whatever she chose would be his fate, and so he waited. The rest was silence.
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