A Darker Shadow Illustrated.
all artwork by C. Webb, used here with exclusive permission.
The Fourth Door
‘What darkness then lingered, what time had it stolen? What shadows had hid themselves to torment her memory? He would not admit it, though certain he was. And so in the hall he had waited, and then he had said, “Look,” and to that last door he directed her gaze and would not let her look away, though she struggled and choked on the tears that coursed her face. “What is there?” he demanded. “What do you see?” ‘
He had stood at the door for some minutes now, only but a matter of paces from it, and he could no more feel its presence nor such fear as it provoked. What was the good indeed? Yet something was amiss. There was a coldness there. Not so much a terrible evil, but just a steady cold as if all the hope and happiness had left the air, as if there was too much despair. Just an empty cold, and he hated it.
He could hear her footsteps in the rain even before she had spoken. With each fall was there a splash to be of accompaniment. And she was pretty, he thought. Certainly, she must be. Almost he could see her face. So beautiful she was, so very young and stunning, and such a face as would push away even the cold. And kind too. She had smiled at him, and there was something in her eyes, in her lips, and it made him trust her.
“Because it is not I that commands you,” said Michael, and even then he had taken from his shoulders his jacket and beneath was nought but his skin, pale and dark in the failing light of that place, and about his shoulders were still in many dark lines the folded wings that had been inked there.
– Prince of DestuctionLast Stand
There, where the rocks had risen up out of the earth, stood the demon against the rising moon, its great head of wiry hair lifted, and from its gnarled jaws, besputtled in slaver and gore, came that same long, piercing cry that brought the chill into the bone and made the flesh crawl and the mind real for terror.
-The Bite of the Wolven
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