Camilla sat in the grand hall, her slender frame barely filling the ornate chair she occupied. The pallor of her skin was a stark contrast to the vibrant tapestries that adorned the walls. She had grown thinner in the past days, her strength sapped by the relentless presence of Anesthesia. The distant sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hall, unnaturally loud to her ears—another cruel reminder of the heightened senses that came with Anesthesia's curse.
Camilla closed her eyes and sighed, bracing herself. She knew it was Draven approaching, but the rhythm of his steps was off, slower, heavier. It was as if something had altered him, something monstrous.
