The air in the dimly lit chamber hung heavy with the scent of incense, an intoxicating blend of lavender and myrrh that wafted through the room. After spending some time remembering her sister and her childhood memories, Sylvia walked down into the underground chamber to do what she intended to do.
Candle flames flickered, casting eerie shadows on the ancient symbols drawn across the floor. Sylvia, draped in dark robes, stood at the centre of a pentagram, her eyes closed in concentration. She spoke ancient words in a hushed, rhythmic chant, her voice weaving through the air like a serpent.
As the final spell left Sylvia's lips, a chill filled the room, and the atmosphere grew dense with an otherworldly presence. The dark lord, a spectral figure cloaked in shadows, materialized before her. His eyes, like pools of inky blackness, bore into Sylvia's very soul.
