Minutes turned hours, the echoes of the battle lingering like a phantom limb with each close of my eyes. The skeletal figure, my temporary companion, had vanished, leaving behind a haunting emptiness and a gnawing unease.
While the immediate threat had been neutralized, the scars in Wonderland remained. The once moonlight-vibrant world was now a desolate shell, its inhabitants either fled or were trapped by the Void's touch. Fake Thomas, though safe, grappled with nightmares and a newfound fear of the dark. Lazaros, cloaked in a shroud of introspection, seemed to view me with a mix of gratitude and apprehension.
As for me, the borrowed power had left its mark. Not just in the lingering whispers that danced at the edge of my consciousness, but in a subtle shift within myself. Darkness had taken root, a cold tendril that coiled around my heart, whispering promises of strength and control.
