Shadows tumbled across the altar, connecting black clouds and pillars of stone, like a rain of blackness pouring down from the firmament.
Veraliz watched as Lyle was nearly devoured by the shadows, her beautiful eyebrows lifting slightly, her sharp beastly pupils intently fixed on the mask exposed outside of the shadows, her tone filled with surprise.
"To think he's a Qualified Person for the shadows, the shadows really fancy our offering, our luck is indeed very good." The successful completion of the ritual greatly improved Veraliz's mood, she allowed the shadows entwined around Lyle's mouth and nose to recede, and looked at his white mask. "Unlucky boy, before you're devoured, do you have any last words?"
Lyle looked at the woman before him dressed in rubbery black clothes, the cold light in her eyes and malice at the corners of her mouth made him realize there was no hope of reprieve; she was resolute in using him as a sacrifice.
