This landscape was a paradox of life flourishing in decay – as Megala navigated through the blackened sands, her vision became momentarily reduced by the thick fog that clung to the air, casting an eerie veil over the terrain. The flora she encountered varied from twisted, gnarled trees to resilient shrubs clinging to existence amid such gloom.

A scent of clove, unfamiliar and striking, wafted through the dense mist, piercing the usual damp air and heightening her awareness. Her tail stood erect, her stance dominant, as she fixated on finding its source. Megala moved fluidly through the shrouded forest, each step deliberate, her senses constantly alert.

The pines towered above her, their shadows deepening its pervasive darkness. Blackbirds flitted from branch to branch, their calls adding to the ominous symphony of this unsettling place. She pushed forward, undeterred by the creeping fear that seemed to emanate from every corner.

Suddenly, she halted, her eyes locking onto the silhouette of a male wolf emerging from the shadow. His presence was as commanding and enigmatic as the land itself, a living embodiment of the sinister essence that saturated these very grounds – But was he real?

Or was he merely an illusion to appease her isolation.

"To who do I ow the pleasure?" she purred, her words laced with a invisible venom.


Androcles