The Shadow of Murder

The Stalking Serpent

Like the long forgotten and lonely remains of an ancient sarcophagus, forever lost in the fog of time and cursed to suffer in oblivion, she lay in silence and agony upon a cold, uncaring floor. Seemingly helpless, her natural senses reeling from the shock, her vision struggling to focus
through the veil of blood as it crawled down into her eyes like worms from a rotting cadaver.
As though the very essence of her soul was fighting for existence,
her mind found itself in a desperate fight to escape the void, which had long stalked her.

Across the vast expanse of marble and stone, the faded remains of a once heavenly great hall, where echoes of happiness and laughter resonated,
and the warmth of light burned hot,
now there existed, only the melancholy light of a low burning fire as it slithered, slow, and writhing;
without sound, without pause in its unstoppable pursuit to devour the weak and the dying.

The shadow of the killer ascended like a serpent before its wounded prey,
rising into the night sky, rising slowly in a sickening swagger and a horrid delight
of the feast to come. Looming tall over her, only its voracious appetite for her soul was revealed as she
gazed into the face of the abyss.

There was no time to think, no time to panic; no time to let the venomous fangs of paralyzing fear sink into her tender flesh, only an instant to live or die.
All she could in that moment, was to give into a primordial instinct to survive at all costs.