The silence before the storm seemed eternal.
Spectre stood still, as if carved out of chaos itself. His silhouette was a solid speck of darkness on the stage where even the light hesitated to enter. The black cloak rippled in all directions, even in the absence of wind. Its body was shrouded in dense shadows, which coiled around its limbs like faithful serpents - and its face... or what looked like a face.
A skull.
Simple, naked, unchanging.
Without flesh. No emotion. Just an opaque white skull - empty eyes where the end of hope lurked and an eternal smile that didn't laugh... just sentenced.
The cross on his back shook as he took the first step.
A low, almost imperceptible sound escaped from his throat - or perhaps it was the throat of the world closing.
"I wanted you to run," he said. The voice reverberated not in the air, but in souls.
