Spiritus Vitae.
Translated, it meant the breath of life—the vital essence that sustained every living being.
Since ancient times, witches had sought Spiritus Vitae to stretch their lives far beyond mortal limits.
More than that, they wielded it to keep their faces young, their bodies untouched by time.
Youth, however, was only a mask. Beneath their flawless skin, corruption festered like a second heartbeat.
The spell was forbidden for a reason, after all.
Eating humanity would result in losing humanity.
The more Spiritus Vitae a witch devoured, the further she drifted from divinity.
Emotions would fade—the warmth, the tenderness, the fear.
Piece by piece, humanity would unravel.
Their senses sharpened while their conscience withered, leaving them guided only by instinct and appetite.
Isobel was no different.
Her palate had grown so twisted that she savored the suffering — the pain, the panic — every pure soul endured before their tragic deaths.
