A person stood in a vast chamber, and flaming torches alight with infernal flames lined the walls, giving it a ghostly feel.
The man was still, as if he possessed a body, but no soul. Slowly, unmistakably, his body moved, a minor movement, but enough to indicate he was alive.
Their face were hidden, a porcelain mask covering them, cracks bleeding crimson light. When the mask had appeared, he did not know. It was like magic, instantaneous and unknown in its origin.
Like a whisper, a sound entered Leonidas's ears, drifting but unmistakably distinct. His movements halted, coming to a stop, while his mind slowed.
Willow?
It sounded like her, but Leonidas was confused. He was bewildered. Not by Willow's existence or survival, but because of the mask that clung to his face.
He sure as hell hadn't put it there himself, maybe a side effect so it was sinking into his face. His face darkened underneath the mask, the memory unpleasant.
