The young woman lay in her cosy warm bed.
And, whilst her family blissfully slept, she admired the moon. It had always been a fascination of sorts, a longing, a calling maybe. It filled her head with thoughts of what could be and will be. It's cleansing light spilling throughout her room, her head abruptly filled a sense of longing that she had never particularly felt before, she felt lost and perhaps a little isolated, I mean she always was an introvert. So this is just natural, right?
As the hour dragged on her time had come, and as her consciousness ran away with her as she drifted away into a dreadful sleep the sense of freedom and a sense of longing faded, as the clock struck midnight.
She awoke, but not to the comfort of her room. No, but to an extensive abyssal corridor, icy darkwood floors, a pair of crimson walls either side of her and a bottomless darkness to her front and rear. Panicking, she shot her eyes across what she could see, the singular candle sconce had minimal effect on skirmishing the heavy shadows that lingered. The passage seemed old and in a state of disrepair, the candle sconce itself was hanging on for dear life, and gold adorned oil paintings of faces forgotten were loosely placed and at random intervals across the plastered crimson walls. The poorly painted walls peeled in irregular places, and beneath were illustrations, but not what you'd expect of the average graffiti in an abandoned building no, they were strange geometrical shapes, a random assortment of circles all intertwining with one another she ran her fingers across their carved outlines, it was as if she knew them, but ultimately didnt. Until suddenly, her curiosity was brought to a halt as the corridor sprung to life, and usually, life has connotations of being positive...but this was far from it.
A deathly cold breeze travelled down the corridor, chilling her bones and freezing her very soul until the repugnant stench of sulphur infected the surrounding air. Bang, bang, bang...Heavy footsteps rung throughout the endless corridor, her mind was suddenly an infestation of fear but she was unable to move, something told her that this was okay, this was destined to happen. Almost like that voice you often have in the back of your head, although, she felt that this had betrayed her. She collapsed to her knees and stared longingly into the shadows, awaiting the beast to appear.
The roar of the footsteps came to a halt, and the shadows began to morph and move, abruptly stopping at the edge of the candle sconce's infernal light. Rivers of tears streamed down her face.
"Why do you fear me, Dear?" The booming voice echoed
"I-" The woman simply could not annunciate her words, it was as if her very vocal cords had been severed from within.
The darkness began to take shape, and fighting through the weak candle illumination and out of the corridor's ink a figure emerged. The figure not of a man, not of a goat, but somewhere in between. She gazed at the beasts visage, its blazing eyes glaring into her very soul, looking through her. She noticed a symbol carved on the beasts head, but this, this symbol, she recognised...a harrowing pentagram carved onto his forehead. His long, extruding horns twisted back behind his skull that was covered in fur that was blacker than the deepest of winter nights, it was as if it were manipulating the very darkness encompassing it. He stepped one foot into the light and extended his depraved arm, running his claw lightly down her face, forcing her tears away.
"Oh, it has been far too long...You have forgotten yourself, buried your soul too deep in this fleshy tomb. It is time for you to return, it is time for you to serve me again." The Dark Lord declared, his voice as potent as sunshine, as booming as thunder.
"Lillith, Mother of Demons."
