#1|𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧
In the labyrinth of shadows where the clandestine dance with fate, two souls emerge, each harboring secrets darker than the night that cloaks them. "Inamorata," the cutting-edge opus of intrigue and desire, weaves a tale...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Boss, we have reached." Daksh reached out, calling the man out, who seemed too lost somewhere in his wayward thoughts.
He jolted back into reality to see through the window—there downwards he could see the Vasudhara lake surrounded by numerous pole of fire; it was looking as if nature had adorned with jewels.
Further down, there were locals standing, clad in dhoti and kurtas, along with turbans on their heads, looking up towards the flutter-hooptie, descending slowly on a place reserved for helipads.
The man, Daksh, Miraya Chaterjee and all the gaurds who accompanied him went down one by one. The wind was harsh, the dust was blowing itself in the eyes of its victims, and the clouds were pitch black.
The man moved toward the lake path, going in the direction where the locals stood facing the lake Vasudhara, chanting mantras–
|| Mujhase pahale ureeel.
meree peeth par, raaphel.
mere daahinee or maikal.
mere baeen or gebriyal.
oopar se, metaatron ||
Hearing all these was making him insanely powerful in good way, He walking up there, his eye turning into Azure shade mixed with emerald, He spread out white dazzling wings, hands weidling hellfire—
"Welcome back my lord." An old man with a huge cuffed-up turban, his face smeared with various tribal paint strokes beautifully designed to let others know that he was important of all.
The man acknowledged the voice–
"Yaj Dev"
Yaj Dev smiled, looking at the man, seeing that there was no change in his behavior or demeanor
"Let's go; it's going to start soon."
Yaj Dev ushered the man to the scared spot, where the fire was burning in the mandapa and the priests were chanting sacred chants, putting ghee and making it.
"Set a piece of yourself on fire to ignite yourself, my Lord!"
Yaj Dev directed him toward the hawan. The man extended his hand into the fire, giving it a bit of his hellfire.
"O light yourself!"
Chanting the sentence loudly, the priests sprinkled the hoy in to it, and spectacularly, the fire turned Arctic in color and all the fire poles followed the same, giving the whole surroundings a different aura. All the locals started clasping their hands together.
"Where is Aag–"
"I am here..."
The aghori walked down from the shadow, heading towards where the man was standing, his black devotional cloth blending with the darkness of the night. His eyes focused on the arctic fire and the way into the lake.
