a garden deep, a garden dark

A thrill pulsed through Illusion, a shiver of anticipation she hadn't felt in some time. The one was clever, careful—far too cautious for the usual prey that stumbled into her domain. Her claws hovered over the lifeless form before her, the cold flesh almost forgotten as her attention shifted entirely to him. The way he moved, as if tracing invisible paths, avoiding each wrong step with meticulous care—it was fascinating, like watching a creature born to tread the shadows. Like herself.

He spoke, his voice a low murmur echoing against the tunnel walls. Bold, perhaps too bold. She remained still, hidden within the embrace of the cavern’s dim, unnatural light, her body melding into the sickly green hues that radiated from the fungal growths. Each flicker of light and shadow became an ally, obscuring her presence as she watched his every movement, each twitch and turn of his head.

"Brave," she breathed softly, so faintly it was a breath rather than a whisper, as if speaking to herself, as if contemplating whether he was worth the effort. Her tail curled slowly, a serpent’s motion, trailing lazily along the cavern floor. "Or perhaps... how foolish." Her voice is as soft as a trickle of honey, slow and calm and quiet.

Letting his words settle in the stillness, she toyed with the idea of responding—of revealing herself in this moment, letting his eyes find hers among the cold gleam of the mushrooms. But no, not yet. His curiosity was still ripening. There was something delightful in letting him believe he had the upper hand, letting him call out into the abyss as if it might answer him. Let him come.

Her gaze fixed on him, his shadow, his silhouette, unwavering, as she allowed the silence to stretch. The cavern seemed to inhale, drawing in the sound of his voice and holding it within its damp, earthen belly. She could see the way his eyes flicked to the shadows, searching for a movement that would betray her. He would find none—not unless she wished it. And she was not yet ready to grant him that mercy.

Instead, she let the cold, metallic scent of decay deepen around him, the air growing heavier, as if the cavern itself disapproved of his presence. She shifted, a soft rustle of fur against stone that barely registered above the whispering ambiance of the cave. Maybe he would hear it, the ever so slight sound of her nails scraping rock as she teased his senses. Feel it. she thought. What hunts you in the dark? There was a thrill in watching him walk the fine line between intrigue and what she thought was fear, and she savored it. You’ve entered a world that will swallow you whole.


"Illusion Nightwing"