Humming a soft, melodic tune, Onalenna moved through her house after she'd just finished cleaning, and straightening her children's rooms and was now tidying the kitchen, sweeping crumbs into a neat little pile, when something shifted.
The air turned cold.
Unnaturally cold.
She paused, broom mid-sweep. A chill rolled down her spine. It wasn't the kind of cold that came from a breeze or a cracked window. It was... wrong.
Her fingers loosened around the broom. Slowly, she turned, then gasped, stumbling back as her knees gave out.
Dark smoke curled in the center of the kitchen, thick and pulsing, alive with a suffocating miasma. It twisted and swirled until it formed into a figure she hadn't seen this close in years but could never forget.
"Oh, don't be afraid," the man said gently, his voice as calm as ever.
Her face hardened at once, eyes blazing.
"Martinsville." Her voice dropped to a snarl. "I told you never to show your face before me again."
