Umbrafagos
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In the darkness, a creature is born, one that lives only where light never reaches. It is silent, nearly bodiless, moving with the delicacy of a shadow, as if it were a spirit woven from darkness itself. It hides in the thick of shadows, where the blackness is deepest, waiting for the night to descend upon the world and plunge everything into a cold calm. This being does not breathe in the way we understand; its breath is the darkness it draws into itself, as if with each inhalation it consumes the remnants of light that dared to persist.
Its body seems to blur into the darkness, lacking sharp contours, unreal, as though each movement is merely an illusion, a shadow flitting at the edge of perception. Its skin — if it could be called skin — is as dark as the deepest night, glistening with a faint, barely visible glow, as if it reflects only the echo of light that has never reached it. It is cold and soundless, moving with an elusive grace, making each of its appearances feel like the cold, silent touch of an invisible hand.
Its eyes, if it has them at all, are deeper than the black abyss, two wells in which anyone who dares to look finds their own fears and hidden secrets. They are like mirrors reflecting the darkness not only of this world but of the shadowed corners of the soul, where no light has ever shone. Looking into them is like peering into an endless void, where time and space cease to exist, and the only companion is the silent chill of the night.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
This creature makes no sound, moving in silence, as if the darkness itself muffles each of its steps. When it moves, shadows seem to tremble around it, as though the very darkness becomes part of its being. It is often not visible directly; rather, its presence is felt as something slowly approaching, like a storm drawing near. You feel the cold that seeps into the air, a chill running down your spine, as though something is coming closer, though nothing is seen.
It feeds on darkness, consuming it, as though it nourishes itself with the very essence of shadow. Every corner, every space where light does not dare to reach, is its domain. When it feeds, you can see the darkness around it thicken, becoming deeper, almost tangible. The shadows wrap around its form like a cloak, merging with it, blending into one, as it grows stronger, pulsing with a quiet, ominous rhythm, as though each devoured memory of shadow adds to its power.
Around it, everything seems to dim, as though existence itself begins to weaken. Even the brightest light loses its strength, and warmth retreats as if from something that cannot be understood or illuminated. In its presence, even the silence takes on a deeper tone, as though this creature consumes not only light but also sound, leaving behind an emptiness that nothing can fill.
It lurks at the edge of reality, as if it were the shadow of the world itself, an eternal guardian of darkness that exists only to remind us that the darkness never truly fades.
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