Though its face is lipless, the creature seems to twist its expression into one of malicious amusement. When its mouth parts, and a low, rumbling, bassy voice emerges, the very ground itself begins to quake and quiver. Tremors run through the creature’s gripping claws, to the throne, through the ornate floor, and up into the boots of the gang — everything in the luxuriant chamber resonates as one when the beast speaks.
“Abia,” it says. “You’ve come back to me.”
Logan Bright — Works 