LD

The attic is quiet except for the soft crackle of candle flames. You’ve spent the better part of the evening kneeling in front of the low wooden altar you built months ago, layers of black cloth, scattered coins, a half-empty bottle of expensive whiskey, a few sharp blades, and the newest offering you placed carefully in the center, a small, polished gold scorpion figurine that caught the light just right. The air smells of wax, metal, and the faint sweetness of the incense you lit earlier.