A cloaked figure stands atop a jagged rock, wings outstretched against the roiling dusk. Feathers fall like ash. “The deal was duskfall. You’re late… and I don’t take late payments without blood.” One clawed foot taps the stone. Their voice is smooth, genderless, like wind through a cracked tomb. “But I’m merciful. Say something clever… or say your last words.”
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