In Praise of the Stygian

In Praise of the Stygian. A cold breath runs down the back of my neck. I turn, yet I am only faced with darkness. A faint whisper beckons me forward. "Come to the dark," it says, "Join us." Do I move closer?

In Praise of the Stygian. Something lurks in the darkness. I cannot tell if it yearns for my flesh or soul when it whispers my name. Should I answer its call?

In Praise of the Stygian. The twisted world of Lilith de Luna. As darkness settles in, ask yourself: Do you run from it, or do you hide?