He watches. He follows. He waits.
For how long? Three minutes? Three hours? Who knows.
The woosh of a cloak. π§₯
The glow of eyes. π
The soft, childlike hum. πΆ
β οΈ All Signs of your inevitable doom β οΈ
And without a doubtβ
with all certaintyβ
no one who truly sees Gledalac will see the light,
for not a single soul is immune.
πππ











