Ember awakens, disoriented, his limbs heavy. The room pulses with malevolence.
Ember: "Willow? What is this place?"
Willow: "Welcome to your new prison, dear brother."
She circles him, her fingers trailing over the chains that bind him.
Ember: "Silk chains? But they're made of—"
Willow: "Your soul, Ember. A fitting cage for an abuser."
She gestures to the walls—their surfaces etched with occult symbols.
Willow: "These sigils amplify your suffering. Each link tightens as you struggle."
Ember tugs at the chains, but they only constrict further.
Ember: "Why, Willow? We were family!"
Willow: "Family? Our parents traded our innocence for power. They thought they could manipulate us. But they underestimated our wrath."
She leans in, her eyes inches from his.
Willow: "You see, Ember, your soul is the key. It binds you to this plane, and now it binds you to me."
She places her hand over his scar—the mark of their infernal pact where his raw soul was drawn from.
Willow: "Your soul fuels my vengeance. Your suffering ignites my purpose."
Ember's eyes widen.
Ember: "What do you want from me?"
Willow: "My suffering to disappear. You abused me, so now I abuse you. Justice."
She steps back, admiring her handiwork web.
Willow: "And when their guilt consumes them, we'll strike. Their downfall will be our legacy."
Ember struggles against the chains, but they hold firm.
Ember: "You're no better than they are."
Willow: "Perhaps. But vengeance burns hotter than any sin."
She leaves him there, the room closing in.
Willow: "Rest, Ember. Soon, our parents will learn the cost of betrayal. Just like you."
And as the basement door creaks shut, Ember's screams echo—a demon chained by wrath, a pawn in a game of retribution.
And so, in the depths of Pentagram City, Willow's vengeance takes form—a brother bound by his own soul, and a sister who will stop at nothing to unravel their parents' web of deceit.
