Arachne's four spiked appendages began to move in a disjointed yet harmonic way. The motions were strange and unnerving, like the twitching of something that was never meant to move at all. Yet as they danced through the air, a thin, transparent web began to form in front of her. It shimmered faintly, each strand catching the light with a quiet, eerie glow.
This was no ordinary silk. It was not born of nature or spell, but of something far older and deeper. Each thread pulsed with an unnatural rhythm, woven from fragments of spirit, intention, and sacrifice. The web stretched outward, forming an intricate circular pattern. The more Arachne moved, the more layered and complex it became, weaving itself into a perfect lattice.
