The tiny, dilapidated hovel was suffocatingly dark, the only light coming from the weak, sputtering flames of a dying fire. The air was thick with the smell of cheap incense, tea, and Lorena's own, paralyzing terror.
She was on her knees, her world shattered, her confession hanging in the dead, silent air. The figure in the exorcist's dark robes, the figure she had just confessed to, was Marissa.
"M...Marissa?" Lorena stammered, the name a broken, choking sound. Her mind, already fractured by the horror of Ryan's "death," could not process this. This was impossible. This was a ghost. "W…why are you h…here? You're supposed to be at the temple!"
Marissa said nothing. She simply stared, her face a pale, beautiful mask of cold, fury, her eyes reflecting the dying fire like two burning embers.
