speak of the devil

and she will come

The slow sequence of dripping echoes eerily throughout the background. The chilled air of the caverns making it the most popular place to investigate in the summer months and every few moments, a smooth breeze will find its way through the winding crevices; the sound of which whistles lightly in the air as it passes through. Among the fallen darkness lies one heavenly being of hell itself - a creature so beautiful that she certainly cannot house a wicked bone in her entirety. She is propped upon her elbows, her paws crossed over one another as she reclines in silence, allowing her inky form to meld with the shadows of the grotto. A creature could not be more at home here as Naamah is, for this is where she belongs.

She had been crafted of the purest of things and yet she had forsaken these morals and fell to her exile from heaven itself; she never belonged there anyway. And so it is upon this warm night that she seeks solace in the pitch confines of the labyrinth to soothe her infernal soul as she waits like a black widow for her prey.

It is deathly silent for the longest of times, perhaps hours have passed, and so she is allowed moments to absorb the scenery she has cast herself into; eyes flitting to each eight-legged creature that crosses her path, ears pivoting as the drops of water sound from further into the tunnels, her nose twitching every so often as the promise of company wafts in from the entrance. There is no light that cascades down this far into the caverns, no holes in the packed rock above her for the silvery light of the moon to interfere with her dark world, and it is this that she enjoys so greatly. Alas, her time in solitude is broken as the slow approach of another being is noted; their scent heavy upon the summer draft that is brought in from outside. Yet they do not enter and instead, are brought into another location adjacent to the deep tunnel that Naamah has situated herself into.

“Oh, you would leave me waiting so anxiously like that? How cruel..” Her voices calls out in a soft coo, sweet to the very last syllable, though she is no angel. She does not bring herself to the other who is nearly around the corner - she will wait and let them come to her. They always do.