Sær jolts awake, a cold finger of dread trailing his spine. The sky is black and empty, the new moon coupled with the thick forest canopy blocking out all light.
Priscilla's ears and tail twitch, and her eyes snap open, sensing the same eerie presence as her husband. She leans forward, sniffing the air, her cute nose twitching. Sensing danger, she protectively wraps Sær in her left wing, tucking him under her breasts. Padding softly on large, petite feet, Priscilla makes her way through the house towards the bonfire. Her scythe rests against the door frame, a dull glow emanating from it, an effect caused by the power of Lifehunt.
Sær wriggles out from her grasp, rolling as he hits the floor. Popping up quickly, he grabs his broadsword, following close behind Priscilla. The courtyard is as pitch black as the Abyss, the glow of her scythe barely illuminating a foot forward.
A commotion erupts from a distance, followed by the screech of a crow. Their heads snap towards the source of the sound, the same direction as the bonfire.
The wind picks up, and the courtyard is filled with the sound of rustling reeds and creaking wood. The cool night air shifts from refreshing to forboding, the thin tendrils of cold air making each sweat drop feel like ice. The couple's hackles stand up, and Priscilla whimpers. The two proceed, passing the bonfire and heading deeper into the shrine ruins, drawn by an imperceptible call.
They carefully navigate the crumbling stone, the wind growing louder and louder behind them. Then, as they pass through an aged threshold, it stops, nary a whistle or whisper to be heard.
"Priscilla, don't be afraid," Sær whispers.
Silence. "Priscilla?"
No response. The glow of her scythe gone, the world around him falls away to darkness. Carrying onward, his eyes dart from side to side, looking for his mate.
Icy breath hits his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Wait, icy breath?
He whips around, face to face with a set of floating, disembodied teeth, sharp canines poised to strike. Sær gives a startled yell, dashing away.
"Darling, wait!" Priscilla cries, the rest of her body turning visible. "It's just a pr- Ooh..."
With a yell and a curse, Sær tumbles over the edge of the shrine, and a painful smack echoes up to meet Priscilla's ears.
Back at the bonfire, Sær sits hollowed, a hundred thousand souls lighter, irretrievable from the bottom of the cliff. Priscilla gives him a weak smile, giggling nervously.
"Ah-hum, heh... Happy hollow's eve...?"
Sær shoots her a dirty look.