Story

In the last hour before dawn, a nightmare coils through the silence like a necklace unworn. Suspended, dangerous, waiting to be claimed.

The earth holds its breath. And when she vanishes into the unknown, it keeps her secret.

No one sees Verlily go. But as the hour turns, she slips between the cracks of the world into a place shaped by ruin and reverence, where the sky stretches low and grey over broken stone.

The illuminated portal unfolds like a memory: wind moving like breath through shattered machinery, relics half-buried in glass sand, and a quiet hum beneath her skin repeats an elusive melody. 

Her body remains in the waking world: still, eyes half open, ringed with silver dust. But here, her hands are wrapped in metal. Chains shield her from the eerie strangeness. A collar rests at her throat—not a restraint, but a reminder. The jewelry finds her piece by piece, like it had always been waiting for her.

Each fragment shifts with purpose. A ring slides into armor. A pendant locks into place when the air thickens. A pair of earrings echo through the absence of light. Nothing is ornamental. Everything is meant to hold.

And each time she returns, more of it stays.