Round 212

The air inside the field crackled with energy as the clock face mechanism behind them hummed louder, gears grinding in time with Seraphine's racing heart. Jeane caught the book one-handed, her claws scraping against its leather cover as she flipped through the pages frantically. I need to focus, Seraphine thought desperately. Can't let this shared memory overload break me now—Jeane needs my magic if we're getting out of here alive! But every word on those pages seemed to echo inside her skull, phantom voices whispering secrets that made her temples throb. The Consort shifted its mass, menace radiating from its very presence.

What the fuck am I doing? Seraphine's panicked inner voice screamed. I'm a scholar, not a warrior—not some demon-fucked adventurer with a death wish! But the elf woman found herself leaning forward, eyes scanning the pages Jeane held outstretched. The Consort shifted again, and Seraphine caught herself holding her breath—if that thing gets any closer, I'm going to lose what little composure I have left. "Read it," she hissed, her sharp eyes darting between Jeane and The Consort looming beyond their temporal shield. "Tell me what that... thing... wants."