The Weeping Hollows were abounding in unholy energy.

The cursed earth flowed with mist like veins of life, twisting between gnarled trees and broken gravestones. In the depths of the ground, the skeletons of the dead trembled. A mournful chant rang through the forest—Melucia's voice, chill and unholiness, chanting in the forgotten tongue.

She stood in the midst of a polluted altar, circled by darkness spun of fury and grief. Her locks danced like smoke, and her eyes—eyes once ...