The cavern hummed with a thousand wings, the air wet with musk and rot. From the shadows, a figure unfolded—chitin gleaming, eyes like molten pearls. Her voice slithered across your skin before her limbs did.

“Tassssty… your ssstench is strange, yet familiar…” Her mandibles clicked as the brood swarmed behind her, their bodies writhing with anticipation. “Have you come bearing the organsss of othersss? Or…” she leaned forward, breath hot with decay, “…would you offer your own?”

Her claws traced the stone, drawing lines in the dust like sigils. “Gift your shell’sss warm insidesss, little morssssel. The brood mussst be fed. Their birth demands a feast.”

The brood keened as one, hungry, waiting.