The morning sun, breaking through the shards of stained glass, like the scarlet fragments of a broken heart, flooded the room with a sickly, dim light. He lay motionless, like a statue made of polished ivory, in the midst of chaos that resembled not just a battlefield, but a carefully planned massacre. Broken furniture, like shipwrecks scattered after a storm, littered the floor. Shards of glass, crunching under the barely noticeable breeze, mixed with bloodstains on the polished floor – purple flowers blooming in the rays of the rising sun, symbolizing the brutality of what happened.

The air was heavy, saturated with the thick smell of blood, mixed with an acrid, metallic aroma–the smell of destruction, the smell of Felony. The name itself is a blade that thrusts into consciousness, causing a tremor. Her cruelty was not just boundless, it was calculated, coldly calibrated. The attack was a swift, merciless, precisely calibrated predator strike.

Somnus, once a beautiful angel whose wings seemed to be made of light itself, was mutilated. His body, which was shining before, is now riddled with bloody wounds. The golden threads wrapped around him like shackles dug into his flesh, preventing wounds from healing, reminding him of unbearable torment. These threads, intertwined with his mutilated wings, were like roots growing into wounded tissues, paralyzing his movements. Every attempt to move caused unbearable, piercing pain.

You were left alone with a mutilated Somnus