The full moon hung low and bloated over the forest like a blind eye watching every sin. Trees twisted upward in gnarled shapes, branches clawing at the silver light. The path was barely a trail—mud and fallen leaves sucking at her bare feet, cold slime squelching between her toes. She wore nothing. Not a scrap. The night air licked her skin, raising gooseflesh on her arms, her heavy tits, the curve of her ass. Nipples stood out like dark berries, aching from the crypt’s clamps hours earlier. Between her thighs her pussy throbbed—lips puffy, clit swollen, already leaking a thin trail of arousal down her inner leg with every step. The bites on her neck and tits still stung, crusted blood flaking off when she moved.

She reached the clearing just as the moon crested the treetops. A perfect circle of trampled grass and dirt. In the center: a rough stone slab half-buried in the earth, stained black from old rituals no one spoke of anymore.