The priestess lived in a large home, with half a dozen other elves, all worshippers of the Weaver.
The priestess didn't tell them who I was.
A fact that I was more than grateful for.
We were led upstairs, to a room with a curtain for a door.
Nalleth pushed the curtain aside, and let us in.
It was a comfortable room, shaded and cool, the curtains on the window bathing the room in shades of blue.
A dresser, a bed, shelves, a bedside table and a cupboard were the only furniture in the room.
My breath caught when I saw the elf on the bed in front of me.
Ink.
Black pulsating ink covered her from head to toe, leaving only her face visible.
I wish it hadn't.
"How…how long has she been like this," I asked, hollowly.
"A few weeks." The priestess replied. "Nothing we do works, and if we shine a light on it…" She opened the curtain, and the woman on the bed started screaming.
She closed the curtain again.
The screaming settled down.
"I don't know what to do."
