The Spider Queen let her mind seep into the girl’s consciousness. Each thought was a venomous thread weaving through the fragile tapestry of her sanity. The dark thoughts entered like poison in a wound, slow and deliberate, following the pulse of the girl’s weak, desperate heart. The effect was immediate—a trembling ripple that spread through the shallows of her mind, then crashed like a massive wave upon the crumbling shores of her reason.


    The cocoon convulsed as the girl’s body bucked and writhed, caught in a grotesque dance of pain and panic. Her movements delighted the Queen. Each spasm was a triumph, each tortured gasp a symphony played for her alone. When the girl’s convulsions stilled, her limbs limp in brief reprieve, the Queen’s glee deepened. She knew it would begin again—a cycle unbroken until the mind fractured completely.


    The Queen extended her tongue, a long, glistening appendage, and dragged it along the length of the cocoon. The body within arched violently away, straining against the silken prison as though it might escape her touch. But there was no escape. The tongue slid from the tips of the feet to the base of the neck, curling around the head as she pulled the cocoon closer, cradling it like a mother with her child. She released her hold, letting the girl swing in a slow, gentle arc—a rhythmic pendulum of torment. Each time the cocoon returned, a flick of her tongue pushed it back towards the opposite wall. It was a game, maintaining the steady momentum, the twisted act of a predator toying with its prey.


    The girl was her child—a chrysalis incubating the transformation she had birthed and nurtured. The cocoon was her womb; within it, she would birth something new, something darker. The mind inside was no longer the one she had arrived with; now, it belonged to the Queen, and every thought and dream was meticulously corrupted and reshaped in her image.


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    “The taste of your unraveling is exquisite,” the Queen hissed, her voice dripping with twisted ecstasy. She laughed, a shrill, broken sound echoing through the cavern and into the girl’s splintered psyche. “Do you feel it, little one? The darkness wrapping itself around you, filling you? It will never let go.”


    She licked the cocoon again, slower this time, savoring how the girl’s pulse raced in futile terror. Each swing brought the cocoon back into her embrace, and she pushed it away again, the rhythm hypnotic, lulling the girl’s mind into submission. The images she embedded were dark and inescapable—twisted vistas, impossible shapes, memories stolen and remade into horrors. Every scream the girl would have cried remained locked inside her, fueling the metamorphosis.


    The Queen’s eyes gleamed, multifaceted and hungry. “You’ll thank me, you know,” she murmured, her voice sweet and venomous. “When the last slivers of you are gone. When the torment ends, you will become… perfect. My child. My creation. The rest of them will see what I’ve made from you and bow before my genius.”


    The Queen cackled again, a sound that seemed to ripple through the air, unsettling even the skittering Arrakians that lingered at the edge of the chamber. She reveled in the moment, her madness spilling out unchecked as she continued Sela’s dark transformation.


    Once she captured the Arch Demana, she would break her as well. They would become her dark children, and through their weaponization, she would obliterate the Dark Lords of the shadowland.