CHAPTER 52: THE GODDESS WHO LIE HAZEL'S POV
The silver moonlight bleeding directly through solid, unyielding stone should have been a physical impossibility.
I knew that. My rational brain screamed it at me, yet I was standing right in the dead center of it anyway. The ethereal, silver-white glow pooled heavily around the base of the destroyed statue, spreading out across the ancient, carved floorboards of stone in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with any natural or magical light source existing in a subterranean chamber. It was freezing, this moonlight—not a drop in atmospheric temperature, but the primitive, bone-deep kind of cold that radiated from something incomprehensibly old and terrifyingly powerful occupying a physical space that was never designed to contain it.
And then, out of the shimmering ether, she finally appeared.
