The Whisperer's Bargain

Elara crouched behind the gnarled roots of a petrified oak, its branches skeletal against the blood-red sky. The air hung heavy with the stench of sulfur and decay, a constant reminder of the Blight that had consumed their world. She shivered, pulling her threadbare cloak tighter around her thin frame. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, a familiar ache that she'd learned to ignore. Survival had become a monotonous dance of scavenging and hiding.

She peered cautiously from behind her cover. The ruins of what was once a bustling marketplace sprawled before her, now a graveyard of shattered stone and twisted metal. A pack of feral dogs snarled and scavenged amongst the debris, their eyes glowing with an unnatural crimson light – a telltale sign of the Blight's corruption. Elara knew better than to engage them. They were quick, vicious, and driven mad by the same whispers that haunted her waking hours.

The whispers began after the Fall, insidious voices slithering into her mind, promising power and solace in exchange for a piece of her soul. At first, she'd resisted, clinging to the remnants of her sanity. But as days bled into weeks, the gnawing loneliness and relentless hunger chipped away at her resolve. Now, the whispers were a constant companion, their seductive promises echoing in the hollows of her mind.