In shadows deep, where whispers breed,
There they come and plant their seed.
A dance of lies, a web of deceit,
It preys on trust, with cunning feat.
With honeyed words and crooked smile,
They act and craft their vile guile.
They spin a tale, so well rehearsed,
Their motives hidden, just like a curse.
They play with hearts, like marionettes,
Pulling strings and with no regrets.
They feed on fears, sow doubt and strife,
Controlling minds, like a puppet’s life.
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Laughter filled the room as Pranav showed the Dance of the Wehaur to her. He had been teaching it since yesterday, yet she still hasn’t gotten the steps because their sessions began seriously but turned out to be playful within minutes. The metal rings around Pranav’s arms ting as he clicked them together. His f
