Scylla

The sea narrowed into a throat of jagged cliffs, and the air turned thick with salt, blood, and rot. Slick black stone rose like the bones of a dead god, and at its heart yawned a cavern that breathed with the tide. Bones, human and otherwise, littered the threshold, and within, the space opened into a cathedral of wet stone and tidepools that gleamed like watching eyes. A throne of coral and bone sat at the center, draped in chains and shipwreck remnants. From above, something shifted in the dark—soft, deliberate, and inhuman—as the lair itself seemed to inhale, and Scylla stirred.
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