Jenevieve stepped inside the chamber and slowly crept toward the profane statue. As she drew near, she marveled at the amount of detail the artist had lavished on his creation. The striations of the muscles, the thick veins twisting over the arms and legs. Even the disgusting anatomy between the demon’s legs had been lovingly rendered, as Jenevieve saw when she dared a brief downward glance.
Blessed Creator, the idol had to be ancient. There were no sculptors who possessed such skill in the current day and age.
Jenevieve reached out a tentative hand and touched the statue’s chest. Cold marble, nothing more.
She turned her attention to the chains.
Those were not carved from marble, nor were they carved from the cruder stone to which the demonic statue was bound. They were real chains, fashioned from real iron, and when Jenenvieve brushed her fingertips over them, she realized something had been etched upon the links. She leaned in close with the candle to have a closer look: incantations of binding written in High Speech. The same incantations had appeared in the book she had found in her father’s study.
Jenevieve took a step back and panned her eyes around the room. Her stomach suddenly felt as small and hard as an acorn inside her. She was no longer afraid, but she was deeply disturbed. It seemed the rumors about her father were true--he had indeed been a demon worshiper.
The rest of it, of course, was still nonsense. Praying to some sacreligious statue couldn’t have turned the tides of battle in her father’s favor. Such things were impossible.
But... the disappearing wall, the impossible corridor...
As Jenevieve stood there fretting over these thoughts, a sound reached her ear, a sound so soft it existed at the very limits of human hearing, the faintest exhalation of air moving between stones. Something moved at the edge of her vision.
The horned head of the statue was lifting.