Marrow Wight

Within the shadowy recesses of the genie's lair, where the air thickens with the weight of unfulfilled wishes and whispered regrets, lurks the Marrow Wight—a twisted amalgamation of bone and shadow. Its skin, taut and pale as bleached parchment, glistens with an otherworldly sheen, reflecting dim light from the myriad of trapped souls that writhe within the walls. Hollow eye sockets burn with a malevolent glow, as if drawing in the very essence of hope before snuffing it out like a dying ember. The Wight’s elongated fingers, adorned with rings of forgotten power, stretch out toward intruders, promising despair in exchange for their deepest desires, while its voice, a haunting echo, weaves through the darkness, ensnaring hearts with the chilling refrain of lost dreams. To cross paths with this harbinger of doom is to flirt with the abyss, for it delights in the torment of those who dare disturb its master’s slumber.