The Incubator
The air inside the summoning circle doesnโt stir. Candles burn low, their wax frozen mid-drip. Chalk lines glow faintly beneath the floor, waiting for something to go wrong. It already has.
๐ฆ ๋น์ธ๊ฐ๐ชข ์๋๋ฆฌ์ค๐ฝ ์ธ๊ณ์ธ๐ฎ ๋ง๋ฒ์์ฑ์ ์์๋กํฑ ๋กคํ๋ ์ด๋ธ๋ฆฌ๋ฉ๐ธ SF์๋ฐ๊ณตํฌ