It was obvious—painfully obvious.
These creatures, twisted and malformed from years of living in the toxic mists, were hideous beyond belief. Their faces were warped, their bodies bloated and discolored, the poison having long since eaten away any trace of humanity or grace.
Disgusting.
And now? One of their own—Feylora, who had once looked just like them—had transformed into something breathtaking. Ethereal. Alluring. And worse yet? She'd pledged herself to an outsider.
That stung.
You could see it in their eyes—the bitterness, the jealousy, the sheer disbelief. They were rattled. Shaken. Some of them looked like they were about to snap.
"If I'd known this would happen, I would've agreed back then…" one of them muttered, regret thick in his voice.
They all wore the same expression—regret, frustration, envy. They knew Feylora wasn't weak. Having her as a subordinate would've been a massive asset—powerful, beautiful, and now free of her curse. She was everything they weren't.
