Selena's consciousness flickered in and out of awareness like a candle in wind, each moment of clarity brief and painful, each lapse into darkness almost merciful by comparison. Her heart struggled inside its bone cage, each beat requiring will that she barely possessed, each breath costing more than she had to spend. Around her, she could hear voices—Dante's desperate commands, Abyssal's panicked pleas, the Frostborn Queen's clinical observations—but they seemed distant, muffled, as if she were hearing them from underwater or from the other side of a veil between life and whatever came after.
Then another voice joined the chorus. A voice she recognized despite having heard it only once before, despite the time that had passed, despite the transformations both she and the voice's owner had undergone.
The Witch.
