It could be peaceful when it wanted to be in the realm of monsters and other fairy-tale creatures. But here in the Castle of Winds, peace was like the calm before a storm that destroys everything.
Her deep purple eyes—almost indigo—followed the little pixie busy tending her poisonous garden of black flowers. Arwin had finally discovered why her blooms no longer killed their victims: the pixie had been flitting among them, removing and detoxifying every toxin with those tiny, industrious hands, unaware she'd been caught red‑handed.
"Freeze."
The pixie stopped mid‑flutter, as if caught in the web of time, where nothing moved, lived, breathed, or felt. Arwin's gloved hands wrapped around the creature's small body and brought it closer to her lips. Not that she was starving—but who could resist a little brunch before lunch?
