Summoning her mist, it answered her like an excited puppy, jumping around her feet, knowing that she was going to let it out to do something fun.
This wasn't the white mist of healing and renewal. No, she wasn't that merciful to the people who ordered hers to be killed.
Instead, this was the black toxic mist of her lust demon. The one that offered pain more than pleasure. Death instead of a simple climax.
But no matter how you looked at it, at the end of the night, everything would change.
The mist slid behind a prince's eyes and turned his pupils to oil. It curled into a minister's nose and drowned his prayer in rot and sledge before it could leave his tongue. It tasted the Queen's breath and decided it had wasted enough of itself on her silk.
Xinying looked around the room as her mist took no prisoners. She could have made it quick. She could have made it exquisite.
Instead, she made it simple.
Each and every person in that room died.
