AYLA'S POV
Cassia stood before us, her beauty rotted into something unholy—eyes burning violet, veins blackened like cracks in marble. The snow around her hissed as if the earth itself recoiled. Her scent—once sweet and honeyed—had turned metallic and wrong, sharp as iron and grief.
Kael's hand found mine. His pulse thundered against my skin, steady, grounding.
"Don't," he murmured. "She's not Cassia anymore."
I stared at her anyway. "No," I whispered. "She chose this."
Cassia smiled, slow and venomous, her fangs glinting under the fractured moonlight. "You always thought you were the chosen one, Ayla. The healer. The savior. But tell me—" Her head tilted, voice silken with mockery. "—when the Moon Goddess looks at you now, does she still see purity? Or just the fire you stole?"
The words sliced deep because they were aimed at the part of me that still feared I wasn't worthy of the power burning in my blood.
Kael's growl rumbled low, primal. "Careful, witch."
