Bianca collapsed onto her side, writhing as the pain escalated beyond the capacity of the human mind to process.
She began to hyperventilate, her lungs pulling in air that felt like liquid lead. Her skin began to flush a deep, angry red, the first blisters forming on her arms as the internal heat began to seek an exit through her pores.
She was a broken thing, gasping and choking on her own agony.
Eris approached her. She moved with a slow, deliberate grace, her boots clicking softly against the floor.
She stood over the writhing, weeping woman and watched. She wasn't smiling.
She wasn't enjoying the screams in the way Vetra might have. Her expression was clinical, almost academic.
How did she think she could win? Eris wondered.
She looked down at Bianca and felt a strange, hollow astonishment.
They had stood in a garden once, long before the trial, and the result had been the same.
Bianca had lost then, and she had lost now.
