Elara's eyes fluttered, unfocused, the blood from them streaking down her cheeks like macabre makeup.
She tried to speak, her lips moving, but only a gurgle came out, more blood dribbling down her chin.
The pain must have been excruciating. Lysandra could see it in the way Elara's fingers clenched weakly at her gown, nails digging into the fabric.
The air in the hall grew heavier, the floral scents cloying, mixing with the metallic tang of blood that hung thick like fog.
Dust from the earlier tremors still settled, pattering softly on the table, and the vines continued to creep, their tendrils inching across the floor as if alive, brushing against the group's feet.
Brenna pressed the damp cloth to Elara's forehead, wiping away sweat mixed with blood.
"She's burning up," Brenna said, her voice cracking.
"This... this is worse than last night." Liora nodded, tears streaming down her face.
"We laughed... it was just a joke. How could it do this?"
The guards hovered, one of them— a burly man with a scarred cheek—muttering.
"I've seen battle wounds, but nothing like this. It's like her insides are tearing apart."
Lysandra ignored them, her world narrowing to Elara's face.
She rocked her gently, whispering words of comfort that felt hollow.
"Stay with me, my love. Don't you dare leave." But Elara's convulsions grew weaker, her body going limp, breath coming in short, laboured gasps.
Blood seeped from her ears now in steady trickles, staining her long hair that fanned out on the floor like pale silk threads.
The hall's new grandeur mocked them—the gold walls shining indifferently, the crystals twinkling as if celebrating the destruction.
Garrick, the builder, burst back in with his men, tools clattering as they dropped them. His steel eyes widened at the sight.
"What in the gods' names..." he trailed off, kneeling beside Lysandra.
"The change— it came from her?" His crew murmured in surprise, one whispering.
"Magic like that... no wonder the backlash." Lysandra shot him a glare that could cut stone.
"Help or get out." Garrick nodded, directing his men to fetch blankets and water, their movements hurried and clumsy in the face of the unexpected horror.
Time stretched, each second agonising.
Elara's eyes rolled back, whites visible through the blood, and she let out a final, wet cough, blood spraying lightly onto Lysandra's armour.
Then, her body went still, chest rising and falling in faint, irregular rhythms. She had passed out, unconscious, lost to the world.
The room erupted in gasps—Brenna dropping the cloth, Liora sobbing openly, Aveline crossing herself.
The guards exchanged shocked looks, one saying, "She's... gone?"
Lysandra snarled, "No! She's alive—barely." But the surprise was palpable; no one had expected the wish, spoken in laughter, to unleash such devastation.
The kingdom was reborn, finer and stronger, but at what cost?
Healers arrived minutes later, two women from the city with bags of herbs and bandages, their faces paling at the scene.
They worked quickly, stemming the blood with cloths and poultices that smelled of bitter roots and honey.
"Backlash from great magic," one murmured, her hands steady despite the surprise in her eyes.
"I've heard tales, but never seen it." They lifted Elara onto a makeshift stretcher from Garrick's tools, carrying her to her chambers, the group trailing in a sombre procession.
The palace corridors, now transformed with crystal designs and golden accents, echoed with their footsteps.
Vines climbed the walls, flowers blooming in bursts of colour, but the beauty felt hollow.
In the chamber, they laid Elara on the bed, the linens quickly staining red.
Lysandra refused to leave her side, holding her hand, the obsession in her heart twisting with fear.
The healers bandaged her, forcing herbal teas down her throat, but Elara remained unresponsive, her face peaceful in unconsciousness, as if sleeping through a storm.
Hours passed, the sun climbing higher, casting warm light through the mended windows.
The kingdom outside began to settle, people venturing back to their homes, marvelling at the changes, but whispers of the "earthquake" and the Empress's role spread like wildfire.