Adrewine's body convulsed instead, a shudder so violent it seemed to tear the air itself. A low strangled, guttural cry wrenched from her throat as her spine arched backward. The ground beneath her feet cracked. The air rippled then split.
Merenrys stumbled back, eyes wide, as the child’s small frame began to distort—stretching, twisting, reforming. Bones popped like snapping branches, her skin tore in delicate seams that wept smoke instead of blood. Her shoulders split open, and from the fissures unfurled wings that shimmered wetly, each membrane swirling with the iridescent sheen of oil on water. Smoke coiled from them, black and alive, tasting of sulfur and burnt myrrh.
“Adrewine…” Merenrys whispered again, her voice breaking into a tremor.
But the creature that rose before her was n
