“Get the f**k up, Merlin! Or I swear, I’ll let Hunger and my s*******r butterflies feast on your pathetic corpse!”
Black-painted nails dug into the worn, obsidian armrests of Maleficent’s throne, the sound of splintering wood drowned beneath the echoing chaos of the arena. Though her face remained a cold, unreadable mask—eyes vacant of all but a thin sheen of impatience—the storm inside her raged like a hurricane trapped in a bottle. Her shadows trembled against her skin, writhing beneath her composed exterior like a sea of suppressed fury.
The fluttering of her s*******r butterflies intensified as they spiraled restlessly around the floating island. She could feel them, their wings slicing through the cursed winds like daggers eager to draw blood. Simultaneously, Hunger—the monstrous fa
