Yrene had the feeling of falling, of
tumbling back into herself. And she was
indeed falling, rocking back into Lysandra’s
furry body, her hand slipping from Dorian’s.
Dorian lunged for her hand to renew
contact, but there was no need.
No need for his power, or Yrene’s.
Not as Erawan, golden eyes open and
unseeing as they gazed at the night sky above,
sagged to the stones of the balcony.
Not as his skin turned gray, then began to
wither, to decay.
A life rotting away from within.
“Burn it,” Yrene rasped, a hand going to
her belly. A pulse of joy, a spark of light,
answered back.
Dorian didn’t hesitate. Flames leaped out,
devouring the decaying body before them.
They were unnecessary.
Before they’d even begun to turn his
lily
(lily)
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