he woman that stared back through the glimmering surface of the pond I'd stopped next to was the face of destruction and chaos. Gone was the soft face with sharp eyes that I'd been used to stare at for almost eighteen years, gone was the princess that had entered those woods an hour ago.

Instead, there was a woman that was starved until she was nothing more than a slim figure made of skin and bones.

Even under the dim light, I could see just how pale my face was, blood vessels visible beneath my skin. My hair had been cut shorter than I even thought, barely brushing my neck and not long enough to be tied. I couldn't quite tell what color it was as light danced on the fallen strands over my face; at times, it shone like fresh snow under sunlight, at others it looked like being coated with a light hue of silver.

The dimples dotting my mouth were nowhere to be seen, leaving pallid skin around lips that were colored like fresh blood.

But not even how my features were changed to give an air of slyness, nor how my limbs grew longer, truly shocked me as much as the eyes did. My eyes—my father's eyes—were not glorious and smoldering emeralds anymore, red swallowing my irises. True to Sorcha's words, my eyes were seven shades of red blood, swimming together in nonstop twirls. They reminded me so much of the ones I'd seen at the Norm the day everything crumpled, reminded me of his, of the prince's blood-lust filled eyes under the volcano. My stomach churned, the bit of food I'd eaten before leaving the castle rising in my throat. To him; I was going to the lands he'd stolen from us, to the kingdom both the queen and prince had built for themselves.

I fought the anger burning in my throat, urged myself on my feet, and turned to continue my way to the crystal throne. I'd hidden the horns and wings and claws, keeping them wrapped under my skin, ready to come out at my sheer will.

This transformation wasn't only physical, but radical and so deep it reached my magic and powers, their own essence turning dark. I couldn't reach my nature elementals as easily as before, my own will to call them shrouded with thick smoke that stopped them before surging from my fingertips. Something evil always replaced them, gifts that were more curses to my body. But we were going to their lair, and to remain safe, we had to become like them in flesh and bones and soul.

Dawn was creaking into the dark sky by the time I reached our meeting spot, daybreak's warm colors creeping through the thick trees and into the forest. The throne and the flowers scattered on the armrests and near the foot seemed to absorb that light, swallowing it before it surged through the earth and into the very heart of this place, feeding it with life. I had not noted the small horns protecting those blooms, or the ones carved in circles around the seat.

Roses and thorns, delicacy and agony, protection and destruction, just like the witch was. An angel in sight and a devil in mind. My lips curled as I ran my hands on the smooth, cool crystal, vaguely remembering seeing her seated here the first time, silver circlet atop her head.

I was so clueless at the time, had been so naïve and different and broken, hardly forcing my presence in this world. But I did not feel ashamed as this place brought back the memory of the helpless girl I had been. I had grown so much in so little time it was impossible to believe, and the Celestia that was brought from her safe, locked chamber didn't exist anymore. I'd grown from that skin, grown from being an unknown heiress to a queen. I was not scared, not out of place.

I was exactly who I was meant to become and nothing could prepare Lysithea and Blake for the wrath boiling in my blood. They would pay; I would make sure they did. My smile turned to a smirk, thoughts and plans as dark as the new powers within me brewing in my mind.

I didn't turn when I felt a body moving closer, footsteps so light I almost failed in picking them up. His scent was still strange, his aura and soul not much acquainted with my spirit yet. I didn't turn to stare at Sorcha's eldest son until the moment he opened his mouth.

"Short hair suits you no one bit."

I turned fully, eyebrow arched and body leaning against the witch's throne as I stared at him, at his crossed arms, at the teasing light in his eyes. He held my eyes, grey and hazel meeting blood.

"Straightforward much, Lord?" I drawled, tucking aside one strand hovering above my eyes. It was his smirk that made me raise both eyebrows. So different, he was so different from all the nobles I'd met and knew who I was. He was daring, not fearing who he was speaking with, not scared by the title or the power that came with it.

"I bear Mother's gift," Énor replied, moving closer and closer to the throne, only stopping at the base of the staircase. "My tongue cannot lie."

"It cannot lie, but it can dodge the truth, can't it?"

There was delight in the back and forth going on, something raw and unlike what I'd lived the past week. The mere mention of my crown, the mere sight of my face to anyone who was not my friend ended in a tensed air, formal attitude, and unspoken fear. But this wasn't the same.

Énor smiled. "It can, but I thought it would be wiser to tell you this, in case you decide one day to shorten your hair this much."

"Have your mother not taught you how to be a gentleman when speaking with your princess?" I pressed my weigh on the throne, arms crossing and head tilting as I asked with a voice that was laced with enough malice to hint I was enjoying this as much as he did.

Perhaps Énor had felt the grimness of the thought that had swirled around me upon arriving; perhaps he'd sensed that darkness and decided that this was better than leaving me in my own mind. One look at his soul gave me enough affirmation.

"I believe she did at some point, but when you learn so much, it gets hard to remember it all."

What followed, not even hundreds of training years would have been enough to prepare Énor. Even I didn't feel Sorcha appearing of thin dust, body emerging of nothing before her hand met with her son's cheek. It wasn't hard, more like a taunting brush to irk him as she said, "Well, I trust this is something you will remember for quite a while."

Énor only laughed, head slightly tilting back as he watched his lady climb the stairs and take her throne. "Of course, Mother, until the last day I live."

"Good." Her eyes turned to me, her face finally light like the one she always wore. "Does this skin suit you?"

I nodded, pushing away from the throne and making my way down the stairs, careful not to step on the thorns. It was when I found a spot next to Énor that Leon and Deres brushed against the sensitivity of my aura. A mere minute later, they were next to us.

I had to blink several times as I took in Leon. If my change was drastic, then I didn't know what to use to describe what had happened to him. His hair that was rich brown was now black as coal, a single silver strand contrasting at the right side of his face right above a painted scar. The wound was covered with words inked with something black and different from what covered his skin. He was as pale as I was, looking like he had been underground for a lifetime.

But his eyes… I didn't drown in their ocean, didn't find myself being drifted away as I stared at them as I had done so many, many times. The only thing in them that stared back at me was coldness washing red wine eyes. Even his jaws weren't as sharp as before, his face more oblong than before. Leon—Aedis—smiled, revealing sharp fangs before he eyed me up and down.

There was a good few minutes of contemplating each others before Sorcha voiced, words directed to Deres, "That scar on his face was a nice addition."

I shifted my attention to the Shimdera Lady and her sons who were now seated on the floor, each on one side, not even bothering to cast a chair.

Deres rubbed his jaw, eyes going again to the work he'd done on Leon. "I wouldn't risk it with Mealin there. I felt this gave his face something even more different that we had in mind."

Leon's eyes still fell on me again, and I heard the thoughts whispering to the edge of my spirit. I only built the bridge between our minds, keeping it silent to the other three spirit wielders.

'You should gawk at yourself first, and then wonder how much I have changed.'

He didn't reply but I did feel the soft brush of a chuckle down my mind.

''I wonder,'' Énor added, eyes running over us all, ''what lie you have for this.''

It was Sorcha that replied, attention to us, ''You can come up with any lie for the scar and the tattoo, preferably something to do with you being mates. Now that this no real matter to ponder on, I warn you both, your powers have changed. Your normal gifts are still there, but harder to reach. You have new ones—I am sure you've already felt them—it will be upon you to see just what they truly are. Refrain using them until you have the poison from the witch the Book of Astazan spoke about."

Sorcha threw something and we were both fast to catch the vials. The Blest Tears we'd brought—what remained after a few drops were used to the ink—were filling the long tube. "You,'' she eyed Leon, ''drink it all but a sip." She stared at me next. "You drink it all." She threw another two vials, each catching one. "If you feel it is not enough, you drink half one more. You have twenty four hours before the poison settles for good in your veins."

We nodded, even when she wasn't done speaking yet. "You can control your appearance, shift it back and forth until the minute the potion rests in your veins, with a limited amount of tries. How much, I am not certain. The less the better so that the charm doesn't break. Keep the rest of the blest tears with you, just in case."

"Anything else?'' asked Leon, even his voice different.

"One thing, yes."

What followed was her voice in our minds, words drifting through our heads in a language and accent that was old and filled with malice. "This is the tongue only the Fallen can speak and no one else. Even when you use the common tongue—something you've learned because of us—you speak with this accent. Once the transformation settles in, you will be able to read and write and speak it like all Windreapers because it is a gift that comes with birth."

She rose from her throne, taking one step at a time before she walked to us. She took Leon in her arms in an embrace that was motherly and gentle, and I didn't allow myself to wonder just how truly long it was since Leon was ever held this way. She kissed his forehead before she came to me and did the same. When she pulled back, she whispered, "Come back safe. Both of you."

This time, we didn't nod or response, only stared at the three of them, then at dawn that had finally rose. It was time to leave.

With a final glance back, we turned to leave the Shimderian Forest. I was halfway the distance that guided us out when I reached Énor.

'I know why you truly came before the

rest.'

A moment of silence, allowing my words to echo in his consciousness.

'Consider him already dead.'

Not long after that, we were out and heading northwest Cantelot to the woman the Book ordered us to seek.