She was still the same. Just a bit different.

She, of course, attacks him with it.

Well, change was inevitable.

Machina staggered back, giving her a look of shocked horror. Only it wasn't Machina anymore but a faery prince with midnight hair and bright silver eyes. Lean and dangerous, silhouetted all in black, his hand went to the sword at his belt before he realized it was too late. He swayed, fighting to stay on his feet. "Isiea," Ash whispered, a thin line of red trickling from his mouth. His hands clutched at the arrow in his chest as he fell to his knees, pale gaze beseeching hers. "Why?"

That changes her mood pretty quickly. And not in a good way.

Usually, yes.

Her hands were covered in glistening crimson, running rivulets down her arms, dripping to the ground. Below the slick coating, things wiggled beneath her skin, pushing up through the surface, like leeches in blood. She felt powerful, powerful and strong, as if electricity surged beneath her skin, as if she could do anything she wanted and no one could stop her.


Well...what was she going to do now?

She didn't know. Not right now.

Well, at least nobody was dying. Yet.

Yet?