'V - vanquish the shadow of weakness,' she wetly whispers the first phrase of her healing aria as she attempts to stand, channeling positive energy through her birthright - for that cannot be refused.

Through its crimson leafed branches, the sky is ablaze. The face carved into its bark resembles that of a treant, gloomy and bitter. Her free hand flies to her throat - my head is - it feels like it is gone, still spinning through the air as she opens her eyes.Ī pale tree stares silently down at her, bleeding from the eyes. Blood sears her - human - lips as she coughs, spits and vomits a never ending sanguine stream as she rolls onto her side - get up. Air forces its way out of her lungs by sheer habit, splitting to wheeze out her open mouth and whistle through her open throat. It burns up her throat with her rattling breaths - how am I breathing? Her heart shudders as if unsure if it should even beat. It is molten, tasting of brimstone and iron. Nothing explains why she woke again, choking on her own blood.

The arterial spray spurting over the polished marble of the cathedral and flowing down over broken cobblestone as the lives she hoped - prayed - she saved fell beneath the earth. Her last memory was seeing her own headless body slump. She felt the Storm King's blade bite into her neck.

The phantom pain steam discussion