Parasites, weird worms, slow diseases that didn't show on skin. Before, when she'd planned to leave them eventually and only brush against their lives for a while, she hadn't cared as much. Distance was its own safety. But now? Now she was agreeing to live under the same roof with them, sleep near them, definitely share more than a blanket for gods‑knew how long. Marriage changed the risk. She wasn't going to gamble her body on ignorance.
If she had to die in this world, it would be a clean, dramatic death—ripped open by a beastman, bones broken in a fight, burned, blown apart. Something worthy of a story. Not felled slowly by some microscopic worm or nameless infection that chewed her organs in the dark.
So all three of them went on the list.
