Inside Isolde's room, she went ballistic the moment they arrived at the capital.
She quickly placed a soundproof spell, her magic flaring harshly. Then she began trashing the room, vases shattered against the walls, books scattered across the floor, and the curtains ripped from their hooks. Her anger was wild, unrestrained.
Her breathing turned heavy, eyes flashing with fury as she threw whatever her hands could reach. The room was soon in ruins.
Then her gaze landed on Fiona, who was now on her knees, trembling. Fiona's head was lowered, hands pressed together as though begging for mercy.
Isolde's expression twisted darker. The fury in her eyes didn't fade, instead, it sharpened as she took slow, deliberate steps toward her. The air in the room seemed to grow colder, and Fiona couldn't even lift her head.
