"Then… what about you?" Claude asked, his sharp gaze locked onto Aubree.
He could sense something wrong with her body, a lingering weakness beyond her visible wounds—but he couldn't pinpoint where.
Aubree instinctively hid her left hand beneath the blanket. But before she could pull away, Claude caught it, pulling it into view. His eyes widened in shock.
Her hand was blackened, veins darkened as if corruption had spread through her very flesh.
"This… your body is rotting from the inside!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with anger. "How could you do this to yourself?!"
It enraged him. Not just because her beauty was being ruined—though that, too, was a shame—but because it reminded him of his own mother.
The Church had forced her into a life of fear, suffering in silence, hiding from those who sought to burn her for simply existing.
That same cruelty had now fallen upon Aubree.
