"Father."
The duke's breath caught in his throat.
In front of him stood a girl.
Her back pressed against the cold stone, her delicate frame resting against the cavern floor. Her long, flowing black hair cascaded down like silken strands of midnight, pooling beneath her like ink.
And her eyes.
Bright amber orbs—sharp, piercing, alive.
Eyes that should have been dulled by sickness, dimmed by weakness.
But they weren't.
They burned.
They shone.
And her skin.
It was glowing.
A soft, radiant luminescence, like polished ivory reflecting the light of the moon. The sickly pallor, the faint scars, the blemishes that had plagued her body were gone.
The marks.
The curse.
Everything.
