Inhaling deeply, Cynthia looked at her hands. Between her palms, an orange light flickered, its glow unstable. She hurled the large fireball into the blaze, while the commoners standing afar shrieked in fear.
"What are you doing, you witch?!"
"Have you lost your mind?!"
"Are you trying to kill us?!"
"How can you do this?!"
The screams halted once they noticed the large fireball Cynthia had thrown began to shallow the fire already on the trees, and slowly, only the fire the grand duchess had created remained, hovering in the air above the brunt trees, where a few of the trunks remained sturdy enough to keep standing although they had turned a pitch black due to the fire.
"You…" the old man, who had thrown a rock at her muttered, muttered, his eyes widening.
