Lysara leaned against the splintered remains of the village's central well, a crude roll of smoke between her fingers. The tip of the cigarette glowed faintly as she took a deep drag, letting the smoke curl lazily from her lips before exhaling in a long, drawn-out sigh. Her once-golden hair was now tied carelessly in a loose knot, streaked with dirt and neglect. Her radiant, kind demeanor was gone, replaced by a sneering, detached expression.
"You're staring, old man," she said sharply, her voice dripping with mockery as she turned to one of the remaining villagers. "Is there a problem, or do you just enjoy wasting my time?"
The man, an aging farmer who had once known Lysara as the village's gentle soul, stammered a response. "I—no, Lysara. I was just... checking if you needed help."
Lysara rolled her eyes, flicking ash carelessly onto the ground. "I don't need help from you. Or anyone. So why don't you run along and play in the dirt or whatever it is you're good at?"
The man recoiled, his face pale as he hurried away. Lysara chuckled to herself, the sound low and cruel.
"Pathetic," she muttered, taking another drag.
---
It had been months since Kael Draven had first taken Lysara, claimed her as his own in the dark glade. Each encounter with him had chipped away at the person she once was. The kindness, the warmth, the compassion that had defined her were gone, replaced by a hardened shell of indifference and scorn.
Kael's magic had left its mark on her—not just physically, but mentally. Each time he pushed her to the brink and left her broken, only to return and do it all over again, something inside her cracked.
And now, those cracks had spread so far that there was nothing left of the girl who had once been the heart of the village.
---
The transformation hadn't been immediate. At first, Lysara had fought to hold on to herself, to cling to the fragments of the person she had been before Kael's arrival. But his presence, his power, his twisted games—it was all too much.
The villagers had noticed the change, though few dared to speak of it. Lysara, who had once been their light, had become something unrecognizable. She was cruel now, her words sharp and cutting. She mocked their efforts to rebuild, sneering at their struggles as if they were beneath her.
And then there was the smoking.
No one knew where she had gotten the habit or why she had taken it up, but it had become a constant fixture in her life. The acrid smell of smoke followed her everywhere, and she reveled in the disapproval it drew from the others.
"What are you looking at?" she snapped at a young girl who had been watching her with wide, tearful eyes. "Never seen someone enjoying themselves before? Get lost, brat."
The girl ran off, sobbing, but Lysara only laughed.
---
Her newfound attitude wasn't limited to the villagers. Even nature itself seemed to be a target for her disdain.
One afternoon, as she sat by the edge of the spring, she noticed a bird perched on a nearby branch, its song filling the air with a cheerful melody. Lysara scowled, grabbing a rock and hurling it at the bird.
"Shut up," she muttered as the bird flew away in a panic. "I don't need your stupid singing."
The peaceful beauty of the forest, which she had once cherished, now irritated her to no end. The serenity felt like an insult, a mockery of the chaos that had taken root inside her.
---
Kael Draven watched her transformation from afar, his massive form coiled in the shadows. He had no intention of interfering—this was exactly what he wanted.
"Good," he murmured to himself, his silver eyes gleaming. "You're becoming stronger. Tougher. Perfect."
He could see the cracks in her mind, the way his influence had reshaped her. She was no longer the innocent, naïve girl he had first taken. She was harder now, more jaded—and far more interesting.
"She'll never be the Void," he admitted, a smirk tugging at his lips. "But she'll do for now."
---
One evening, as Lysara sat on the steps of her crumbling home, a young man from the village approached her cautiously. He was one of the few who still dared to speak to her, though his nervousness was evident.
"Lysara," he said hesitantly, "I thought you might like some company."
Lysara raised an eyebrow, exhaling a cloud of smoke as she looked him over. "Company? And what exactly do you think you have to offer me, farm boy?"
The man shifted uncomfortably, his cheeks reddening. "I just... I thought you might be lonely."
Lysara laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. "Lonely? Please. I don't need anyone, least of all you."
The man flinched but didn't leave. "You weren't always like this," he said quietly. "What happened to you, Lysara? What happened to the girl we all loved?"
Lysara's expression darkened, her sneer fading for a moment. She looked away, her fingers tightening around the cigarette.
"That girl is gone," she said flatly. "She died the day he came."
"He?" the man asked, frowning. "You mean... the monster?"
Lysara's lips curled into a bitter smile. "He's not a monster," she said, her voice soft but laced with venom. "He's everything. And none of you will ever understand."
The man stared at her, his confusion turning to pity. "Lysara, whatever he did to you—"
"Get out," she snapped, cutting him off. "Before I make you regret coming here."
The man hesitated for a moment before turning and walking away, his shoulders slumped. Lysara watched him go, her jaw tightening.
"Pathetic," she muttered, taking another drag.
---
As the days turned into weeks, Lysara's behavior only grew worse. She delighted in taunting the villagers, mocking their pain and struggles with a cruel, biting wit. She reveled in her own transformation, convinced that she was stronger, smarter, and better than everyone else.
But deep down, a part of her still felt the cracks.
At night, when she was alone in her crumbling home, the memories of Kael would return. She would feel his presence, his power, his touch, and it would leave her trembling.
"Why won't you come back?" she whispered into the darkness, her voice trembling with frustration. "You made me like this. You can't just leave me now."
The shadows didn't answer.
---
Kael, watching from afar, smirked as he observed her turmoil. She was spiraling, and he loved every second of it.
"You're almost ready," he murmured. "Soon, you'll understand what it means to be mine."
He had no intention of saving her—this was her trial, her crucible. If she survived, she would be stronger, harder, more perfect. And if she didn't?
Well, there were always others.
---
One night, as Lysara stood by the edge of the forest, she felt a familiar presence behind her. She turned, her breath catching as she saw Kael's massive form emerge from the shadows.
"You," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Kael smirked, his silver eyes gleaming. "Miss me?"
Lysara's hands clenched into fists, her anger warring with something else—something darker. "What do you want?" she demanded.
Kael moved closer, his massive body coiling around her. "You," he said simply. "Always you."
Lysara shivered, her defiance faltering as Kael's presence enveloped her. She hated him, feared him—but she couldn't deny the pull he had over her.
"Then take me," she said, her voice soft but steady. "If that's what you want."
Kael's smirk widened as he leaned closer, his voice a low murmur. "Not yet," he said. "You're not ready."
Lysara's eyes widened in frustration, but before she could protest, Kael vanished into the shadows, leaving her alone once more.
She screamed into the night, her voice filled with rage and despair.
"I'll show you," she muttered, her silver eyes glinting with a dangerous light. "I'll show you what I can become."
And as she lit another cigarette, her mind burned with a single thought: She would either rise to meet Kael's expectations—or destroy herself trying.