The bandages were off.
Lirienne's face was fully revealed.
Her nose had been shattered into a crooked mess, her skin scuffed and stretched with uneven healing, and her cheekbones were visibly crushed inwards like crumpled glass beneath flesh.
Her lips drooped unnaturally on one side, forming a twisted frown that never left. The damage was grotesque—surgical precision wrapped in brutal cruelty.
The wounds were not just disfiguring. They were devastating.
She knew this. She had cried for hours the first time she saw herself in the mirror.
Now, with a dozen eyes silently judging, she raised her trembling hands and covered her face, shrinking into herself like a child afraid of the light.
But her grandmother was here now. Selaphiel, a real elf. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a sliver of hope.
That sliver was crushed immediately.
"The injuries are too complex"
Selaphiel said gently.
"Too deliberate. I'm sorry... I can't do anything about this."
