"Quick! End it!"
"There—it's the cursed plant!"
"Kill it!"
What a laughable situation...
All because she no longer bore flowers, they now wanted her dead.
And here she was—finally—on the verge of regaining her human form. After all these years of having her power stolen, banished to these barren lands full of humans and low-ranked beasts.
There was no need to guess who had orchestrated her downfall. She knew.
That vile woman, cloaked in so-called benevolence and praise, believed she could control what belonged to her.
The pain of her limbs being hacked away by machetes bit into her, sharp and burning.
Still, she laughed—a hollow sound buried deep in her chest.
If there were a next life, she would return the favor tenfold.
As the ruler of her kind, the queen of flowers, she would rise again—and her enemies would learn the price of betrayal.
Her blood spilled in thick, red streams—dark and slow, like sap.
It stained the skin and robes of her murderers, drawing screams of terror as buds began to bloom in the snow.
Crimson peonies—so deep red they looked soaked in blood—sprouted from her remains, defying death itself.
A final warning.
A cursed blossom.
A perfect gift for her enemies.
Her bloody revenge.