With a silent apology, he injected the elixir into his mother's cold skin.
And just like that—cold and dead turned into warm and alive.
At first, only silence. Then came the power, surging through Isabell's body. A dim white light—moonlike—pulsed through her veins. Air returned to her lungs. Dead cells revived under the divine presence coursing through her form.
She gasped.
Her chest rose sharply—and then it truly began. A radiant glow burst from her body, warm and holy, so bright Allen had to shield his eyes, even as the heat wrapped around him like a loving memory.
Then, the light dimmed—slowly.
When it finally settled, Allen lowered his hand, and his eyes widened in disbelief.
There she was—Isabell. Not in her casket, but hovering midair. Angelic wings unfolded from her back. Luminous light haloed her form—so pure and powerful that even the coffin she had risen from seemed to bow in reverence.
Her soul was restored.
But she was no longer merely human.
