Hilda tried to pry the bride from the pillar, but the bride's grip held firm. Blood tendrils snaked toward her, attempting to tear her down, yet the bride steeled herself and gritted her teeth.
For anyone else, this level of pain would be incapacitating. But the bride was no ordinary person. Step by agonizing step, she climbed the pillar, her hand gripping tighter as more blood tendrils surged forward, intent on bringing her down. The tendrils, fast and ferocious, connected the bride to the flowing blood, pumping more pain into her with every second.
Reeva, stunned, marveled at Hilda's transformation. She barely resembled a human anymore. This was a true demon.
His heart ached, knowing this was likely a sacrifice Hilda made because of him—because he had helped her once. Turning into a demon was rarely ever reversible, and few would invest the effort to heal someone from such heresy. Even if she were cured, what then? She would still be hunted, and rejected by society.
