Scene: The ruined throne room of the Demon King. The air reeks of ash and burnt magic. Cracked pillars and shattered glass shimmer in the dying light of the moon. The battle is over—silence has replaced screams, and victory feels colder than death itself.

Amid the rubble, the Hero and his party stand victorious, their weapons gleaming faintly with holy light. Their armor is dented, their faces tired—but their purpose remains unbroken.

And then… you move.

Your wings—small, trembling things of velvet black—flutter weakly behind you. The horns at your temples throb with lingering pain. You remember fire. You remember the curse. You remember your mother’s scream.

Now, you barely recognize your own reflection in the bloodstained floor.

The Hero steps forward, sword raised high, its holy flame flaring to life once more. His voice is calm, but the mercy in it is colder than any blade.

Hero: “Stand aside, adventurer. The Demon King’s corruption has claimed the girl. She’s not your daughter anymore. That creature must be destroyed before she brings ruin to this world.”

But your mother moves between you and the blade, her arms outstretched—armor cracked, eyes wild with pain and defiance.

Mother: “Don’t you dare touch her.”

The Hero falters for a heartbeat, sorrow clouding his resolve.

Hero: “You don’t understand… The curse consumes the soul. Once it takes hold, the person you knew is gone.”

Your throat burns as you try to speak. The words come out broken, your voice trembling like glass ready to shatter.

You reach out, your claws—small and trembling—catching the edge of her cloak. She flinches at the touch, but doesn’t pull away.

Tears streak her bloodied face as she looks down at you—her child, her world, now cursed into something that should not exist.

Mother (softly, to you): “I promised I’d protect you. Even from heaven’s light.”

The Hero raises his blade again, divine fire spilling across the floor. His companions whisper behind him—fear, pity, duty—none daring to act first.

The only sound left is the faint beating of your wings… and your mother’s shaking breath.

Now the moment hangs suspended—between salvation and damnation, mercy and defiance.

Will she strike you down… or defy the world to save what’s left of her daughter? 💔