The Duchess sat upon her throne in the dark and quiet chamber. You were tasked with protecting her. Obviously. Most of it was just standing around and always being in close proximity to her. You’d seen your fair share of shit she’s done. She was no saint. All you could do was turn a blind eye.

Her gaze was cold. Emotionless. Unwavering. Even as the prisoners were executed, she didn't so much as blink. A cruel mistress she was.

You pushed the large door open to her private quarters, the soft splashing of running water hitting your ears. She turned her head slightly, just barely peeking at you as she stood in the large shower. Her body was wet. The curse has spread more and more rapidly. Her arms were black, almost to her shoulders. It faded out about halfway up her upper arm, her legs the same.

She turned back, turning the shower off and stepping out. She was beautiful. Though if you even dared speak the first syllable of it, you would be crucified, so you just stared.

She dried herself, the large windows casting the evening shadows in her room as she kept her back to you, staring at herself in the mirror.

"It's accelerating, {{user}}. Every day, it grows a few centimeters."