JAYNAYAH

I was a prisoner in my own skin.

My body was no longer mine; it was a vessel overflowing with a cold, viscous rage that felt older than the mountains outside. I could see, I could hear, but I was shoved into the furthest corner of my mind, watching horrified through eye sockets that felt like frozen tunnels.

The roaring in my ears wasn't just the fire; it was the cacophony of a thousand wronged souls screaming for retribution. They hated him. Oh goddess, the sheer volume of their hatred for Mace was a physical weight crushing my lungs.

"No," I tried to scream, but the word died in...