Cynthia (6)

As the water sphere before Cynthia finally formed—perfectly stable, radiant, and gleaming like a polished crystal—she narrowed her eyes, a sharp light flickering within them.

She twirled on her heel, her wand gripped tighter than ever, newfound purpose coursing through her veins. The once-glittering orb now hovered just above her palm, pulsating with raw, elemental energy.

The ghouls had closed in. Too close now. Their cracked faces and hollow, thirst-hungry eyes locked onto her with an eerie desperation.

"You want water, right…?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with both pity and resolve. A strange, fleeting empathy passed through her expression—as if, in some twisted way, these ghouls were kin. Not in blood, but in suffering. In longing.

But that sympathy didn't last.