The dry winds of Zalthor's wastelands howled across the desolate desert, swirling dust and sand around them as Rebecca, still shaking from the Gaze of Agony, somehow forced herself to stand.
Her legs felt like lead, her breath ragged, yet she refused to collapse. Not in front of him. Not in front of the man she once saw as nothing but a discarded shell, a plaything for her son's frustrations.
And now?
Now he was the one looking at her like this.
Like she was something fragile. Something pitiful.
Her chilling red eyes flared with anger, even as a deep, unspoken pain curled in the pit of her stomach.
"Don't look at me like that…" Her voice came through gritted teeth, her fists clenching at her sides. "As if I am some sort of pitiful creature. I endured everything and came this far so that I could be the one to give people such looks. Not the other way around."
