Tauriel lay motionless on the marble floor, her body cold and pale, her eyes rolled back into her skull. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, irregular gasps, each breath a struggle. The blood circle that the queen had drawn around her glowed faintly, pulsing with a rhythm that matched Tauriel's failing heartbeat.
The queen knelt beside her, her hand pressed against Tauriel's forehead. Her eyes were closed, her lips moving in a chant that was barely audible. She had been trying to sever the soul tie for what felt like hours—the fragment of Tauriel's essence that had been consumed by something far greater.
But something was wrong.
The queen's brow furrowed. Her chanting slowed as her fingers pressed deeper into Tauriel's skin.
"Impossible," she whispered.
The elves around her exchanged nervous glances. They had been ordered to stand back, to remain silent, to trust their queen's judgment. But the tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut.
