Stepping into her Soul Realm had once been an agony worse than any wound her body could suffer:
Sienna had not wept black blood while in her Soul Realm for appearance, nor had those dark trails beneath her violet eyes been some natural ornament of the Nether Goddess. They were the visible consequence of a soul being forced to sustain far more than it possessed.
Her Soul Realm demanded power merely to exist:
Every black lake, every continent of unfinished bone, every Nether storm and every ancient corpse buried beneath its dead horizons drew upon her soul. Entering that realm meant allowing its laws to close around her consciousness.
Assuming her true Nether Goddess form meant carrying the full weight of its sovereign authority.
Her current soul strength had never possessed enough strength to support all of it.
The black tears had been pieces of that soul breaking down beneath the strain.
