The cold did not matter anymore; the voice inside her head was far worse.
Elara remained pinned flat against the black ice, her fingernails scraping uselessly over the frictionless surface as her hands clutched her temples. The dark gravity of the hijacked soul-tether twisted inside her chest, pulling her down toward the frozen river with a heavy, invisible weight.
A thick, hot trickle of black fluid split from her left nostril, carrying the sharp, bitter scent of sulfur. It dripped onto the clear ice beneath her face, hissing slightly against the frost.
Every single throb of her heart vibrated with the heavy, polished presence of the High Elder lurking deep inside her mind. He was right there, watching through her eyes, listening through her ears.
