Objectively, Alyssara Velcroix was very beautiful. Her cotton candy pink hair cascaded in perfect waves, framing a face that seemed crafted by an artist with an impossible ideal in mind. Her eyes shimmered between cyan and green like the waters of a tropical lagoon shifting under different lights. And her delicate features gave her the appearance of a teenager, though something in her bearing suggested an age far greater.
But I wasn't worried about that.
I was more concerned about determining whether she was Emma or not.
That mattered much more to me.
Emma—the girl who had once been my everything in another life, another world. The girl whose death had broken me in ways I couldn't articulate. The girl whose memory haunted me still, even in this world of mana and monsters.
