"Turning into dust is becoming somewhat unoriginal, no?" she thought out loud. "And it's also quite terrible public image. Dust, ashes, soot… no, no. I need something more lighthearted~"
The while hand gently touched the young noble's hand. It must've been cold. Savine was always told that her mana was cold.
But he didn't feel the cold much longer. Piece by piece, his hand transformed into flowers. It wasn't a slow, painful process. There were no flesh turning into greenery, no bones going wooden.
Pop!
Like a flower at dawn, they burst into existence.
The process was beautiful. No blood was shed, no cries of agony… it would've been perfect if he just didn't ruin it with his look of terror.
…But that, too, could be mended. Impatiently, Savine's hands reached for his head. Firmly, she grabbed his neck, forcing it blossom. A scream threatened to escape his mouth… but of course, without a throat, no such desecration was allowed.