Her mother.
That was her mother.
The threads of magma found Lucille's axe, winding up the haft and sinking into the blade until the whole edge burned molten orange, and the glow of it reached every face in the common room.
Then the rest of the water rose.
It came up in columns around the figure and built as it climbed: a troll five times her height with fists like boulders, a second one at its shoulder, a serpent thick as a barrel coiling around the whole arrangement, horned brutes filling the gaps, until a full warband of liquid monsters stood in silent ranks around one small woman.
"Quin!!" Lucille's voice came out smaller than it had been all evening, an adorable little squeal, her fingers finding his sleeve. "This is too much... An entire warband of monsters against just me? It looks like bragging..."
"No." Aurora propped her chin on her laced fingers, amber eyes gleaming. "It's perfect."
