Chapter Two
The lingering pungency of a thousand flowers embraced Nanda like… like a punch in the face.
She had found it pleasant, at first, an unexpected scent to lift the heart. She had stepped into the Deathlands expecting to find it like The Malykt Himself: dark, bleak and without mercy. Instead she had encountered an airy lightness buoying to the spirits, and received the sensation of drowning in an ocean of flowers.
Well, drowning was never pleasant in the end, whatever one chose to drown in. Fragrance turned to stench in her estimation, her head ached, and she would almost have cut off her own nose if that would take the abominable reek away.
Staring now at a warped blossom for which she had no name — because it could possess none, inside-out as it was, and twisted out of recogn
