Marked From Birth
Ruthie Baudrey atlantissorry, alpha. i don't want to be your mistresstext to make her blushan echo of an alpha's cruelty
Behind her, the Clockwork Exiles were already busy venting the steam from their overheating cannons, the green emerald fire receding back into the roots of the World-Oak.
"We won," Vane muttered, wiping a streak of oil and soot from her forehead. "But I don't like the look of that sky."
Audrey looked up. The sky was no longer the bruised violet of the North. It had turned a sickly, translucent green—the exact color of Caelum’s eyes. But there were no clouds. The color seemed to be coming from the air itself, a static charge so thick that everyone’s hair began to stand on end.