The princess's body trembled, her vision blurring as the dark fairy disintegrated. A searing pain, a backlash from her failed magic, consumed her.
Fate, it seemed, was against her. Yet, a flicker of defiance remained. With trembling hands, she ignited another matchstick. A shimmering image of the lighthouse appeared, the place they took refuge. Then she spelled an incantation laced with a desperation.
Her lips, full and gleaming with an unnatural sheen, formed a perfect circle as she exhaled a soft, fragrant breath. The flame, imbued with her magic, transformed into a mesmerizing swarm of dark butterflies, their wings outlined in a haunting, ethereal fire. They danced in the air, a macabre ballet of vengeance.
As the last embers of the matchstick died, a single tear rolled down her cheek, a silent plea for justice. "Please, make them pay," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling flames. The butterflies took flight carriying her plea.