On that circular platform, Balthazar's figure appeared somewhat bloated. Standing before him was a robust woman in tattered garments, her platinum-blond hair tumbling loose in wild disarray. Her features were peculiar, resembling shattered porcelain meticulously pieced back together, with crisscrossing cracks that exuded a fragile, broken beauty.
She was an Aasimar, though her wings had been reduced to a battered and ruined state.
Surprising as it was, the much-discussed Nightsong turned out to be a living person.
Chapter 105