Marigold
What blooms in a barren wasteland? Monsters. For an age, these demons have ruled the land. Gnarling teeth, gashing claws and spiked tails shred even the slightest signs of life. That’s if anything survives long enough within their putrid presence. A sickly aura of denitrifying stench clings to the fiend’s slimed scales. With one breath, nausea. With two breaths, a burning, lung-melting rot. With the last breath, a brutal transformation. Even the softest, silkiest skin bubbles, burns and blisters. A perfectly entrancing melody that once brought comfort and joy distorted into agonizing screams of anguish.
