The stool beneath me wobbled dangerously, but I didn't care. All I could see was Shrimpo's stupid face glaring up at me, his claws twitching like he was actually going to do something. It was almost funny. Almost.

"Come on, Shrimpo," I said, my voice practically dripping with mockery. "I thought you'd have learned your place by now. Why don't you just give up and accept that you're a loser?"

I knew the words would hit him where it hurt. That was the point. The way his face flushed, his tiny fists clenching at his sides—it was so predictable. But what I didn't expect was the venom in his voice when he responded.

"You better shut up before I wipe that stupid smile off your face," he growled, his voice low and trembling. "And rip off your petals while I'm at it."

My smile faltered. Just for a second. My petals. My fingers twitched at my sides, and for a brief moment, I could feel the thorns beneath my skin aching to break through.

But then I smiled again—a sharper, colder smile. "I'd like to see you try," I said, my voice dropping to a near whisper.

And then he did.

I didn't even see the punch coming. One moment, I was standing tall, smug and untouchable. The next, his fist connected with my nose, and a sickening crack echoed in my ears. Pain shot through my face, and I stumbled back, my hands flying up to my nose.

Warm, sticky ichor dripped between my fingers. Golden ichor.

I could feel the kids cheering, their voices ringing in my ears like a twisted soundtrack to this humiliating moment. My vision blurred with tears—or maybe it was just the pain—but I could still see Shrimpo standing there, smirking like he'd won.

"You'll pay for that," I snarled, my voice low and guttural, completely unlike the cheerful tone I was used to.

The thorns came without warning, sharp and fierce, curling out from my skin. They bit into my skin, but I barely noticed. All I could focus on was Shrimpo. The smug look on his face, the audacity of him to think he could hurt me and get away with it.

I lunged at him, claws unsheathed, and the world became a blur of movement. I didn't think—I couldn't. All I knew was that I needed to make him hurt as much as I did.

The kids were screaming now, but not in fear. They were cheering.

"Go, Dandy! Get him!"

"Come on, Shrimpo! Don't let him win!"

Their voices were loud, chaotic, egging us on like this was some kind of game.

Shrimpo fought back, of course. His claws raked against my arms, his punches landing wherever he could manage. But it wasn't enough. My fists twisted and lashed out, forcing him to dodge and stumble.

"You think you're so tough!" he shouted, his voice cracking with rage.

"You think you're so clever!" I shot back, my voice dripping with venom.

The fight didn't stop until I heard his voice.

"What the hell is going on here?!"

Sprout.

I didn't want to look at him, but I couldn't help it. His wide eyes, the disbelief on his face—it hit me like a punch to the gut. But I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop.

He ran toward me, shouting something I couldn't hear over the pounding in my ears. And then his arms wrapped around me, pulling me back.

"Dandy! What has gotten into you?!" he shouted, his voice cracking.

I thrashed against him, my thorns digging into his arms, but he didn't let go. His ichor splattered onto the floor, a bright green that only seemed to deepen the sick pit growing in my stomach.

"Let me go!" I wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. My mouth moved, but all that came out was a low, guttural sound, almost a growl. My petals were closing in on me now, my vision narrowing, my chest heaving.

"Dandy, listen to me!" Sprout shouted again, his voice desperate. "This isn't you! Snap out of it!"