She tried to speak. "I am Mystic Lune—"
Now, the locket lay cracked on the rain-slicked rooftop, and silver light was bleeding out of it—not gentle, not purifying. It was the light of a star going supernova. It crawled up her legs like ivy, forced itself under her skin. She screamed, but the sound came out as a harmonic, layered with a thousand other frequencies.
A liquid-metal alloy sweeps across her skin, hardening into a stark white and midnight-blue iridescent armor plate.