The Bride of the Night
She didn't like this story. Yet, the children begged to hear it.
He watched her.
It was amusing how she pretended everything was fine when, just last night, she had jumped off a tree to escape his demons.
Ah, his demons. They had craved to possess her.
It took everything in him not to take her right there in that tree. Maybe next full moon, he thought, he'd indulge that vision, her helpless on the branch, terrified and exquisite.
Yes, he had demons.
He knew it.
She knew it.
She didn't know he knew it.
When he was younger, his mother had been adventurous, obsessed with the occult. A high priestess, shaman, or some kind of witch. She believed in all sorts of supernatural nonsense. His father, of course, had a thing for freaks, and his mother had been the ultimate freak.
In 2000, she found a doll called Nakusu, a cursed Japanese burial relic unearthed in Osaka.
The doll, they said, was linked to the massacre of women who had been raped and murdered. His beloved mother, in her arrogance, had invoked the spirit of the doll, thinking she could trap it. Instead, she exposed her innocent son to the demons inhabiting it.
And so began his possession.
But this was no ordinary demon.
It awakened his rebellion, his wickedness, and his thirst for blood. His dark desires consumed him. He was born of chaos, a witch for a mother, a mafia king for a father. Together, they created the perfect monster.
Wherever he went, darkness followed.
Until he laid eyes on Peace.
In his shadowed world, where even the sun dimmed, she was light.
That's why he had to extinguish her fire.
He had to possess her.
---
She began the story, her trembling voice betraying her calm facade.
"Once upon a time, there was a tale of a young white virgin," she read.
Her fingers shook as he watched, her pale skin glowing ghostlike under the dim light. Her eyes, his favorite kind of darkness, filled with the fear he adored.
"Cry, my love," he thought.
"Won't you cry for me?"
She read on, her voice unsteady.
"This young virgin was to be served to the goddess to cleanse the land of darkness. It was a kind deed for her to die for the villagers…" She swallowed hard, glancing at the children who hung on her every word.
"They fed her, clothed her, and treated her kindly from birth until she was sixteen and ready to be sacrificed. The day finally came for the ritual…"
Her voice cracked, her hands trembling as she turned the page.
"They tied her to the stake with one hundred ropes. Tears streaked her cheeks." Peace paused, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. "Smile," she read. "The villagers told her, 'It's a joyous thing to die for us.'"
"'Smile… Haven't we treated you kindly? Smile and die.'"
Her voice broke as a tear slid down her cheek.
And his heart skipped.
"That's it, Peace," he thought. "Cry for me."
She continued.
"'These were the villagers who had treated her so kindly. She told herself she must not be ungrateful. She forced a smile and said, 'I die happily. Light the fire.'"
"The villagers cheered as arrows of flame sliced through the air. They pierced her head, her heart, and her limbs…"
Peace's voice wavered.
"And then?" a child whispered impatiently.
She cleared her throat.
"And then the flames parted," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "From the smoke and shadows, he appeared. 'I'll save you from the fire, my bride,' he said. He took her in his arms and fled."
"Oh, wow! That's so romantic!" one child clapped, giggling.
"Yeah, so romantic!" another chimed in.
"I was scared it would have a sad ending," said a third.
Peace stood frozen, her breath shaky.
"Teacher, are you okay?" a child tugged on her shirt.
She forced a smile, ruffling his hair.
"I'm fine," she said softly. "I just need a quick breather."
She walked to the window, unable to leave the children unattended.
He watched her from the shadows, knowing she understood the truth.
He was the fire. Her darkest hero.
He would burn her.
And then he would save her.
That was the next hell.