How does it feel when no one is by your side? When no one understands you, or holds you together when you are falling apart?
The cold wind hit my skin, sharp and unforgiving. It reminded me that the reality I tried to bury never truly vanished. The past returned like a creeping shadow, bringing with it the monster everyone said I was.
Before I understood what I was doing, the knife went forward, deep into him. Rage had been my only anchor, and then suddenly, there was nothing.
Silence.
He lay on the ground, still and lifeless. Harsh reality struck me as my knees buckled. The knife slipped from my shaking hand and landed beside me in a pool of blood.
As I was trying to gather myself, someone opened the door. My roommate she froze and started to scream. Voices blended, filled with fear and panic, but no one approached.
The Orphanage warden rushed in due to the commotion, her face drained of colour, and was the first to act. She walked over and grabbed my wrist so tightly her eyes seemed filled with utter disgust.
"You monster." Her voice dripped with venom. I still can never forget that voice, the tone, those disgusted eyes.
She pulled me with no hesitation, dragging me as I tried to pull away, no question, shoving me into the snow.
White. Pure. Untouched.
Until it wasn't.
Blood seeped into the ice, staining it deep red as if it belonged there.
"I didn't do it," I whispered, but my voice felt foreign. Hollow. Broken. Wrong.
She raised her phone, ready to call the authorities, ready to end the life I barely knew how to live. Then the owner walked in, he walked outside at the door entrance to the garden, standing beside Warden. Telling her something which I couldn't hear, but those small kids looked at me with fear, hate, and a horrified gaze as I was left in the chilling snow
"Please- I didn't do it."
"Please. Believe me mis-"
My voice was barely a whisper, shaky and broken. I curled my knees tight against my chest, trying to block out something I couldn't see or maybe didn't want to see. I waited, hoping they would look back, change their minds, and bring me inside.
But no one turned.
The cold air bit into my skin like a punishment. Snow clung to me, swallowing me whole as darkness wrapped around everything. My body felt heavy, and my eyes lost focus.
Eventually, everything went quiet. Somewhere between the frost and the pain, I passed out.
When I woke, my hands were numb, and my mind was spinning. I dragged myself up, struggling to breathe, and forced myself to look at the window—toward that warm place. Inside, they were laughing, eating pie, living as if nothing was broken.
As if I never existed.
A sharp ache tightened in my chest. "Where did everything go wrong?" I whispered. I gasped as if the air was poison, as if it was too much and not enough at the same time.
Then, darkness shifted. I jolted awake.
Breathless. Sweat soaked my skin. Panic burned under my ribs.
My eyes darted around until they landed on something carved into the wall above the moon with a Mirror fragment reflecting and a beautiful curve on the side, my name underneath it.
Ella.
A distressed voice cut through the haze.
"…Ella?"
I blinked. My heartbeat roared in my ears.
"Sylu-?" My voice cracked. Before I could gather myself, he was there—arms wrapping around me so tightly it felt like he was trying to hold my soul together with his bare hands.
His warmth chased away the cold. One hand slid into my hair, trembling slightly. The other locked around my waist as he pressed me against his chest.
"Ella… Ella…" he repeated, breathless, saying my name like a promise, like a prayer, as if he feared I'd disappear if he stopped.
He pulled back just enough and cradled my face into those big hands.
"Look at me." His thumb brushed my cheek, gentle, but his grip stayed firm like he was afraid I'd break.
Those dark eyes stared into mine, not just worried, but shattered. Someone who had seen nightmares and wasn't sure if I was one of them.
"Are you alright?" he murmured, his voice raw. I swallowed, my throat tight. "What happened?" I whispered. His jaw clenched, emotion flickering across his face, " Don't you remember?"
"Don't you remember?" he whispered, his voice low and almost afraid of the truth between us. "We were at the gala. Everything was fine. "
His thumb gently moved across my cheekbone, grounding me while a darker look crossed his face.
"Then suddenly, your dance partner got shot." he swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to the floor as if looking at me hurt, "you were sitting on that marble floor… in a pool of blood."
My breath caught.
Blood. My stomach turned, cold dread creeping through my chest, but my mind was blank.
Sylus lifted my chin, not letting me hide.
"You were laughing, Ella." His voice cracked just enough to show the panic buried beneath his calm. "Laughing like something inside you broke and didn't know how to stop."
I shook my head weakly.
"No… Sylus, I wouldn't - I couldn't -" "You were whispering," he went on, so softly it felt like he was speaking only to the ghosts between us. "You kept saying… 'I didn't do it.'"
His fingers tangled gently but firmly in my hair, not painful or punishing, just a connection. A desperate anchor.
"You looked at me like you didn't recognize me," he whispered. "Like I was a stranger."
My heart raced, my pulse frantic. "I did what…?" Sylus leaned in until our foreheads touched, his breath trembling against my lips, warm, intimate, terrified.
"You were covered in someone else's blood." His thumb traced the outline of my shaking lower lip.
"Ella…" He looked at me as if he was trying to find answers I knew, but I didn't wanna admit. A flicker of memory crossed my mind, A hand reaching. Red blooming across silk like a violent flower.
Laughter — mine? — sharp, wrong, echoing.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my nails digging into his shirt as if he were the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
"I… I didn't…" My voice broke. "I didn't…"
"I know." The way he said so unshakably certain.
"I know you didn't." His hand moved to the back of my neck, protective and almost possessive, like he was pulling me away from the memory.
My head felt heavy, and he shifted, lifting me easily into his lap as if I weighed nothing — like I was something he refused to let collapse.
"Hey," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from my face, "don't think about it. Not now."
His thumb stroked my jaw. a soothing anchor I can't ignore. "Look at me."
I did. Those dark eyes, burning, haunted, loyal.
"The doctor said not to push yourself. Something triggered the trauma." His voice dropped, quiet. "Something you buried."
His fingers wrapped around my waist, steady and warm.
"What made you like that, Ella?" His eyes reflected my gaze was unreadable
"I need to hear it so I can pull you out of it. Save you from it."
His lips brushed my temple, his breath warm and possessive.
"Tell me," he murmured.
"Please."
Something inside me just shifted, and words slipped out of my mouth before I could think twice.
"Would you believe me?" My voice barely rose above a whisper, but it had all of his attention.
He stiffened. "What?" Sylus breathed, narrowing his eyes, searching my face as if he could read the truth before I spoke. I swallowed, my throat tight, my fingers trembling against his shirt.
"Would you believe me," I repeated, "if I said... I stabbed a man?"
His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening not with fear, but with something much more dangerous. "Would you believe," I continued, my voice cracking, "he tried to force himself on me?"
Sylus's grip on my waist became tight, possessive and protective, as if he needed to hold me in place before the truth shattered me.
I forced out the final words, barely breathing.
"Would you believe... that I killed him? With my own han—"
I didn't finish suddenly, his palm was at the back of my head, pulling me into his chest. His other arm wrapped around me. His lips pressed to my ear, his voice a low, trembling vow.
"Always." That word anchored me, heavy and absolute.
His fingers slid through my hair, cradling me like I was fragile. His voice dropped into something dark and protective.
"You did the right thing." He said it like a promise. Like a decision. Like he'd kill a thousand men to keep me safe.
His hand cupped the back of my neck, possessive and grounding.
"Ella," he whispered, his breath hot against my skin,
"There is nothing you could say that would make me turn away from you."
He pulled me even closer, his forehead pressed to the side of my head, his heartbeat pounding against my chest as if he was the one scared of losing me.
"I believe you," he growled softly.
"And I'd believe you again... every time." His thumb brushed the curve of my jaw, slow.
His other hand rested on the back of my head, fingers moving through my hair, slow and careful, as if he were memorizing each strand. His chest rose and fell unevenly beneath my cheek, his breath trembling with barely contained rage.
"Ella…" he whispered again, this time softer and rougher, as if my confession had stirred something deep within him.
I felt his jaw tighten where it brushed against my forehead.
"You should never have been in that situation." He swallowed hard, anger simmering just below the surface.
"He touched you. He tried to take something from you."
His arm tightened around me so quickly that I gasped.
"I would have killed him myself." "Most painful death he would have ever felt. With my own hands, stabbing just enough, he would die slowly, pouring salt on those fresh wounds, pressing in until it sinks down. Then––" He looked at me as realization hit him, he looked away.
It was not a threat. Not an exaggeration. A fact. A truth. A vow. My heart sank deeper with his words. How much of it he meant was real?
His fingers curled under my chin, lifting my face until our eyes met. Those dark irises burned fiercely, shaking with possessiveness. "You were alone," he whispered, guilt twisting his features. "You were terrified. And those people."
"Sylus…" I breathed. He shook his head, pressing his forehead to mine with a soft thud, as if he needed that contact to stay grounded.
"No," he murmured, his thumb tracing the trembling corner of my mouth. "I need you to hear this." He cupped my jaw, holding me steady, forcing the world to shrink down to just the two of us.
"You fought back."
A soft exhale.
"My girl fought back."
His lips brushed the edge of my cheekbone, barely a kiss, barely a breath—but it sent heat spiraling through my spine.
"You survived," he whispered. "And I'm proud of you."
His words shattered the fragile composure I had left. A shaky sob escaped me, and instantly—instinctively—he pulled me closer against him, shielding me with his body. His palm slid down my back in slow, soothing strokes, every touch warm and claiming, patient.
He pressed a kiss to my temple, slow enough for me to feel his anger. "Shh."
"If anything like that ever happens again, I will be the one to bury them 6 feet deep in the ground." his voice was cold. a distant part I couldn't recognize.
Sylus pov~
Ella's tears soaked into my shirt. At first, they were quiet. Then they turned into deep, shaking sobs that burst out of her, as if she had been holding them in for years. Her fingers clenched my clothes, filled with desperation, as if she thought letting go would send her back into that room again.
Her crying didn't stop all at once. It came in waves—sharp breaths, trembling lips, eyes glassy and unfocused. Her face was pink from tears, her lashes stuck together, and her cheeks streaked.
It broke something in me. I pulled back just enough to look at her.
My hands rose, steady despite the chaos within me. I wiped away her tears with my thumbs, careful and deliberate, as if handling something sacred. She looked fragile in the softest way, exposed, and that sight sent a violent ache through my chest.
"Ella," I said quietly. "Look at me," I said again.
She did. And I held her there—my gaze locked onto hers, steady and unwavering, a silent promise that I would not leave. That nothing would take her from this moment. My fingers slipped beneath her chin, firm but gentle, tilting her head back slightly. Not to take control, but to anchor her, to keep her here.
Her breath caught.
I leaned in slowly, close enough for her to feel my breath, giving her time—always time—to pull away if she wanted to.
She didn't.
My lips met hers in a kiss that was deep with intention but controlled in motion. It was not consuming or rushed. It was a kiss meant to soothe her body into recalling safety.
She softened almost instantly, a quiet sound escaping her as her shoulders sagged, tension melting away. Her hands grasped my shirt again, but this time it was not out of fear; it was out of need.
I stayed there, my lips moving against hers with quiet patience, letting the rhythm slow her breathing, letting warmth replace the cold.
When I pulled back, it was only enough to rest my forehead against hers.
Her breath was still shaky, but it was there. My thumb brushed her lower lip, gentle and reverent.
"There you are," I murmured. Her lips found mine again, I was surprised, and this time I felt it—not just the softness, but the emotion trembling beneath it. How her finger curled into my shirt collar
They tasted faintly sweet, like cherries and warmth, something heartbreakingly alive.
I melted into the kiss, my lips moving against hers with equal urgency and passion. I tasted the sweetness of her lips, so fucking addictive. It makes me crave her more.
My hands wandered over her curves, tracing the contours of her back and hip as he pulled her flush against his chest.
She fluttered.
Her fingers tightened in my shirt, knuckles brushing my collarbone, as if she needed proof I was solid. Still there. Still real. When her hand slid higher, threading into my hair, I felt the quiet desperation in it—not need or hunger, but trust.
That shattered me. I softened instantly. My kiss eased, and my lips lingered against hers like a promise I didn't need to put into words. I brushed my thumb along her jaw, feeling the warmth in her skin, the way she leaned into my touch without thinking.
Her breathing became uneven, shallow, and warm against my mouth. I pulled back just enough to rest my forehead against hers, our noses brushing, our lips still close enough to feel
Her fingers stayed tangled in my hair. I didn't move them. I didn't pull away. My arm wrapped around her waist again, firm and possessive, holding her against me like she belonged nowhere else in this moment.
"This changes things," he said quietly. "Now I know how you truly feel, and I won't let that go.
"I love you, Ella."
"I love you, Ella. All of you. Every version, every flaw. Every shadow you try to hide."
My voice was steady, but the truth was heavy.
"My love isn't soft. It doesn't ask for permission. When I want something, I fall hard. You made me fall into something I can't escape."
I exhaled slowly, as if I had held this back for too long.
"Love used to taste bitter to me. It seemed like something that weakens men. But with you, it burns. It demands. And I'm done hiding it."
My hand tightened, grounded, and possessive.
"Only you can change my fate. You pull me out of the noise, out of the numbness. You drag me close when I don't know how to ask. You warm me when I've felt cold as stone for years."
"And if loving you destroys who I was before, then so be it. I was already lost. You're the only thing that feels real."
"The only thing I crave." I could feel the realization sink inside her. Her eyes looked at me as if asking why? her lips parted, her heart beat too fast. too loud.too real.
"Mio amore."
The silence was enough.
My hand slid to the back of her neck, not rough but firm. It was as if i already knew where she belonged. I tilted her face up, making her meet his eyes one last time, looking for hesitation. He found none.
"Don't pull away," he murmured, low and dangerous. "Not now."
Before I knew it my lips met hers. Not soft. Not rushed. It was slow and deliberate, like I was marking myself onto her, learning her mouth the way one discovers a weakness. My lips moved against hers with controlled hunger, claiming rather than asking, deepening only when her breath faltered, and her fingers curled into him like it was instinct.
The kiss held everything he hadn't said out loud—possession, restraint breaking, a promise mixed with ruin.
My forehead rested against hers when he finally pulled back, breath uneven now, control slipping away.
"That," he whispered, his thumb brushing her swollen lip, "is me choosing you."
A pause. Dark. Certain.
"And you didn't pull away," he said softly, almost thoughtfully."You kissed me back." I leaned in just enough to make her breath hitch."You chose me in that moment. Whether you're ready to admit it or not."