Velvet Manor, Morning After the Riots. Rei woke up with the crushing sensation that someone had parked a cathedral on his chest. His bleary eyes fluttered open, vision filled with paper. Not the gentle kind of love letters an academy boy might dream of. Not the sweet, perfumed notes of adoring fangirls.
No. These were the rejection kind. The "rot in a pit, traitor" kind. The "die by shovel, fiancé-thief" kind. The ones written in blood-like ink with doodles of pitchforks and crying angels in the margins.
And worst of all, they were all addressed to her. It's not Seraphina, Drakana, nor Rosette. But Lady Lucivella Nightshade — the Demon Lord who had, for reasons still beyond mortal comprehension, declared him her fiancé in public yesterday.
Rei groaned, peeling one off his forehead.
"Dear Lady Nightshade," he read aloud in monotone, "I hope your wedding dress catches fire. Sincerely, 'Not At All Bitter' from Class 3-B."
