Lucien carried Seraphina's body in front of the altar.
To the very chapel where he had left her—bloody, burned, and nameless in the grave.
He laid Seraphina on the stone altar, under the broken stained glass that once reflected their promises.
He knelt. He wounded himself—a cut on his palm. He let the blood flow.
It flowed onto the marble. It reached Seraphina's lips.
"Take it, Sera," he whispered, almost inaudible amidst his tears. "Let me give it back."
But instead of being accepted by the mark—it reversed.
Seraphina's skin pulsed, as if her very soul rejected his blood.
Her pulse throbbed—not to live, but to refuse.
Seraphina's body stiffened. It remained cold.
And in Lucien's very wound—the mark on him began to burn.
"No…" Lucien groaned. "No, please—don't do this to me. Not again."
The mark flared again—and as if it had a mind of its own.
An ancient sigil was imprinted on his chest and instead of tightening it pushed him further away.
The mark had chosen.
And it wasn't him.
Seraphina's fingers suddenly clutched the edge of the marble.
Lucien gasped.
Her eyes opened, but they weren't hers.
They weren't the eyes of the Seraphina he loved.
They were from Aria.
The woman who was burned, silenced, and abandoned.
And the voice that came from her mouth was a mixture of two.
The Seraphina who lived.
And the Aria who was burned.
If love is a vow…Then what we had was a weapon.
Lucien froze.
He was no longer the king. He was no longer the man who was loved. He was no longer running towards goodness. He was the one abandoned by the curse.
You kissed the ashes you made—but never faced the fire you lit.
Lucien's tears fell.
He didn't know who he was asking forgiveness from.
Himself?
The ghost?
Or his own failure?
A lightning bolt struck the cathedral roof.
The entire chapel trembled.
The skeletal Seraphina raised her hand from the darkness.
And with it, the real Seraphina screamed.
"LUCIEEEEN—"
From her chest, the mark flared again.
Not on her wrist.
Not on her skin.
In her very heart.
And with every beat, it was as if the curse that became the memory of love was strangling her.
Again, the candlelight died.
And in the last flicker of light…
They both cried.
One in flesh.
One in ash.