Isadora screamed.
Not out of fear—at first—but confusion. Her pulse thundered in her ears, breath shallow, heart torn between relief and dread.
Anthony sat at the edge of her bed, watching her with eyes too perfect, too kind. But something was off. The way his smile held a sharpness. The way the candlelight cast no shadow behind him.
She yanked her hand from his. "You're not real."
He chuckled softly. "I knew you'd say that."
"You can't be here. You were—"
"Far away?" he finished. "I was. You summoned me."
"No…" she breathed. "That's not true."
He leaned closer. His voice deepened, just slightly, but enough to twist her stomach into knots.
"Isadora. You missed me. Didn't you? You begged for someone who remembered the real you. Who loved you before all… this."
The mark beneath her skin began to burn.
Anthony's smile cracked wider.
"You're not him," she said, backing away.
And suddenly he wasn't.
The illusion fell away like melting wax.
The Devil sat before her, wearing a smile made of teeth and hunger.
His obsidian skin shimmered in the candlelight. Horns crowned his head like twisted thorns. His voice was silk soaked in venom.
"You called me," he whispered. "Every night you've cried in this place, every tremble, every stolen glance at Lucien… your soul fed me. You may not pray, little flame… but your desire is worship."
She stood, fists clenched. "What do you want from me?"
He rose slowly, towering over her. "Everything."
He stepped forward, placing a cold, clawed hand over the mark on her chest. "This is the key. When the time comes, you will open the gates… with your body. With your blood."
She struck him.
Her palm hit cold, impossible skin—and yet the Devil winced.
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes.
"Good," he whispered. "Defy me. It makes your surrender all the more delicious."
And then he vanished — into smoke and shadow, leaving behind only the scent of roses and rot.
Lucien found her hours later, curled against the wall, whispering Anthony's name.
He touched her shoulder, and she flinched.
"He's not real," she said. "But he felt… real."
"He can wear any skin," Lucien murmured. "Even mine."
She looked up at him with haunted eyes. "Why me? Why does he want me?"
Lucien didn't answer right away.
Then he said softly, "Because you are the last piece."
She shook her head. "Of what?"
He knelt beside her, lifting the edge of her nightgown to reveal the mark again. It glowed faintly, like embers.
"There is a gate beneath this castle," he said. "A seal forged in blood, centuries ago. When he took her soul—your soul—he scattered the shards across time, across flesh. And now…"
"They've all returned to me," Isadora finished.
He nodded. "If he claims you fully, if he enters through you… this world will burn."
A silence passed between them.
Then she whispered, "And if I give myself willingly?"
Lucien's jaw tightened.
"Then I lose you. And the Devil wins."
That night, Isadora walked the halls alone.
She passed mirror after mirror, each veiled, until one caught her eye — uncovered.
Her reflection blinked a moment too late.
Then smiled at her.
Behind her, the faintest whisper: "Say yes."
End of Chapter Five.