That night, the castle felt colder.
The spiral on her chest wouldn't stop pulsing. It glowed faintly through her nightdress like a second heart — one that beat not with blood, but with something older.
Isadora couldn't sleep.
Not after what the Devil had shown her.
She wandered the hallways, barefoot and dazed, drawn by a voice she couldn't hear but somehow understood. It pulled her down winding staircases, deeper than she had ever gone — below the crypts, into a part of the castle that was never mapped, never spoken of.
Here, the walls wept.
Moisture leaked like tears from ancient stone, and carvings twisted in the dark — faces trapped in agony, their mouths open in silent screams.
And at the center of the chamber…
A candle.
Red as blood.
Carved from bone.
Its flame burned blue.
---
There were symbols surrounding it. A circle drawn in dried blood. Words that hurt to read, carved with fingernails into the floor:
> Let her rise. Let him fall. Let the mirror open once more.
And at the base of the candle, a single item sat like an offering:
Lucien's ring.
The signet of House Valtare, blackened by soot.
She reached for it—and the moment her fingers brushed the cold metal, the flame exploded.
Isadora fell to her knees.
Images tore through her — Lucien, screaming in the throne room. His body bound in chains of light. A sword piercing his chest. And then — her. Standing above him. Smiling.
Not her now. Her then. The other her.
And in her hands—
A black crown.
---
When she gasped awake, her hand was bleeding.
She had unknowingly driven her fingernails into her palm, deep enough that the blood now dripped onto the floor… and the candle drank it.
The blue flame turned red.
And from behind her, a voice rose like oil:
"Blood has memory. Shall I show you more?"
The Devil was behind her again.
He stepped out of shadow like it was his lover, his clawed hands gleaming with silver rings. The scent of him was intoxicating — like firewood and crushed roses, smoke and sweat and something else entirely: temptation.
"You saw the truth," he said. "Lucien betrayed you once. And he will do it again."
"No," she whispered, gripping the ring tighter. "He loved me."
The Devil crouched low, face inches from hers. "Love doesn't stop a man from damning a soul. Not when the price is his kingdom."
He leaned closer.
And whispered:
> "You were the queen. You were the fire. You were the one who chose the curse."
Isadora blinked, heart pounding. "Then why don't I remember?"
He smiled — and the room dimmed.
"Because some truths must be earned. With pain. With passion. With blood."
---
The Devil vanished like breath in frost.
And the candle went out.
But the ring in her hand now pulsed with heat — and she felt Lucien's presence inside it, faint, like a whisper behind a wall.
He was hiding something.
Something terrible.
And the only way to find it…
Was to light the candle again.
With his blood.
End of Chapter Eight.