The Devil summoned the court of the damned.
The church had changed again. Its blackened walls were now bone-white, the ceiling opened to a sky that bled like a slit throat. The altar stretched into a banquet table of rotting wood, held up by arms reaching from the floor, their fingers fused into its surface.
And Isadora sat at the head.
Draped in a gown made from funeral veils. Crowned with thorns that hissed. Her eyes were no longer wholly her own — one still shone with humanity; the other was hollow, filled only with cinders and salt.
Lucien stood behind her, bound in chains of regret. The iron cut into his skin, and with each blink, more of him vanished, turning translucent — a man being erased by time and sin.
The Devil, in full form now, reclined at her right side.
> "My queen," he said, with that smile that cracked the bones of angels,
"You must eat. It is tradition."
Before her, plates of flesh — hearts still beating, eyes that wept blood, tongues that sang lullabies of despair.
But Isadora did not flinch.
> "I am not hungry," she said.
The Devil tapped the table once, and the dead began to dance.
Figures in wedding gowns and funeral garb rose from beneath the table, their limbs twisted, necks broken, but still… moving. Dancing. A mockery of celebration.
The Feast of Worms had begun.
---
Lucien looked to her with eyes pleading, but he could not speak — the Devil had stolen his voice and locked it in a jar on the table, where it moaned softly.
> "He suffers because of you," the Devil whispered in her ear.
"He came to steal what was mine. But you, my bride… you chose. You said the words. You wore the gown. You drank from the cup of fire."
Isadora gripped the armrests of her throne. Her nails cracked.
The Devil leaned in, his breath a swarm of flies.
> "So eat."
> "Feast on memory. Feast on love. Feast on guilt. And you will be whole again."
---
A silver tray appeared before her — and on it, Lucien's heart, still beating, still wrapped in chains.
> "You brought it back to me, my queen. You kept it all this time."
Isadora stared down at the heart. It pulsed like it remembered her. Like it begged for her touch.
> "What happens if I eat it?" she asked.
The Devil smiled.
> "Then love dies," he said.
"And you become what you were meant to be."
---
The music grew louder. A violin made of screaming tendons. A harp made of ribs. The dead danced faster. The walls bled. The candles screamed.
Lucien fell to his knees behind her, and his tears turned to ash before they hit the floor.
> "Eat," the Devil said again.
> "Or he dies."
---
Isadora reached out. Her fingers hovered over the heart. The chains hissed at her.
And then — the heart spoke.
Not in words, but in memory.
She saw herself again, years ago, standing barefoot by the river. Lucien behind her, hands on her waist. She had laughed then — really laughed. The way the Devil never could make her.
And the memory bloomed.
Their first kiss.
The night they hid in the ruined chapel from the storm.
The way Lucien whispered her name like a prayer, not a curse.
Her hand trembled.
> "He loved me," she whispered.
> "He still does," said the Devil.
"But that's not the point. The point is — you loved me too."
---
Silence.
The room shook.
The walls cracked open, revealing screaming faces behind them.
Isadora stood.
> "You want me to become you," she said.
"But I am still me."
She turned to Lucien. His eyes lit with the last flicker of hope.
She reached for the jar — and shattered it.
Lucien gasped — and his voice returned like a scream.
> "Run!" he cried.
"Before it's too late!"
But Isadora did not run.
Instead, she lifted the heart.
And she took a bite.
---
The room exploded in fire.
The Devil roared — not in victory, but in fury.
> "What have you done?!"
Isadora staggered, blood running from her mouth.
> "I took the heart," she said.
"But I kept it inside me."
> "You wanted me hollow."
"But I am both now. Yours… and mine."
Lucien stood, broken but alive.
And the Devil burned.
---
In the flames, the court of the damned screamed.
The dancers fell.
The music died.
The altar cracked in half.
And through it all, Isadora stood — eyes of cinders and salt, mouth bleeding, heart beating twice.
One for herself.
One for the love she refused to kill.
---
The Feast of Worms was over.
But the war for her soul had only just begun.
End of Chapter Fifteen.