The Midwife of Flies stood so close now that Isadora could smell the grave in her breath.
Her bone-handled knife gleamed faintly, though the light came from nowhere.
Behind her, the swarm buzzed in slow, eager waves — waiting.
Lucien's hand in hers trembled, but not from fear. From pleading.
> "Don't," he said softly.
"If you forget me… if you take this deal… then I've lost you long before Hell can."
The words pierced deeper than any blade.
Isadora's eyes blurred — but the tears burned, leaving black tracks down her cheeks.
---
She turned to the Midwife.
> "If I agree… what happens?"
The Midwife's smile stretched until it split her skin.
> "The Devil's seed will be gone before it takes root.
You will wake tomorrow unmarked. Empty. Free."
She tilted her head, her voice turning low and dangerous.
"But the threads of him will be cut from your heart.
You will see him as one sees a stranger on the road — a man who means nothing."
Lucien's voice was raw.
> "And what will I be to you then?"
The Midwife answered before Isadora could.
> "A shadow. A ghost without name or scent. You will speak to him politely, perhaps. But you will not remember how he held you when you thought the world was ending."
---
The silence between them was heavier than the Devil's chains.
Isadora could hear her own pulse in her ears.
One beat said: Live.
The next said: Love.
And she knew she could not have both.
Her breath trembled.
Her fingers loosened from Lucien's.
> "I can't… carry what he put in me," she whispered.
"And I can't fight him forever."
Lucien stepped forward, eyes bright with desperation.
> "We can. We have. We will."
She met his gaze one last time — and the decision settled in her like poison.
> "I would rather lose you in my heart… than lose myself to him."
---
The Midwife's laughter was a quiet, crawling thing.
> "Then give me your hands."
Isadora obeyed.
The Midwife took them in her own damp, cold palms, and the flies left her hair in a slow river, swarming down over Isadora's arms, chest, face. They crawled into her mouth, her nose, her eyes.
The sound was deafening.
The buzzing became voices.
Voices became screams.
She saw every moment she had ever loved Lucien.
The day they first met.
The first time she dared to touch his face.
The warmth of his chest when she fell asleep on him.
The kiss that kept her from falling apart.
One by one…
The flies devoured them.
---
Lucien lunged.
> "STOP!"
But the Midwife's voice cut through him like a blade.
> "Too late, Father of nothing."
Isadora arched back, gasping — her heartbeat slowing.
She felt something tear inside her, not flesh, but something deeper, something vital.
When the last fly left her lips, she sagged into the Midwife's arms, pale and trembling.
---
> "It is done," the Midwife said.
She set Isadora down gently on the stone.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Lucien fell to his knees beside her.
> "Isadora? It's me. Lucien."
Her gaze landed on him — calm.
Empty.
Confused.
> "Do I… know you?" she asked.
The words shattered him.
---
The Midwife stepped back into the shadow, her swarm returning to her hair.
> "The seed is gone. She is no longer the Devil's cradle. But neither is she yours."
Lucien's voice broke.
> "You could have taken my life instead."
The Midwife's pale eyes glittered.
> "That would have been mercy."
---
The buzzing faded. The Midwife disappeared, leaving only the smell of rot and honey in her wake.
Lucien touched Isadora's cheek.
She flinched, politely — the way one recoils from a stranger's too-familiar touch.
And then she stood, sword in hand, looking toward the cathedral's altar as though something there was calling her.
Lucien remained on the floor, watching her walk away.
---
High above them, the Devil leaned on his throne, smiling.
> "And now," he whispered to himself,
"she is mine to love all over again."
End of Chapter Eighteen.