The village lay swallowed in silence.
It was not the silence of a place forgotten by time, nor the peaceful hush of a countryside night. No, this silence was heavy. It clung to the air like a thick fog, pressing against Andrew Michael's chest with every breath he took. The skeletal remains of houses leaned inward, their roofs caved, windows hollow and dark like watchful eyes. Once, long ago, this place had known life. Families. Laughter. The creak of doors opening and closing. But now it stood as if the earth itself had exhaled its last breath and left only an empty shell behind.
Above, the sky was wrong.
The eclipse had not ended. The world should have returned to light long ago, yet the sun remained trapped, strangled by the blackened moon. It cast the land in a twilight neither night nor day, a permanent shadow that unsettled even him. And Andrew Michael was not a man easily unsettled.
He pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket, lit it with a silver lighter, and inhaled slowly. The sharp burn filled his lungs, grounding him, even as the village seemed to whisper with every flicker of the dying wind. His men had begged him not to come alone, but Andrew was a man who never listened once his mind was made.
A mafia heir. A ruler of blood and steel. The world feared him, but here, in this village, fear felt reversed. It was as if the darkness did not care for his power, his guns, or his name. Here, he was just another trespasser.
His boots crunched against the gravel path as he moved deeper into the heart of the ruins. The shadows seemed to shift as he passed, stretching longer, curling toward him like fingers. He tightened his grip on the knife strapped to his thigh, though the motion was instinctive. Guns were useless against what lingered here.
Andrew had come searching for silence, for a temporary escape from the endless blood feuds and betrayals that marked his empire. Yet, what he found here was far from peace.
It was alive.
The village breathed.
And it was watching him.
He stopped before what must have once been the central square. A well stood crooked in the middle, the stones cracked with age, moss clinging stubbornly to its sides. A creak echoed faintly that the wood were bending under pressure. Andrew turned sharply, but there was no one. Only shadows. Only silence.
And then… he saw her.
At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. A pale figure stood at the far edge of the square, draped in a flowing white dress. She faced away from him, her long black hair tumbling down her back, strands shimmering faintly under the fractured light of the eclipse. She did not move. Did not flinch. She simply stood there, as though carved from the shadows themselves.
Andrew narrowed his eyes, tossing the cigarette to the dirt.
"Who's there?" His voice cut sharply through the stillness.
The woman did not answer. She did not even turn.
He stepped forward, his footsteps deliberate, each one echoing louder than it should have. Something about her made his pulse quicken, not with desire, not yet, but with unease. He was a man who trusted his instincts, and his instincts screamed at him now.
Still, he approached.
"You're trespassing," Andrew said coldly, as if it was his village to command. "This place is abandoned. No one lives here."
The woman's voice was soft when it came, but it carried clearly through the heavy air.
"Not abandoned," she said. "Cursed."
The word lingered, sinking into him like ice water down his spine.
He froze a few steps away, staring at her back. The wind stirred, lifting her hair slightly, and for the first time, he noticed how still she had been. Unnaturally still, like the rest of the village.
"Curses don't scare me." His words were flat, his tone steady, though his hand tightened on the hilt of his knife.
The woman tilted her head slightly, enough for him to glimpse the curve of her cheek, pale under the eclipse's faint glow.
"They should."
And then she was gone.
Andrew blinked, his heart hammering in his chest. The square was empty again, only shadows pooling where she had stood. No footsteps. No sound of movement. Nothing.
For a moment, he wondered if he had imagined her. A trick of exhaustion. A shadow painted by the eclipse. Yet the echo of her words clung to him, curling into the corners of his mind.
Not abandoned.
Cursed.
He lit another cigarette, inhaling sharply as if the burn could chase away the chill that had settled inside him. He did not believe in curses. He believed in power, money, and control. But as he stood alone in that village, with the eclipse still choking the sky, Andrew Michael could not deny one thing:
Something here was wrong.
And he had just stepped into the heart of it.
Shadows Hide, But Love Endures
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Andrew Michael
Age: 28
Appearance: Tall, broad-shouldered, sharp jawline; muscled body; dark hair slicked back but often tousled in the wind. His eyes are a piercing storm-grey, cold enough to command respect, but with a hidden vulnerability when caught off guard. He wears tailored black suits, but his long coat makes him look more like a shadow than a man. A faint scar marks the edge of his right brow, as a reminder of violence from his past.
Personality: Charismatic yet dangerous, Andrew carries himself like a man who owns every room he enters. He doesn't waste words; his silence is often more intimidating than his voice. Calculating and ruthless in the mafia world, but beneath the steel, he craves something untouched by blood and betrayal that was something he can never quite admit.
Background: The heir to a powerful mafia empire, forced into a life of blood and crime. He came to the abandoned village seeking escape from enemies and responsibility, but instead finds mysteries darker than anything he's faced in the underworld.
Stella Rose
Age: 24
Appearance: Ethereal beauty that feels out of place in a ruined world. Long, flowing chestnut hair, often falling loose down her back. Her eyes are an otherworldly shade of violet, seeming to reflect secrets no one else can see. She is usually seen in flowing white dresses, almost ghost-like against the darkness of the village. Her presence feels timeless and fragile yet powerful.
Personality: Quiet, soft-spoken, but far from weak. Stella has a haunting aura, like she knows more about the shadows than she lets on. She's compassionate, mysterious, and sometimes unpredictable, shifting between warmth and coldness. People can't decide if she's an angel… or a curse.
Background: The villagers once whispered her name in fear and reverence. Stella has deep ties to the supernatural secrets buried in the village, with connections she herself doesn't fully understand. When Andrew arrives, their fates collide: she becomes his guide through the mysteries of the cursed land, and he becomes the key to breaking the darkness she has carried all her life.
Together: Andrew (a man bound by blood and power) and Stella (a woman bound by fate and shadows) become entangled in a dangerous love — the kind that feels inevitable, yet forbidden.
Author
SivanMithran