The bells tolled midnight.
Selene stood at the altar, swathed in a gown of black silk that shimmered like liquid shadow. A crown of silver thorns pressed against her brow, pricking until beads of blood glistened at her hairline. Around her, the cathedral was silent—no family, no friends, only robed figures and the thick smell of incense and iron.
And before her stood Veythar, the Demon Lord.
His eyes were pits of crimson flame, burning with a hunger that was not love. His presence was suffocating, a storm pressed into human shape. When he spoke, the walls shivered, and Selene felt her own heartbeat falter.
"You are mine now," he said, his voice a caress of fire. "Bride of shadow, soul bound to my eternal night."
Her lips trembled. She should have screamed, should have begged for mercy, but instead she whispered, "If I must belong to you… then grant me one wish before your chains bind me forever."
The demon tilted his head, amused. "A bride with conditions? Speak, then. Your last taste of freedom."
Selene clenched her fists around the bouquet of black roses, their thorns biting deep into her palms. Blood welled between her fingers.
"I want to live my youth again," she said, voice shaking yet fierce. "Give me back the years stolen from me. Let me love someone by choice. Let me be seventeen again, before fate and chains."
For a moment, silence reigned. Then, a low chuckle rolled from him, dark and delighted.
"So fragile. So human. You beg not for power, not for riches… but for a chance at love." His eyes glowed brighter, like embers stoked to flame. "Very well, bride. I will grant it. I will tear open the seam of time, and you shall return to your youth. But remember this—"
He stepped forward, close enough that the heat of his body seared her skin. His hand cupped her cheek, claws grazing her jawline.
"No matter where you run, no matter whose arms you chase, you are still mine. You will return to me. And when you do, there will be no escape."
The last word wrapped around her like chains, sinking into her soul.
And then the world shattered.
The cathedral dissolved into smoke, the black roses crumbled into ash, and Selene felt herself falling—down, down, through darkness that burned with fire and froze with ice.
She gasped.
The scent of smoke vanished, replaced by the faint smell of old paper and lavender soap. Her eyes snapped open. She was not in the cathedral. Not in hellfire.
She was in her room. Her childhood room.
The wallpaper was faded, the curtains pale and lace-trimmed. Her schoolbooks lay scattered on the desk, and the morning light poured in from a half-open window. She sat up in bed, clutching the sheets to her chest.
Her reflection caught in the mirror across the room—no veil, no crown of thorns, no blood. Just a seventeen-year-old girl with wide eyes and trembling hands.
Her lips parted, and she whispered into the quiet air:
"I'm back…"
And with that single truth, her heart leapt and broke all at once.
She had her wish.
Her second chance.
Her freedom—at least, for now.
But even in the sunlight of her youth, she could still feel it.
The Demon's gaze, lingering in the shadows.
Watching.