'I should blackmail them.'
Ayesha thought about killing herself if they refused to let her leave. She wasn't sure if it would work. Maybe they'd simply kill her and find another bride.
But you'll never know unless you try, right?
Fear propelled her way to the tallest tower of the mansion and climbed onto the roof.
It was Monday, and Lily happened to be in the garden below. She looked up at just the right moment.
"What are you doing up there, my Lady?" Lily called, shielding her eyes from the sun. She could just make out Ayesha's figure on the roof.
"Is it fun?" she asked innocently.
"Call Ischyrós!" Ayesha shouted down. "Tell him that if he doesn't let me go, I'll kill myself!"
She knew it wasn't right for Lily to hear such words, but even if she looked like a child, Lily was still a vampire.
"Ayesha…" came a familiar voice from behind her. "Do you really hate marrying me so much? You'd rather die than stay?" Ischyrós sighed.
She wasn't surprised. He always appeared whenever she tried to escape or scheme.
"Yes!" she snapped, turning to face him.
"Come down," he ordered firmly.
"No. Not unless you promise to let me go!" she said, her voice strong even though her legs trembled.
Ischyrós stepped onto the roof, his gaze sharp. "Ayesha."
"Promise me first!" she shouted, taking another step back as he drew closer.
"Fine. I promise."
"I don't trust you." She rolled her eyes and moved closer to the edge.
Ischyrós's patience thinned. As she reached the very lip of the roof, he grabbed her wrist.
"Careful," he said softly.
She slapped his hand away. The motion threw her off balance.
She stumbled—then fell.
Thud.
Her skull pounded with pain, like it had been struck with a hammer.
Groaning, Ayesha pushed herself up, clutching her head. She staggered a few steps back, then froze when she saw Lily staring at her with wide, shocked eyes.
There was fear there—but also something darker, almost hungry.
Then Ayesha looked down.
Her body lay broken on the ground, blood pooling around it.
Her face drained of color. She stumbled, her chest tightening.
'Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!'
On the stone where she'd fallen, her body lay still, blood dark and bright across her dress. Her cheeks drained of color.
What have I done? she thought. I only wanted to blackmail them — not actually die.
Regret poured through her like cold water. This had to be a dream. A bad trick. But the air felt thin, and the edges of the world had gone quiet.
Maybe she wasn't alive anymore. Maybe she was a thing caught where the living meet the dead.
"What a twist," said a voice at her shoulder.
She turned. A figure in a black hood held a scythe with casual familiarity. White hair was pulled back and his eyes were red as fresh blood.
He lifted his free hand in a small, absurd wave. "Hi."
Ayesha screamed.
It was the grim reaper — or something very much like him — and the story had just begun.