Greta's eyes fluttered open, and the soft glow of morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains hanging over the bedroom window. The air was thick with the smoky scent of burnt-out candles, and something about the room felt off. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was, until the memories from last night slammed into her like a brick wall. Her hand shot up to her lips.
Those red eyes. Still burned into her mind. And that glowing pentagram, crimson and pulsing, had lit up the room like some unholy fire, leaving behind a faint shimmer that still haunted the edges of her vision. Her lips stung, the bite mark from the Duke still fresh. It hadn't been a dream. She'd been fully awake. Fully aware.
Greta curled into herself, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. The memories spun like a reel she couldn't shut off. Her breath came short, her chest tight, like she couldn't quite believe she'd just laid her soul out on a platter. Then, creak. The soft groan of the door snapped her out of it.
The bedroom door swung open, and a group of female attendants stepped inside. Their movements were precise, almost ghostlike, barely audible, but perfectly in sync. In one fluid motion, they stopped, lined up, and bowed politely.
"Who—" Greta's voice caught. She was nervous. Scared. One of the ten or so women finally spoke.
"Good morning, Lady Greta," said one, her head still bowed. "Duke Matthias Von Ignaz has ordered us to prepare you."
"W—what are you—"
She didn't get to finish. The attendants moved in, lifting the blanket, guiding her gently off the bed, and leading her toward a massive gold-framed mirror across the room.
One of them laid out a dress on the still-rumpled bed, a deep maroon velvet gown lined with shimmering satin. It wasn't poofy, just sleek and elegant, hugging the waist and falling in graceful folds. The shoulders were left bare, the cut designed to show her off.
Another attendant began brushing Greta's dark brown hair with a silver-handled brush, twisting it halfway up and pinning it with a tiny crystal clip. Her face wasn't left untouched either, nimble fingers dabbed on a light powder and a soft red tint to her lips, just enough to bring life to her pale complexion.
Greta stared at her reflection as another woman fastened jewelry around her neck and ears. Diamond earrings. A gold chain with a glittering pendant that framed her long, graceful neck. But beneath all that sparkle, she spotted it, a faint scar from the rope Ingrid Anneliese had used to hang her in the town square. It was still there. Faint, but visible.
"You look stunning, Lady Greta. Absolutely radiant. The Duke will be pleased," several attendants chimed in, their voices light and proud, as if admiring their own handiwork.
Greta gave a shy, polite smile. "Thank you," she murmured, cheeks tinged with pink.
How ironic, she thought. Last night, she'd traded her soul for a new life. And now here she was, dressed up like a doll, her body the proof of a pact with a devil who called himself a god.
She bit her tongue, refusing to speak. Still staring at herself in the mirror. Still wondering, was this some twisted honor? Or just another move in the Duke game?
She wouldn't know until she asked him herself.
Once her hair and makeup were done, one of the attendants gestured for her to follow. Breakfast with the Duke awaited.
The mansion's hallway stretched long and regal, lined with deep red carpets and towering white marble columns. Crystal chandeliers hung high overhead, catching the sunlight and scattering it across the walls, which were covered in abstract paintings by renowned imperial artists, symbols of war and peace, locked in eternal tension.
Greta walked slowly, her low heels tapping softly against the marble floor. Through the tall windows, she could see the sprawling grounds blanketed in snow. Even the fountain was frozen over, no birds daring to bathe in its icy waters, just circling overhead beneath a sky heavy with more snow to come.
The attendant leading her bowed slightly when Greta glanced over, silently asking where they were headed.
"The Duke is waiting in the main hall. Breakfast is ready," she said gently, eyes still lowered.
Greta nodded, surprised she was being escorted to dine with him. She felt like a peacock, dressed to impress, placed on display in a gilded chair prepared by the master of the house.
The dining room doors opened, and every step toward the hall made her stomach tighten. She wasn't sure what was more terrifying, the lavish spread of food laid out on the long table, or the predator's gaze waiting for her at the far end.
The scent of roasted meat and warm bread hit her nose. The hall was massive, but only two chairs sat at the table, one for her, and one already occupied by Duke Matthias Von Ignaz.
"Good morning, Lady Greta Albrecht Von Meier," he greeted smoothly as she entered. "Did you sleep well?"
Greta bowed slightly. "Too well for such a short night," she replied.
Silence fell. Matthias said nothing more. He sat tall, composed, his handsome face unreadable. But those red eyes, they glowed faintly, like embers buried in ash. Calmer than last night, but still watching her. Measuring her.
A servant poured water into their glasses as the Duke began to eat. His knife and fork clinked softly against the plate as he sliced into the roast.
Greta watched him, then finally spoke.
"Your Grace," she said, her voice cutting through the quiet, "Why go through all this trouble?"
Her tone was soft, but steady. "The dress. The feast. The warm room. The loyal servants. You could've left me to rot. Isn't that what I am now? Just another soul you own, no better than the help in this mansion?"
Matthias paused. His golden knife hovered midair. A faint smile tugged at his lips, barely there, but enough for Greta to catch it.
He raised a hand, and the servants quietly exited, leaving them alone.
"Would people rejoice," he asked, "if you returned from my domain stripped of dignity, dressed worse than the servants who tended to you this morning?"
Greta held her breath, turning the words over in her mind. Then she shook her head.
"No, Your Grace," she said. "I just thought... maybe you wouldn't bother listening. That you'd take my soul and toss me aside like the rest."