— Gilded Misery —
Riverside Residential District.
Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a hazy, dreamlike glow around Seraphine.
The pristine white wedding gown hugged her tall, elegant frame, outlining every exquisite curve of her S-line silhouette. At this moment, she looked less like a mortal bride and more like a celestial maiden who had strayed into the human world.
"Wowza! Seraphine, you look absolutely stunning!"
Clara clasped her hands to her chest, envy sparkling in her eyes. "Tomorrow, you'll be the happiest bride alive!"
The happiest bride?
A soft, bitter laugh slipped from Seraphine's lips—quieter than a sob, yet infinitely more heartbreaking. How could marrying a man as cold and emotionless as Damien—a living ice sculpture—ever be called happiness?
Her thoughts drifted.
And then, as if summoned from the deepest part of her soul, Eren's face surfaced, sharp and aching.
Eren... if there is a next life...
The rest of the words dissolved silently in her heart.
"Seraphine! What is that expression supposed to expression?!"
A harsh voice shattered the fragile tranquility.
Vivienne, seated stiffly in her wheelchair, glared with venomous ferocity.
"Being able to marry Damien is a blessing you earned from eight past lives!" she snapped. "The ancestors of the Lark family must be burning incense in the heavens! I'm warning you—behave yourself tomorrow. If you cause even one mishap, I swear you'll regret it!"
She paused only to gasp for breath, spittle nearly spraying.
"My future wealth and comfort—and even the hope of healing my legs—all depend on that wonderful son-in-law! Damn it... Just thinking about my legs makes me wish that bastard Eren would die a thousand deaths! It's all his fault!"
The tirade buzzed in Seraphine's ears like a cloud of relentless flies. She felt suffocated—desperate for even a moment of quiet.
"Mom! I know! Please, stop nagging!"
It burst out before she could stop herself.
"You ungrateful girl, how dare you talk back to me?!"
Seraphine turned away abruptly, refusing to let the argument continue.
She forced a smile at Clara. "Come help me try on this other gown."
She needed a distraction—anything to drown out the storm inside her.
Clara grinned wickedly and held up a deep V-neck dress.
"I'm telling you, wear this one. I guarantee every man's eyes will pop out. They'll go insane over you."
"It's way too revealing!"
"Exactly. Let them look. Torture them with what they can't touch."
"You're impossible!"
Their laughter echoed through the upper floor, scattering the gloom—at least on the surface.
Not far below, a pair of cold, burning eyes watched everything in silence.
---
— A Shattered Gaze —
Downstairs, inside a nondescript sedan.
Eren leaned back in the driver's seat, eyes shut—but his Psionic Awareness painted every detail from upstairs in perfect clarity:
The white gown.
The giggles.
The venomous curses.
His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, gripping hard enough to bend steel.
"Traitorous woman..."
The words slipped out, icy and taut with pain.
"You finally got the luxurious life you always dreamed of, didn't you?"
A hot, chaotic surge of emotion coiled inside him—
a sudden impulse to storm upstairs and demand answers, to look her in the eye and ask why everything had changed so utterly.
Why she would stand there in a wedding gown.
Why she would let another man hold her hand.
Why she had abandoned everything they once had.
A violent aura rippled from his body.
He shoved the door open, half-ready to confront her, to drag the truth out from behind that flawless bridal mask.
And then—he froze.
Beside the roadside, nestled in the weeds, bloomed a patch of tiny white wildflowers.
Delicate. Pure. Resilient.
Just like the girl in his memory.
Back then, he couldn't afford roses.
Seraphine had pointed at these flowers, laughing, asking him to pick one.
He'd tucked it gently behind her ear.
The flower was pretty.
But she... she had been prettier.
And their love—pure, untainted.
Why has everything changed... beyond recognition?
His anger faltered.
The foot he'd stepped out with slowly retreated into the car.
All that scorching fury dissolved into a deep, hollow ache.
"Your girlfriend is marrying someone else, and you're not the groom," Selene said lazily from the passenger seat, breaking the silence. "Eren, does your heart hurt?"
He didn't answer.
"Honestly, why be so upset?"
Selene leaned closer, her voice honey-soft and teasing. "Why not marry me instead? I promise I won't lose to Seraphine in either looks or figure."
After witnessing Eren annihilate a Grandmaster, her interest in him had only intensified.
"Shut up."
His voice sliced through the air—cold, trembling with suppressed emotion.
"One more word, and I'll throw you out."
Selene pouted theatrically but didn't argue.
Eren pressed the accelerator.
The engine roared.
The car shot forward—fleeing the place that was tearing him apart.
---
— A Poisonous Plot —
Novalis City, First Ring.
Nestled between mountains and water, the sprawling Vale estate glowed under the night sky.
The archaic structures exuded age-old authority.
Tomorrow, the family's eldest son, Damien, would wed. The entire manor pulsed with false festivity—lanterns swayed, servants bustled, firecrackers snapped endlessly.
Deep inside, in a sealed, lightless chamber.
The air was thick with the metallic reek of blood—cold, oppressive, suffocating.
Dark crimson runes formed a massive occult array on the floor.
At its center knelt a black-robed figure, hair long and tangled.
Damien entered.
The arrogant young master of the Vale family lowered his head with unusual humility.
"I pay my respects, Lord Kurobane."
The figure did not turn.
A voice rasped—eerie, ancient, inhuman.
"All preparations are complete. At high noon tomorrow, once the marital bond is sealed, the sacrifice will be offered. You will shed your Heaven-Crippled body and break through directly to the Great Grandmaster realm."
Damien's heart trembled with ecstasy.
Heaven-Crippled.
His lifelong shame.
To become whole—he would give anything.
Thus he bowed before Renji Kurobane, descendant of the legendary Onmyōji lineage.
But the forbidden art required a perfect sacrifice:
A woman born under the pure Negative Energy ( Yin ) hour, day, month, and year.
A wedding's blazing Positive Energy (Yang ) would serve as the final ignition.
Seraphine... was that perfect sacrifice.
The grand wedding—every smile, every blessing—was nothing but a blood offering to the devil.
---
— The Blood Wedding —
The next morning.
The Vale estate shimmered under the sunlight.
Flowers covered the venue, Persian carpets rolled out like a royal procession.
Gongs thundered, guests gathered, and every corner radiated with carefully crafted joy.
An archaic altar stood near the ceremonial stage—incense burning, sacrificial animals displayed. It sat there like a stain of dread amid the splendor.
"The bride and groom approach!"
As petals rained down and the wedding march soared, Damien and Seraphine walked forward hand in hand.
Damien—handsome, tall, noble.
Seraphine—radiant in her pearl tiara and flowing train, beautiful enough to topple kingdoms.
"What a heavenly couple..."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
But no one noticed Clara's absence.
At that very moment, she sat alone in her room, clutching the letter Seraphine had given her the night before—her expression torn with dread.
"Why... did she insist I only open this after 12:00 noon...?"