"Milady, it's time,"
Lucrezia took a deep breath, staring firmly at her reflection; dressed in a midnight-black bridal gown adorned with pearls and diamonds glistening amidst the illumination of the pale moonlight. Its appearance mimicked the deep and devouring chasm the world she embraced herself was, as if clung to her like a shadow, fitted at the bodice adorned with the finest embroidery of delicate silver thread.
Sleeves flowed to her wrists like paired ink, and the long and heavy skirts touched the floor with weight. The outfit perfectly hid her arms' ugly blemishes, but some couldn't be concealed.
She remembered the shock and disgust in the Queen's eyes when she noticed her arms. "What kind of a dog are you? One born of your stinky mother's heritage, or trait-like of your unholy witch coven?" That stern voice barked at the back of her mind and a small ache spread in her chest.
Her unnatural ocean-blue eyes glistened with unshed tears as she straightened her back and looked at the window. The moon was fairly bright and full today, and a part of her wished she could supernaturally turn like the others and avoid this day. She had reached the age, surpassed the timing, yet nothing but a weak body immune to the sweet beckon of death and torture.
Her family, known as the Secktom Park of House Bathory, was the most powerful park among the others. Her father, King Vladmir Bathory, known as the Mad King, ruled all seven Kingdoms before marrying Queen Catherine Fenwyn, another replica of his wickedness, transforming the Kingdom's bloodline stronger and power rising on four feet.
For years, Queen Catherine found it difficult to bear a child. Year after year, everything seemed futile, and their enemies doubled the forces with this weakness until the King was forced to sleep with her mother, the sister of the Queen, on the night of her arrival. It was a union forged from mistake, but the mistake led to her arrival.
Out of desperation, King Vladmir was forced to wed her mother as his mistress due to the child in her womb. Convinced the child was his heir, he showered her with love and care. However, after nine months, the baby wasn't due.
For two years, her mother, Lady Corvina Fenwyn, carried a bump in her stomach. Not even a kick, nor push, but this strange stillness like a rock. Until one night, one night the thrill and pain came, and then the scream of a birthing mother and the cry of a baby. A witch with ocean-blue eyes and brown hair.
A wolf bloodline birthing a witch.
It wasn't just an abomination, it was a curse. And for that, Lucrezia grew up locked in a high tower of the Red Keep, far away from the castle, and far away from the world; and her mother was held as a prisoner.
For nineteen years confined, she prayed to the gods and hoped her mother was safe. Once a year, she was allowed to visit and each time she did, her mother was worse than the last time.
Thin, pale, barely breathing, Lady Corvina appeared a slave rather than royal blood, and rag rather than silk.
She'd lost her wolf senses and ability, due to the drug that sedated to weaken and eliminate them. Her mother was half-dead from soul amputation, a ghost of her former self, and the worst part… the part Luceriza couldn't bear watching? She started to forget what it felt like; the run, the joy, the freedom, the fur, the hunt, and much worse, her memory.
It is said that when a body loses its wolf, it is a devastating severance from power and primal truth. An important part of its soul is ripped away and the body becomes half-dead; senses dull, cold sets in worse than an actual human with haunting dreams and spiritually unmoored. No hunger, no animalistic sense but a body with missing limbs.
As the years passed, Lucreiza's powers began to manifest. Whenever she dreamed, there was disaster either near or far away. Black magic, it's called, and sorceries of the Unawakened while unconscious. Due to the sporadic catastrophe, her father, King Vladmir, was compelled to sedate her also.
The abilities seized, but the dreams didn't. The nightmares never did.
Days, weeks, and years passed yet the cycle repeated. Lucreiza would stare down the window, watching the beautiful city away from the tower, the cliffs, the castle, and magnificent birds, including the shelter of lively beings. As dawn turned dusk, she would wish with every second of her being to be like them. To be free. To live. To experience the world of the living deprived of her.
But today, one of her worst nightmares came true. What was supposed to be a meaningless wish for freedom became the harshest reality of death. The witch betrothing Lucifer's Bone.
Her brown hair was plaited into a tight crown, as the black tiara rested above her head, concealing her features within. Although, her ocean-blue eyes complemented the kohl around her lids, making her look entirely different.
Not a Cursed born. Not a disease and definitely not an outcast but a powerful Lady.
Everything was happening so fast that it made her wish she could disappear or escape, but then, realizing the consequences of such actions, she took another deep breath to tame her throbbing heart and churning stomach.
She could save her mother. Take her far away from the wicked hands of her father and stepmother. But the only way was through this.
Lucreiza clasped the flowers tightly with shaky hands. Guilt and tears weren't going to change the fact that she was getting married to no man but a Sin, however, the thought made things worse.
Oh gods…
And she took a deep breath.
Nonetheless, nothing she did was enough to calm or reassure her that she'd done the right thing by agreeing to this, and her mother's face caused a change in her expression.
How would she feel knowing her daughter was getting married to one of the Lords that taunted her rest? The Sins after her? The ones she chastised every time, saying it was only a nightmare.
The nightmare suddenly became her worst reality.
Lucreiza could already guess her reaction, and she swallowed a breath to prevent the tear slipping past her eyes, destroying the time-spent labor put on the makeup.
She wasn't just doing this for her alone; she was doing this to put an end to the unpredictable path after her. What exactly do they want? From her? Damn the land that took her mother away, because she'll save her.
Lucreiza told herself those words over and over again as she walked down the grand stairs, hand grazing the carved stone banister, to the hall of her marriage ceremony.
She couldn't back out now, especially when the night King Vladimir returned, reminding her of the consequences of failing when she caught a glimpse of Corvina's almost recognized body, hands chained against pillars, filled with fresh cuts and open wounds.
She screamed that night, begging to stop, but King Vladmir's point was already made.
Stabilizing her breath, her footstep steady against the polished floor, she had to go and give her life to the cruel hands of fate.
Normally, in a marriage hall, there used to be music, laughter of joy and happiness, showers of praises and blessings, and words of compliments as the bride walked down to her groom, but her wedding was different, empty with only courtiers and high-born guests who had come to bear witness to this damnation.
At the foot of the stairs stood the King and Queen adorned in ceremonial regalia.
King Vladimir's face was unyielding yet she caught the solemnity in it. The Mad King.
Like a boulder, his broad belly strained against the gold-embroidered folds of his fur-lined robes, and a cloak draped across his shoulders. His crossed thick fingers were adorned with a ring that glistened in the torchlight, more metal than man and more weight than majesty.
Queen Charlotte on the other hand, stared at her with gentleness she almost tripped, clutching her handkerchief in false distraught. She didn't weep, but her knuckles were white in deceitful restraint.
It was all part of the plan. To deceive witnesses of her arrival. To make the world believe her step-sister, Princess Olenna, truly serves honor to wed Lord Vaeron Dreadwyn of House Dreadwyn of Blackfen Keep who was nowhere to be found.
Yet.
Beside them stood the Archibishop, a tall and pale man, draped in robes that shimmered with runes from old language and a book between his hands. Even with his unreadable expression couldn't hide the discomfort in his eyes.
A witch wedding a Sin.
Among the guests were noble families from every corner of the realm including Ambassadors and Generals. Their faces were filled with awe and dread, yet deep silence that weighed more than noise itself.
And then, a few commoners were allowed to witness from the gallery. She could hear the gasps and didn't need to be told their words. Among them was Maerla, who watched with an expression Lucreiza had no spirit to feel empathy towards. She was her handmaiden, more of a sister than a friend, who watched over her throughout her childbirth.
Taking another breath to prevent preying emotions, her eyes met the faces of King Aldren, and for the first time, Queen Catherina, her step-mother.
One could notice the striking resemblance between her and her mother. While Lady Corvina carried an air of gentleness, Queen Catherina exuded an aura of domination and enormity, like she were born to reign. Born for power.
She was tall and regal, with a cruel beauty sharpened over years of politics and domination. Her golden hair had been pulled back into a coiled braid that gleamed like a crown, and she wore a gown of black velvet trimmed in crimson, the bodice stiff like armor with purpose and power.
Her presence percolated power, royalty, and menace, and a posture of predatory grace. She rarely looks flustered, always appears in control unlike her husband, the King.
A typical example of a politically manipulative, wickedly intelligent and cruel, unapologetically proud, and power-hungry she-devil. Her words alone can eviscerate her enemies in cold blood as her green eyes blaze with maternal fury beneath that harmless gaze.
Lucreiza quickly looked away, realizing she'd stared too long, her heart slightly racing as a result of the intimidation.
The last time she saw her was five years ago and she refused the dreadful memory threatening to wash over her.
Her eyes wandered in the direction of the Princes and Princesses, all with striking resemblance to the Queen and the other mistresses. Two years after her birth, Queen Catherina became pregnant and conceived a boy, the supposed heir to Secktom Pack, Prince Edmund. A year later, Princess Olenna was conceived, another replica of her mother with golden hair and cruel eyes, followed by Princess Sophia, with black hair like her father with an aura of superiority. Princess Alethea, the fourth, Princess Charlotte—like her father, was fat, cunning, and externally cruel. And lastly, Prince Fredrick.
But there was Crown Prince Arthur, the heir and bastard of Vleximor. With striking silver hair and perfectly refined features, those hard onyx eyes met hers. And for a fleeting second, something foreign traversed in them almost knocking the air out of her lungs.
Finally, just beyond the hall's great double doors, a carriage of obsidian black adorned with silver runes drawn by black-plumed horses carved from winter rode in, dragging her attention away.
The creaking sound of iron wheels broke the silence of the suffocating night against the stones and gravel path.
Like a handicraft of darkness standing like an altar of sacrifice, the horses didn't neigh or stamp but stood utterly still when the ride came to a sudden halt.
Another difference in this marriage was that she would be brought to him, traveling alone. Lucreiza wasn't surprised. After all, he wasn't a man to follow human ways, and from what she heard, lived in the ways of Sin.
The ways that were still unknown to her.
But her thought was proved wrong when the footman, cloaked in a dark capote that she could barely catch a glimpse of his face but the breeze which hauled the fabric when he walked—no, flew—opened the carriage door.
Not human, she guessed. The thought sent cold shivers down her spine.
Everyone went dead quiet, followed by slight buzzing whispers and discordant noises.
Lucreiza's heart thumped wildly against her chest when her eyes fell on the darkness within. Even the atmosphere suddenly felt charged and suffocating at the same time, making it almost impossible to breathe.
It was said the groom wouldn't be attending the matrimony. The bride would be conveyed to him as per the agreement, however, looking at the carriage only seemed not just to swallow that thought but souls too.
A part of her wanted to believe something else but the longer the silence persisted, the faster her heart lost its normal pace.
Eventually, the shine of a black polished shoe hurled by a long leg came to view, resting on the foot of earth, followed by another with the ease of practiced grace.
Out of reflex, Lucrezia closed her eyes in a tight suppression when loud gasps filled the air in melancholy pursuit.
Long limbs, a lion's maw, wings of a bat, red horns with a serpent tail, a patchwork of nightmares, and Lucifer's Incarnate… she chanted internally, fisting a handful of her skirt until her knuckles turned white from pressure.
She could feel his presence, a strong hold of darkness and danger untouched by the world from the glimpse of his silhouette when he fully emerged.
The silence that followed frightened her as the air grew heavier.
Finally, he stepped into the path, the sharp click of his boot echoing like a seal closing. And at every step, Lucrezia could feel her soul disappearing from her body.