Somewhere in the dark — or maybe in time itself — a voice whispers:
"Remember."
The word rips through the silence like a thread snapping.
I gasp, and the world reforms around me — but it's not my world.
It's older. Sharper. Too vivid to be a dream.
I'm standing in a hall carved from black stone, tall and cruelly beautiful. The torches burn blue, their light reflecting on the polished marble like liquid shadow. Every surface hums faintly, like it remembers every scream it's ever heard.
I look down. Black velvet sleeves. Pale hands. Power pulsing faintly under my skin — magic, dark and alive, like something that's been waiting for centuries to breathe again.
Then I see her in the mirror across the wall.
The Witch of Darkness.
Eyes glowing faint violet, expression calm, unreadable.
And somehow, I already know—
that's me.
Music swells behind me. A celebration. Laughter thick enough to choke on.
The Demon King's court.
Demons in gold and obsidian toast with crystal goblets, their voices echoing in the endless chamber. At the throne sits him — golden hair, piercing blue eyes that could silence anyone with a glance. His smile isn't warm, but it's real. Regal. Powerful. The kind of presence that makes even shadows kneel.
And beside him…
Her.
The sister.
She's draped in white silk, wearing a crown of silver thorns. Every smile she gives is sugar-laced poison.
And when she turns her head — when her eyes meet mine — the world inside me stops.
Because she looks exactly like Clara.
Same smile. Same eyes.
That soft, innocent face pretending to belong to someone who wouldn't hurt a fly — except I know the truth. I can feel it burning in the back of my mind.
She's the one who started it all.
The sister who asked for the throne "for just one week."
The one who betrayed her brother and began the war between humans and demons.
The one who destroyed everything.
The Witch's memories crawl through me, cold and unstoppable.
Her voice whispers inside my head — not as an echo, but as something alive:
"This is where it begins."
The music around me fades. The smiles turn to glass.
The sister leans close to the Demon King, her laughter soft and sweet — but behind her back, a shadow starts to take form.
> "Just for a week," she says, all sweet and innocent. "Let me see what it feels like to rule."
And the Demon King — poor guy — actually agrees.
Hands her the scepter like it's some friendship bracelet.
And the moment her fingers touch it, everything changes.
The shadows twist.
Guards drop to their knees.
And the air? It suddenly feels like breathing in lightning.
Then the commands start.
Cities burn. Screams fill the air. Demons, humans—everyone's killing everyone.
And she's smiling.
> "I can do better than he ever did," she whispers. "I'll rebuild this world in my name."
God. I can almost feel the Witch's—my—hands shaking.
Begging. Fighting. Failing.
And when it's all over, three bodies fall — the Demon King, the Witch, and the sister.
And just before the world turns black, I catch one last look at her face.
Clara's face.
Smiling through the flames like she enjoyed every second.