That night I was alone in Victor's room, afraid and lost in thought about what was expected of me tomorrow.
"You'll be okay. Everything is going to be okay," I whispered to myself, again and again. But the words fell flat in the silence. I already knew the truth: I would die, just like Anett. Just like Vena.
Sleep never came. I sat on the edge of Victor's enormous bed, leaning against the bedpost, tracing every possible escape in my mind. Then my eyes caught on the tall mirror across the room—and froze.
Something moved.
A ripple danced across the glass. I stood, breath held, as the reflection shifted. A figure took shape. It was me... but not. Her eyes were hollow, her smile cruel. Slowly, deliberately, she undressed, watching me with a hunger that turned my stomach. Then, with grotesque grace, she began peeling the skin from her body, revealing slick black muscle and pointed ears beneath.
I screamed and hurled the mirror to the floor. It shattered.
For hours I sat there, staring at the shards, half-convinced they'd reassemble and show her again.
Around 3 a.m., hoots and laughter echoed from outside. I pulled the curtain aside.
Below, Victor stood with his friends, all of them gazing up at me.
"This will all be yours—and then the world," he said, sweeping his hand behind him as if Belmore stretched across continents.
They clapped him on the back like proud brothers. For a moment, he looked almost human. They bowed to me before disappearing into the woods. Victor lingered, smiling.
"Try to get some sleep. You won't be able to soon."
Then he vanished into the dark.
Moments later, the woods screamed.
An hour after that, began screaming.
Pain ignited under my skin, like something ancient clawing its way out. I collapsed before I reached the door, writhing on the floor, my body boiling from the inside out.
When I woke, I was submerged in warm water. Vena was there, calmly scrubbing my arms.
"You passed out during purification," she said softly. "So I helped. I can only imagine how painful that was, Ayana."
I blinked at her, disoriented. When she reached for my legs, I found my voice and asked to finish alone. She handed me the cloth and left.
Later, the women gathered and began preparing me for what we all knew was coming. Hair, nails, makeup. I sat in silence as they worked, numb to it all. Ten hours passed like a fever dream before they finally left me alone to change.
I stared at myself in the mirror. I hated how beautiful I looked. Hated that in another life, this could have been a day of joy.
I slipped the veil over my face, blinking back tears.
Downstairs, the women were dressed in black. We walked silently into the woods. They whispered, giggled, peeled away until I was alone—just me and the sound of my heartbeat.
A clearing opened ahead. A massive, cabin-like church stood glowing with hundreds of candles. Inside, the congregation chanted, voices rising and falling like waves. I stepped through the doors.
Everyone turned to look at me.
Black masks. Still bodies. No sound but breath.
Victor stood at the altar.
He held out his hand.
The priest spoke, his words blurred until I heard my name. I lifted my hand. He sliced my palm. Blood dripped into a silver chalice. Victor did the same. Our blood mixed.
He drank. Then passed the cup to me.
I drank.
"You may now kiss your bride, my Lord."
Victor ripped the veil away and kissed me. Blood lingered on both our lips.
We stepped outside to the sound of horns and music. Food appeared. Wine. I drank too much. Victor twirled me in the clearing, laughter slipping out of me before I could stop it. For a moment, I almost forgot.
Back at the table, he pressed kisses to the top of my head.
Then he leaned down and whispered, "I'll see you soon."
He slipped off his vest, unbuttoned his shirt, and disappeared into the woods.
Anett sat beside me. "He's preparing your marital bed," she said. "To seal a marriage, it must be consummated. You know that."
She took my hand.
"You'll be okay. He's your husband now. Just ask him to be gentle."
My mouth dried. We'd been intimate before—but that was before I knew what he really was.
They walked me back to the house. At the door, I turned.
"Aren't you coming?"
Anett handed me a red gift bag. "This is your last time entering the house this way. You must go in alone."
The women smiled, then vanished into the night.
Inside, the house was silent. Reverent. A trail of candles led upstairs. I opened the bag: sheer lingerie and a feathered robe. I dressed, the fabric clinging like water. The alcohol made the stairs tilt and sway.
At Victor's door, I dropped the robe and stepped into darkness.
The door shut behind me.
I wasn't alone. I could feel him.
My breath caught. I stayed still, heart pounding. Eventually, I found the bed and climbed in, pulling the covers up. A candle lit itself and floated toward me.
Bare. Silent.
Moonlight caught the pale edges of his body—statuesque, still, terrible in his beauty.
He climbed into bed beside me, slow and certain, like he was stepping into a ritual already in progress.
His eyes were no longer blue. Not green.
Just black. Ink-black. Devouring.
He didn't speak at first. Only reached out and laid his hand between my breasts. The warmth of his skin there felt surreal, as if it didn't belong to this world.
I swallowed. My throat tight.
His eyes flickered. He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed each finger with aching care.
But he was following a script. I could feel it. Every movement felt memorized. Rehearsed. Performed.
He touched me like a priest preparing a sacrifice. Reverent. Distant.
His lips brushed my collarbone. Then the hollow of my throat.
Goosebumps chased his mouth.
His hands skimmed down my sides, pausing at the slope of my hips. Then back up—palms wide, deliberate, as if mapping something sacred.
When his fingers slipped between my legs, I gasped. My thighs parted without thought.
His touch was confident. Knowing.
Two fingers slid inside me slowly—curling, stroking—his thumb circling my clit with a cruel tenderness.
I gasped again. My hips lifted into him. But the pleasure felt oddly mechanical, like my body was reacting on instinct while my mind watched from elsewhere.
My breath caught in my throat as he kissed lower, his mouth following the line of my ribs, his tongue hot and wet.
He whispered again. "Are you okay?"
I nodded, barely. My hands gripped the sheets.
Then he moved over me, positioning himself between my legs. His cock brushed against my entrance—thick, hard, flushed with blood. I felt the tremble in his thighs, the restraint in his breath.
He slid in with one long, slow thrust.
I cried out, my back arching. He filled me so completely it felt like I would break.
For a moment, it was almost tender.
He held himself still inside me, forehead pressed to mine, our chests rising in uneven unison.
Then he began to move.
Each thrust was smooth, controlled. Then deeper. Then not.
His pace shifted—erratic, hungry. His hips drove into me with building desperation.
I whimpered under him, nails digging into his back.
My pleasure rose again, sharp and hot. But something about it felt wrong.
Too much. Too soon. Like it was being pulled from me, not given.
His eyes rolled back. His mouth slackened.
And suddenly—his teeth sank into my neck.
Pain bloomed, raw and blinding.
Then—pressure.
His hands closed around my throat.
I choked, gasping, clawing at his arms.
But he didn't stop. He moaned against my skin, still thrusting, still taking.
My vision darkened at the edges.
My body convulsed beneath him, helpless.
And then—
My mind shattered.
Light and shadow flooded in.
Memories that weren't mine exploded behind my eyes—ritual fires, blood-stained altars, screams in ancient tongues.
I saw faces I'd never worn.
I lived deaths I hadn't died.
I was maiden, monster, mother.
And then—I was still.
My heart stopped.
My breath ceased.
My body slackened beneath him.
But Victor didn't stop.
He moved inside my corpse with slow, reverent thrusts.
He whispered against my lifeless lips. Told me I was eternal. Sacred. His.
Tears streamed down his face as he held me like a relic, like something he'd worshipped for lifetimes.
And still—
I wasn't gone.
My spirit lingered, just above, watching.
Watching his madness.
His grief.
His love.
And then—something gripped me.
A hook in the darkness.
A thread made of blood and breath.
I felt it tug—hard.
The world roared back.
Through the veil.
Through the pain.
Through him.
And my eyes—
My eyes opened.