I woke with a headache so sharp it felt like someone had driven a nail straight through my skull. Every heartbeat sent waves of pain rippling behind my eyes and down the back of my neck. For a long moment, I lay perfectly still, hoping that if I waited patiently, the agony might ease. It did not. The throbbing only grew stronger, deeper, spreading into places I did not know it could reach.
Headaches and nausea had become so frequent lately that I had stopped counting them. Every few days, my body seemed to invent a new way to remind me that I did not belong here, that this world of shadows and whispers was not mine. Perhaps that was the cruelest irony of the Underworld. It made you feel more dead than alive.
My mouth was dry. My limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. My stomach churned with that hollow, relentless nausea that comes after drinking far more than anyone should ever allow. It felt exactly like a hangover, a terrible one, the kind that lingers even when you desperately try to ignore it.
The last time I had been drunk was at a work party in the tavern. Since then, I had promised myself that I would never allow it to happen again.
I groaned softly and pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut as if sheer willpower could quiet the pounding inside my skull. I pressed my fingers against my temples, forcing myself to concentrate, to make sense of the fog and confusion pressing in from every direction.
What had happened?
The question echoed uselessly in my mind.
My memory was strangely hollow, like a page torn from a book and burned. I remembered being at the dinner, sitting at the long, candlelit table, surrounded by immortals who barely acknowledged the food before them. I remembered the music drifting through the hall, the low murmur of countless voices, and the heavy torchlight flickering across the stone walls.
But after that, nothing remained.
I frowned, trying to focus despite the ache behind my eyes. Why had I been drinking in the first place? It was not my habit to do so. I usually avoided alcohol entirely.
The thought gnawed at me, insistent and unwelcome.
Slowly, the memory returned. The goblet. I could see it clearly now, sitting untouched before me while everyone else's glasses were refilled again and again. Mine had remained empty until I had poured the dark red liquid myself, watching it swirl in the glass before lifting it to my lips.
The heat had spread almost instantly, rising through my chest and throat in a rush of fire. My stomach twisted at the memory. More fragments returned, hesitant but undeniable.
I opened my eyes abruptly as the realization hit me.
With a soft groan, I rubbed my forehead and finally looked around.
Something was very wrong.
The ceiling above me was not the one I had grown accustomed to over the past few days. The stone overhead was darker than the pale gray I expected, with thin silver veins running across it like cracks in glass. Confusion spread through me, sharp and chilling.
I lowered my gaze. The blankets were not the soft mint green of my room. They were black, thick and heavy, folding over me in deep, suffocating waves. Even the pillows were different, larger and softer, the same dark shade as the rest of the bedding.
A slow unease settled in my chest. This was not my room.
I pushed myself up slightly, ignoring the dull protests of my head. The room was enormous compared to the one i was given. Tall windows stretched along one wall, covered by heavy curtains the color of midnight. A desk stood nearby, cluttered with scrolls and loose papers, and shelves lined the far wall, filled with books and strange objects I could not identify from the bed. Nothing was familiar.
My heart began to beat faster. How had I gotten here?
The question barely formed when I heard it. A slow, steady breath came from beside me.
I froze.
The sound was too close. My mind tried to convince me I was imagining it, that the fog in my head was playing tricks. But the breathing came again, soft and steady, rising and falling just inches away.
My stomach dropped.
I turned my head toward the other side of the bed.
I immediately regretted it.
There, lying beside me, was him. Death. And he was asleep.
For a long moment, my mind simply stopped. He lay on his side, one arm draped loosely across the dark sheets. Without the usual intensity in his gaze, he looked different, almost peaceful. The sight made the situation feel even more absurd.
What had happened last night?
The question pressed heavily in my mind as I stared at him, attempting to piece together a night that refused to return. Slowly, I lifted my eyes back to his face.
At first, nothing seemed wrong. His expression was calm, his breathing steady. Then I noticed it.
A faint smear of red along his lower lip.
For a second, I thought it was a trick of the dim light, shadow playing across the curve of his mouth. But the longer I looked, the clearer it became. Blood, not dried, still fresh. A thin line darkened the pale skin at the corner of his lips.
My breath caught. My eyes stayed fixed on the tiny line, watching as another drop formed. Still bleeding.
The thought that followed made my heart seize. The notebook, hidden in my room, its sealed pages, the hollow heart at its center. It had always seemed to respond to him, warming whenever he was near. It needed his blood. That much I knew for certain.
And now, the opportunity was right here.
I moved carefully, willing every motion to be quiet. If he woke while I was trying to take his blood, I had no doubt it would end very badly for me. My hand slid toward the side of the bed where my belongings should have been. For a brief, terrifying moment, I found nothing. My stomach sank.
No, no no, not now..
Then my fingers brushed something small and cool. Relief rushed through me. The little bottle.
I held it in my hand and hesitated, glancing back at his sleeping face. Still unmoving, still unaware. Good.
I leaned closer, careful with every movement. My heart pounded so loudly that I was certain he would hear it, that every small shift of the blankets and faint creak of the mattress would betray me.
The drop gathered, trembling for a moment before finally falling into the glass. I held my breath, afraid to move, staring at the tiny red stain as if it might vanish if I blinked. It did not.
A quiet thrill ran through me. It worked.
I waited a moment longer, watching for another drop to form, keeping the bottle steady beneath his lip while taking care not to touch him. The entire situation was absurd. I was sitting in Death's bed, collecting his blood, while he slept beside me. If someone had told me a week ago that this would be my life, I would have assumed they had lost their mind.
When the third drop finally fell, I held my breath for a moment longer, making sure it had landed safely inside the glass. My fingers shook slightly as I carefully closed the tiny bottle and slipped it back into my pocket. Relief washed over me in a quiet, private rush.
Then, almost against my will, I looked back at him. My gaze fell on his lips, and I found myself reaching out. The warmth of his skin startled me, and for a heartbeat, I froze, aware of how intimate the moment was, how impossible it all felt.
How had he gotten that blood in the first place?
I lingered for a moment too long, my fingertip brushing against the faint trace of blood along his lips.
Then, suddenly, his eyes opened.
He was staring straight at me.
The world seemed to contract, a silent, impossible bubble surrounding us. My breath caught in my throat. The closeness of it, the intimacy of the moment, was overwhelming.
I jerked my hand back as if burned, feeling exposed and vulnerable at the same time. His eyes did not move from mine.
I swallowed hard, still trying to steady my racing heart, and found my voice. "How long, have you been awake?"
His gaze held mine, calm and unflinching, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Long enough to notice you touching my lips," he said with a smirk on his face.
Heat surged through me at the words.
"I was just trying to see whether it was actually bleeding," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "But how did you even get it?" I added, eyes narrowing in genuine curiosity, forgetting for a moment how close we still were.
He leaned back slightly, one eyebrow raised, his smirk teasing and slow. "Are you concerned for me, little mortal?"
I shook my head quickly, trying to steady my voice. "Not at all. Curious, that's all," I said, keeping my tone light.
He only smirked wider. Without another word, he rose from the bed and began putting on his coat on.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay seated, and finally asked, " Why did I wake up here? What happened last night?"
He paused for a moment, glancing back at me over his shoulder, that smirk lingering. "Don't you remember? You are quite the drinker," he said, his voice calm, teasing, but carrying an edge of truth. "Considering the scene you caused last night, it would be hard to forget."
I felt a chill run through me, my stomach twisting with sudden dread. "What happened?" I whispered, horrified. "Tell me."
He leaned against the edge of the bed, smile curling on his lips, clearly amused at my panic. "Never mind," he said, his tone slow savoring the moment. "You may figure it out sooner or later."
My mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of the night, knowing that whatever had happened, it was not something I would forget anytime soon.
He started to move toward the door, the soft scrape of the floor beneath his feet breaking the tense silence.
"Where are you going? What exactly happened last night? " I called with a note of panic.
He paused just long enough to let the words hang in the air before turning slightly, his expression unreadable. "Lets just say it was a night no one will never forget" he said leaving me all alone in this room.
Unease settled over me like a cold weight. I watched him leave, the sound of his footsteps fading, and the room suddenly felt emptier, colder somehow. Once he was gone, I didn't linger. I gathered my things, moving carefully, quietly, and slipped out of the bedchamber completely.
The corridor was dim, and the stones beneath my feet whispered with every step. My chest tightened as I approached the doors at the end of the hall.
Two gargoyles flanked the exit. At first, I thought they were just statues, as they had always appeared to be. Then their eyes widened.
They looked at each other, exchanging a glance that made my skin prickle. I couldn't be sure, but it was as if they knew something I didn't.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to keep walking.
I had no idea where I was going. The corridors twisted and turned in ways that felt unfamiliar, and every step I took seemed to echo off the stone walls, reminding me of just how alone I was. The layout of this place was completely foreign to me, and I couldn't tell left from right or know which doors might lead somewhere safe.
Still, I kept walking. I had no other choice.
I moved cautiously through the twisting corridors, each step echoing softly against the stone floors. My head still throbbed, and my thoughts felt scattered, but I forced myself to keep going.
After a few turns, the walls widened, the ceiling arched, and I realized I had entered some sort of hall. The space was enormous. It was quieter than the corridors, almost eerily so, and I couldn't help but slow my pace as I took it all in.
Then, just ahead, I saw her.
The woman from last night's dinner. The one with the impossible purple eyes.
She stood perfectly still, her white dress flowing softly around her, the slit along her thigh revealing the graceful curve of her leg. She looked just as beautiful as she had at the table but now, there was a sharpness to her gaze. Cold, distant, as if she disdained me for some reason I couldn't yet understand.
I froze.
She looked back at me, those vivid purple eyes scanning me from head to toe.
"Good. You're here," she said, her voice calm.
"I was just asking for servants to bring you here," she added, her tone almost casual, but there was a weight beneath it.
I frowned, hesitating. "And for what?" I asked cautiously.
Her lips curved just slightly, the faintest hint of a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes.
"I want to talk to you," she said softly. Then, almost imperceptibly, she gestured ahead. "Let's take a walk. Follow me."
Without waiting for my answer, she began gliding down the hall, her movement smooth and deliberate, leaving me little choice but to follow. I followed, my footsteps careful, quiet, my eyes never leaving her back as she led the way through the vast hall.
The woman with the purple eyes glanced over her shoulder once, as if confirming I was still following, then stepped through the doorway.
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, expecting another corridor, another twist of stone and shadow.
But instead, the world opened up.
I blinked rapidly.
A garden stretched before us.
I had never seen anything like it. The plants glowed faintly under the pale, eternal night of the Underworld, soft silvery light shimmering on leaves and petals. Flowers bloomed in impossible colors, rich purples and deep blues that seemed to absorb and reflect the moonlight at the same time. Trees with slender, twisting trunks stretched toward the dark sky, their branches heavy with glowing blossoms, and small pools of water scattered across the garden reflected the faint Underworld moon like liquid mirrors.
"You look like you haven't slept well today," the woman said, her voice soft but laced with a bitterness that made my stomach tighten.
"I haven't slept much these days" I admitted cautiously, unsure what she meant by the bitterness in her tone. "It's been a long night."
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, assessing, almost accusing. "A long night," she repeated slowly, the words curling in the air like smoke. "Is that what you call it?"
I blinked, confused, my fingers tightening around the little bottle hidden in my sleeve.
"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice low, careful.
She stopped walking for a moment, turning to face me fully. The soft glow of the garden's flowers framed her, but it did little to soften the sharpness in her expression.
"You were brought into this realm for who knows what reason," she said slowly, her voice calm but heavy with something like disapproval. "And yet, you, a mortal with absolutely no, understanding, no regard for what you've stepped into, seem completely unaware of what it can do to him."
I frowned, heart pounding. " I don't understand. What do you mean?"
Her gaze darkened, and the edge in her voice deepened. "Do you know what happens when an immortal falls in love with a human?"
I shook my head, fear curling in my stomach. "No… I—"
"It curses him. Permanently. The pain, the regret, the shame… it gnaws at him endlessly, growing heavier with every passing moment. His love, once a source of joy, turns into eternal suffering."
I took a shaky breath, trying to steady my voice. "Look, there's nothing between us," I said firmly, though my chest felt tight. "I was only brought here because of some, stupid bargain. That's it. Nothing more."
Her eyes widened, the faint confusion that had lingered giving way to something sharper—curiosity, disbelief, maybe even a hint of disbelief. "What bargain?" she asked again, voice firmer this time, demanding an answer.
"Well, he promised me I would see my mother again," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper, the memory twisting painfully in my chest.
Her brows furrowed. "And?"
I hesitated, the anger and betrayal bubbling up, threatening to spill over. "And then he tricked me," I said, my voice shaking slightly. "He told me the prize for seeing her again was my soul. And now I'm trapped here."
Her purple eyes went wide, the sharpness in them giving way to something I couldn't quite place, shock, urgency, maybe even fear.
Before I could react, she turned on her heel and rushed off, her white dress flowing behind her like liquid moonlight. She moved so fast, so suddenly, that for a moment I could barely process what was happening.
"Wait!" I called, but my voice sounded small and insignificant against the vast, silent garden.
She didn't slow down. Not even a glance back. She disappeared between the glowing trees and winding paths, leaving me standing alone.