"The Devil's Sanctuary"
Elowen awoke to warmth. Not the fragile heat of sunlight, but the dense, velvety warmth of fire that didn't burn.
Her lashes fluttered.
The room around her was a masterpiece of darkness and decadence—a sanctum carved into the bones of the earth itself. Velvet drapes the color of crushed night hung from towering obsidian columns. The walls shimmered with embedded stars—not paint, but real starlight trapped in crystal.
Flames flickered in black iron sconces along the curved walls, casting golden shadows. A deep scent—sandalwood, myrrh, and smoke—thickened the air like a spell.
She lay in a bed carved from onyx, the sheets a cool river of black silk. Her body was clothed in a fine midnight robe stitched with silver thread, her injuries tended, her hands bandaged delicately.
But none of it comforted her.
Because he was here.
Morris.
He sat in a high-backed chair in the far corner, his silhouette regal and still as a painting. His eyes—those infamous, inhuman gold eyes—watched her from beneath the veil of shadows. One knee was crossed over the other, a half-buttoned black shirt exposing the sharp lines of his collarbone and a glimpse of the ancient sigil carved over his heart.
He was perfect. Too perfect. The kind of beauty that didn't belong in the world of men.
Elowen's breath hitched.
And then the dam broke.
"Why…" her voice trembled, fragile and hoarse, "Why did you come into my life just to abandon me?"
The question rang through the chamber, stark and sharp.
She sat up, slowly, ignoring the ache in her ribs.
"You marked me, Morris," she whispered. "You bound me to you… and then you disappeared. I cried out to you every night. I bled trying to reach you. You said nothing."
Her voice cracked.
"You gave me hope I hadn't felt in years. You made me feel like I was worth something. And then you left me to die."
Morris didn't respond. He remained still, expression unreadable. Only the tightening of his jaw betrayed any reaction.
"Do you know what it felt like," Elowen continued, her voice rising with barely leashed fury, "to realize I might be the reason the Wendigos are here? That I tore open the border without knowing? That I've become a threat in the palace—because of you?"
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
"I'm being hunted. I'm being talked about. And now the All-Seeing Eagle might be summoned—and if it is, it'll expose me, and I'll be executed for something I never even understood."
She was shaking now, her arms wrapped around herself.
"Why didn't you tell me what the mark was for? Why didn't you teach me how to use it? Why—" her voice softened, heartbroken "—why did you abandon me when I needed you most?"
Morris rose slowly.
He walked toward her, graceful and composed, the very embodiment of a god masquerading as man.
His face was carved in ice. But inside, something stirred—dangerous, unfamiliar.
"Do you know who I am, Elowen?" he asked, voice smooth, but weighted with thunder. "Have you ever listened to the old men in the village square speak my name? Have you read the tales carved into the temple ruins?"
He stepped closer.
"They say Lucifer has no heart. That it was torn into four and buried in lands even I cannot reach. That I loved once—and burned for it."
He stopped just beside the bed, towering over her, looking down with eyes that gleamed like molten metal.
"You think I abandoned you? I was trying to protect me."
He said it so low she almost didn't catch it.
"You are the first soul in centuries who made me feel something I do not understand. And that…"His voice cracked—just once."…terrifies me."
And then he reached out.
So slowly.
So gently.
His fingers grazed her cheek, brushing away a tear.
Elowen let out a broken sob, and Morris felt it—physically. Like her grief had been embedded into his skin.
His fingers trembled.
Why do I want to kiss her tears?
He retracted his hand as though burned, gripping his chest with the other. His breath faltered.
Why does it ache? What is this warmth? This pull?
He took a single step back, shaken to the core.
Elowen reached out, clutching his left palm—her hands trembling but desperate.
"What is this mark?" she begged. "Why does it hurt when you're not near? Why do I feel like I can't breathe without you? Why does it make me feel like I'm not alone and yet more alone than ever?"
Her voice dropped.
"Is this magic… or is it me?"
Morris looked down at their hands—hers fragile, pale and wrapped in linen, his flawless and cold.
"The mark is… a soul tether," he said finally, voice heavy with regret. "It links us. Our thoughts. Our pain. Our joy. If you cry—I feel it. If I bleed… so do you."
She stared at him.
"There's power in it," he continued. "You haven't even begun to explore it. You can summon fire. Read minds. Shield yourself. Command lesser beasts. But…"
He hesitated.
"If you ever use it against me, it reflects. Pain for pain. Blow for blow. It is a bond. A blade. And a chain."
Elowen blinked, stunned. Her voice came out barely audible.
"So all this time… you felt my pain?"
He looked at her.
And said nothing.
But his silence was the loudest answer of all.
The air between them grew still.
Thick.
Breathless.
Morris reached for her face again, this time both hands cupping her cheeks. His thumbs brushed the dried tear tracks. Their eyes locked—hers glistening with emotion, his stormed with confusion.
She was heartbreak and moonlight. He was fury and fire.
And still, they leaned in.
Their foreheads touched first. Then noses.
Her lashes fluttered closed.
His breath caught.
Lips inches apart.
He could feel her heartbeat against his hands. Could feel his own roaring in his ears.
Then
A vision.
Her face again. Not Elowen. Not this life. But another. Her, but not her. Crowned in silver. Eyes glowing. A scream. Flames. Betrayal.
Morris jerked back like the wind had been knocked out of him.
He vanished into shadow—gone in a blink.
Elowen was left in the silence, trembling, lips still parted, her breath uneven.
Her reflection in the nearby mirror looked foreign—pale, flushed, eyes wide with longing and sorrow.
She reached to her collarbone… and froze.
It was glowing.
Not crimson, as it always had before.
But silver.
Pale, pulsing, elegant.
Beautiful—and wrong.
She didn't notice it right away.
But the room did.
The candles dimmed slightly. A hush spread through the sanctuary. Somewhere in the walls, something ancient stirred.
The mark was changing.
And whatever it meant—it had only just begun.