Third Point of view
Aveline didn't sleep.
Not after the vision. Not after the feel of cold skeletal fingers dragging her into death, not after hearing Lucien calmly whisper "For sacrifice."
She sat curled in the corner of her chamber, wrapped in a blanket she no longer trusted. The castle was silent now—eerily so. No creaking beams. No sighing wind. Just the heavy, unnatural quiet of something holding its breath.
The castle has chosen you.
She shivered.
Why her?
Why not one of the other priestesses they'd dragged here before?
She looked down at her hands.
They didn't tremble. They should have.
But they were still. Coiled. Like something beneath her skin was waiting.
No, she thought. Someone.
---
Earlier That Morning
Lucien had escorted her back to her room.
He hadn't spoken a word since the catacombs. Not even when she asked him, bluntly, if he intended to use her the same way he had Seraphina.
He only looked at her with a face carved in stone and said:
"When the time comes, you'll understand."
Understand what? That he was a murderer? That the women who tried to help him always died screaming?
But then he added, more quietly, "I haven't made my choice yet."
My choice.
As if he thought he could decide who lived or died. Who suffered or survived.
Aveline made her own decision the moment she crossed the threshold into that tomb.
She would not die for him.
She would destroy him first.
---
Now – Just Before Sunrise
The castle's library was as silent as the grave. Cold dawn light filtered through stained glass, casting red and violet shards across the dusty marble floor.
Aveline stood alone before a sealed glass case.
Inside it sat a book bound in white leather, the title embossed in black runes.
Bloodcraft: Ritual Magic and Demonic Pactbreaking.
Her hand hovered over the lock.
The whisper came again—not from the walls, but from inside her own skull.
Break the seal, little flame.
She didn't flinch.
She pressed her palm against the glass.
It melted beneath her touch.
No fire. No spell spoken.
It simply melted.
She pulled the book free, heart hammering.
What was she?
---
Elsewhere – The Duke's War Room
Lucien stood before a long table covered in maps, sigils, and blood-stained scrolls.
The demon in his blood stirred.
He could feel her. Awake. Aware. Powerful.
More than Seraphina. More than the witches the Church tried to send as spies in enchantress robes.
Aveline was something else.
Something… older.
He turned to the mirror above the hearth.
His reflection wavered.
Not human.
Not entirely demon.
But something in between.
Just like her.
He clenched his jaw.
The ritual wouldn't just break his curse.
If done wrong, it would bind him to her instead.
And that… terrified him more than dying.
---
Library – Moments Later
Aveline flipped through the book. Her fingers skimmed pages faster than she could read. Symbols called to her, humming like old memories.
She found it.
A page marked with blood.
Binding the Half-Damned.
Her pulse quickened.
"If the blood of a devil-born is spilled willingly by one who bears the mark of fire, the curse shall be inverted—and its power transferred."
She read it again. And again.
Spill his blood.
Willingly.
By her hand.
She could break the curse.
Not for him.
For herself.
Footsteps echoed outside the library.
She shoved the book beneath her cloak and moved fast, slipping between shelves.
The doors creaked open.
Lucien entered.
He looked different. Pale. Shadow-eyed. Like something inside him was unraveling.
Their eyes met across the room.
"You're bleeding," she said quietly.
He looked down. A dark stain bloomed across his ribs, soaking through his black shirt.
"I didn't come to harm you," he said, walking slowly toward her. "I came to warn you."
"About what?"
"About the church."
She blinked. "The what?"
"The priests who sent you." His voice was a blade now. "They don't care about saving me. They care about using me."
Her pulse skipped. "They sent me to stop the curse."
"They sent you to absorb it."
He reached into his coat and threw something on the table.
A letter. Wax seal broken.
She recognized the sigil instantly.
The High Order.
Her order.
The words burned into her skull.
"Upon the successful completion of the ritual, the girl will become host to the Duke's curse. He dies free. She dies damned."
She backed away from him, fury curling her lip. "You knew this?"
"I suspected."
"You still planned to use me!"
Lucien's eyes glowed faintly. "I planned to test you. See what you'd choose when everything was on fire."
"Well here's my choice," she snarled. "You die. And I walk out of here with your curse broken."
Lucien smiled.
A dark, beautiful, doomed smile.
"Then you're finally ready."
Before she could speak, the air behind her split.
Like fabric tearing open.
A clawed hand reached through.
Then another.
A rift had opened—a tear between realms.
Lucien shoved her behind him, drawing the obsidian dagger from his belt.
"You're early," he muttered.
A voice echoed from the rift.
"She is not yours, Half-Damned. She is ours. The girl who burns."
Aveline stared as something stepped through the tear.
It was her.
Or it looked like her.
Only twisted. Eyes black, hair white as ash. Smiling like a wolf.
The copy spoke in her voice.
"Let's burn this world down, sister."
---