Sleep didn't come.
Seranya lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling as moonlight carved silver scars across the walls. The Mark burned under her skin, hotter now. Like it was calling. Demanding.
Somewhere between midnight and madness, she gave in.
She got up.
She didn't know why her feet moved, why her fingers brushed aside the curtain that covered the old mirror at the far end of the room. The servants claimed it was cursed...bad luck for a noble daughter to see her true reflection.
Funny. She didn't believe in luck anymore.
Just power.
Just fire.
---
Shhhhk.
The cloth slid off, revealing the mirror. But the glass didn't show her reflection.
It showed him.
---
First, there were eyes.
Crimson. Like spilled wine on snow.
Then antlers. Twisted black bone, reaching like dead branches.
And then....him.
He sat lazily on a throne of smoke and stone, one leg thrown over the armrest like he owned the world and had gotten bored of it.
He was beautiful in that wrong way.....too sharp, too smooth. A walking warning sign.
And he was watching her like a predator who'd skipped dinner on purpose.
"Hello, little heir."
---
She didn't flinch.
"Demon King," she said. "I take it this isn't a social call."
He grinned.
Slow. Wicked.
"You touched my Mark. You opened the door. Now we talk."
"Talk about what?"
"The apocalypse you tricked me into starting?"
"Mm. That. But also…"
"You."
He leaned forward. His voice dropped.
"You want power. You want revenge. And you're willing to burn for it. That makes you mine."
"I'm not yours."
N "Not yet."
---
She crossed her arms. "Why me?"
"You're the perfect candidate," he said. "Ruined. Reborn. Ripe with rage. You've got nothing to lose and too much to prove."
"And what do you want?"
"Freedom. Blood. Chaos."
He smiled.
"But mostly? I want to see what you become."
---
She narrowed her eyes. "And if I refuse you?"
"You won't."
He stood. Smoke clung to his frame like armor. Power rolled off him in waves that tasted like ash and lightning.
"You already made the pact, remember? You're marked. Our fates are stitched together now. You fall, I fall. You win, I rise."
"So I'm your puppet."
"No."
"You're the blade I'm sharpening."
---
The glass started to crack.
His form shimmered. The pressure in the room spiked.
And then....his hand reached out of the mirror.
"Come, little heir. Let me teach you how to win."
She stared at it. At him.
At the devil who might be her only ally in a world built to destroy her.
"Fine," she said. "But I'm not yours."
She took his hand.
"You're mine."