> ⚠️ Trigger Warning: Emotional obsession, erotic longing, supernatural hallucinations.
🎼 Music Suggestion: "In This Shirt" by The Irrepressibles (instrumental version) or "My Body is a Cage" by Peter Gabriel for background tension.
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The wind in the cathedral corridors had grown teeth. It whispered his name again and again, though no voice answered when he turned. Lucian stood before the high stained-glass window, staring out at a dusk that looked ready to devour the sky.
Behind him, the candle flames quivered. But he didn't flinch.
Another night and the scent still clung—smoke and pine and something maddeningly sweet. Kyrell's scent. Impossible. Faded. Yet lodged somewhere deep in his skull, threading itself into his every breath.
Lucian hadn't fed properly in three days.
He didn't want to.
What he craved was not blood but something far more dangerous—remembrance.
"Lucian?" came a soft voice behind him.
He turned slowly. The flicker of light painted her face in longing. Her name was Mara. High-born. Deadly. And insatiably drawn to him. She had waited like a moth waits for a flame—knowing it would burn her, and not caring.
She approached, velvet and silence. Her dark hair was pinned back like a crown of thorns, and her lips parted as if she hoped to speak—but knew words might ruin the spell between them.
"I worry for you," she said at last.
He didn't answer. His eyes were on her, but she knew better than to think she was being seen.
"You haven't touched anyone in weeks," she continued, more softly now. "Is it because of… him?"
Lucian's gaze didn't falter. But Mara noticed his fingers twitch.
"I've seen the way you look at the rooftops," she pressed. "As if you expect him to come down from the heavens just to tear you apart."
She stepped closer—too close. Her hand, soft and chilled, landed on his chest. She traced a line downward, slowly, reverently.
"You could forget him," she whispered. "I'd help you."
Lucian caught her wrist with preternatural speed. Not cruel, but firm. His lips barely moved.
"You can't touch what belongs to ghosts."
She inhaled sharply. "You're still dreaming of him, aren't you?"
Lucian released her. "No," he murmured. "I'm remembering him."
Outside, thunder cracked—low and distant.
And in that single moment, Mara understood what the others never would. Lucian wasn't resisting desire.
He was grieving it.
And worse still… he wasn't alone in those dreams.