"The Saintess Who Lied"
You arrived in his kingdom draped in ivory silk, gold-trimmed robes trailing behind you like sunlight kissing the floor. The people called you the Saintess from the East — healer of the broken, speaker of light. A pure soul sent to "redeem the villain king."
But you knew better.
You weren't here to save him.
You were here to seduce the monster — and maybe, in time, rule by his side.
---
Rael stood in his war room, overlooking a map soaked in red ink — cities he planned to take, empires he vowed to ruin. His panther lounged beside him, tail swaying slowly, golden eyes always watching.
The doors opened. You entered with that same softness you wore like perfume — innocent, ethereal, deceptive.
> "My Lord," you said sweetly, bowing your head.
He turned. And again, like every time, his harshness softened just for you.
> "You shouldn't be here," he said gruffly. "This is no place for... light."
You smiled — kind, gentle, calculated.
> "But isn't that why you keep me close?"
Rael's jaw clenched. Even he couldn't deny it. Since your arrival, he'd stopped leading raids. He stayed home more. He smiled, barely — but it was there.
He thought you were the last good thing in his world.
He had no idea you were born of shadows too — just... better at hiding it.
---
Later that night, he brought you to his garden — overgrown, wild, blooming with strange black roses that only bloomed beneath the moon. You walked beside him, close enough to touch, but didn't.
> "Why do you trust me?" you asked softly.
> "Because you're good," he answered too quickly. "Because when I look at you, I remember who I could've been."
And oh, how that answer made your heart flutter — not from guilt, but power.
He'd fallen. Deeper than you expected.
You turned to him with wide eyes, playing your part beautifully.
> "Rael... if I told you I wasn't who you thought I was, would you still want me?"
He blinked, surprised. Then, softly:
> "Even if you were darkness wearing light… yes. I'd want you still."
You smiled. Got him.
But as you turned away, a strange tightness stirred in your chest. Was it… guilt? No. You don't do guilt.
Do you?
---
Back in your chambers that night, you peeled off your saintess robes, revealing the obsidian tattoos carved into your skin — old magic, deep magic, the kind no holy woman would dare touch.
You looked in the mirror and whispered to yourself:
> "Just a little longer. Then his heart — and his kingdom — will be mine."
But the part that scared you?
You weren't sure anymore which one you wanted more.