"No one comes here. Not even the wind dares to disturb this place."
I whispered it aloud, though the wind carried my words away before they could linger. My secret. My sanctuary. A pond hidden deep in the wisteria grove, where blossoms hung like purple lanterns above the water, brushing the silver light of the moon. This was mine—every petal, every ripple, every heartbeat.
I stepped into the cool water, letting it embrace me like a lover's hand. The night pressed in, velvet and electric, and I closed my eyes, tasting freedom in the gentle sway of the pond. The moon reflected across the surface, spilling silver across my skin, making my hair—white-blonde, threaded with faint metallic strands—shine like liquid light.
For a moment, I was utterly alone.
And then, I wasn't.
A shadow moved through the grove. My eyes snapped open, but before I could fully focus, a man appeared at the edge of the water—a stranger. Tall. Dark-clad. The kind of presence that made the air shift, like the forest itself was holding its breath. My pulse stuttered.
I froze.
Why was he here? This pond was hidden. It wasn't just secluded—it was unreachable to ordinary wanderers. And yet… here he was.
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, careful. A light breeze ruffled his hair, shadowing sharp features under the moonlight. His eyes… I couldn't look away. Grey, stormy, piercing, as if he could read my thoughts before I had them. I shivered. Not just from the cold water, but from something deeper. Something dangerous.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, low, cautious—but there was an edge to his voice that made it impossible to ignore.
"I… I'm—" My words died on my tongue. I realized, horrified, that I had not covered myself. Panic flared, hot and immediate. I splashed water over my chest, hands trembling, but then he moved. Just slightly—closer. My breath caught.
And then I saw him notice.
The claw-shaped mark, faded but unmistakable, etched diagonally from the left side of my chest down toward my stomach. Pale lines that had been there for as long as I could remember, yet always hidden, always secret.
His eyes darkened. His jaw tightened. A flicker of something—anger? curiosity? desire?—ran across his face. I felt it, shivering, even before he moved.
Then he did something I couldn't have imagined. He reached toward it. His fingers hovered, trembling almost imperceptibly, before brushing against the faded claw.
A shiver ran down my spine. Electric, impossible to ignore. I gasped, instinctively trying to recoil, but something in his touch… grounded me. Calmed me. It was as if the storm of fear and desire coiled inside me, and then unraveled at once.
His expression shifted. Before, he had been sharp, almost furious. Now… fascination. Hunger. Confusion. And yet, beneath it, a tremor of… calm.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to flee. My hands flew to my chest, trying to cover the mark. His gaze didn't move. It was fixed, mesmerized, studying me as though I were a puzzle he'd been trying to solve for centuries.
"You… how?" he whispered, voice hoarse. "How can a human…?"
I flinched, unable to answer. Every instinct told me to run. Every sense screamed that danger was near, and yet… I could not move. The wind carried the scent of wisteria, of water, of him—something intoxicating, foreign, irresistible.
He leaned closer, closer than reason allowed. And still, his eyes were on the mark, as if it called to him in a language only he understood.
"Who—are—you?" My voice trembled. The pond, the wisteria, the moonlight… all of it felt unreal. Like some twisted dream where I was not just seen, but possessed, even if only by his gaze.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he let his hand linger over the claw, tracing its curve lightly, as if memorizing it. I shivered again, a deep, involuntary quake that ran through me from spine to stomach. Embarrassment and fear tangled with… something else. Something dangerous. Something that made my heartbeat accelerate in ways I didn't want to understand.
And then, without warning, he straightened. The storm of emotion in his eyes—the fury, the desire, the curiosity—retreated, leaving only a tension that hummed like lightning over water. He studied me, not with anger, but with a dangerous calm that made my knees weak.
"I should not… have come here," he murmured, almost to himself. And yet, he did not leave.
I finally noticed his hands—strong, precise, controlled. Everything about him was deliberate. My fear grew. My pulse pounded. This man… something about him wasn't ordinary. I did not know what, but I knew enough to feel the weight of it pressing against me, suffocating, magnetic.
The wisteria swayed gently above us, petals drifting on the surface of the pond. The moon reflected off the water like scattered glass. I tried to tell myself it was just beauty, just coincidence. That he was just a man. But my body did not believe it. My mind did not believe it.
And then, he spoke again, low, deliberate:
"This… mark. It should not exist."
His fingers grazed the water, then my skin again, hesitant, trembling. That single touch made my body hum in ways I did not understand. My cheeks burned. My chest tightened. My mind raced. I wanted to pull away, to scream, to flee. And yet… I could not.
Something in his eyes had changed. It was no longer curiosity or suspicion—it was recognition. And behind it, an intensity that left me raw, exposed, trembling.
I swallowed, trying to force words out: "I… I don't know what it is…" My voice was barely above a whisper, carried by the wind.
He tilted his head, as though pondering a puzzle too ancient to solve in a single night. "No… this is older. Older than you, older than me… and yet, here it is."
A flicker of… something passed over his face. Fury? Reverence? Desire? I could not tell. But the pull, the undeniable, magnetic, terrifying pull between us… it left me dizzy.
I realized then, with a shiver that had nothing to do with the pond, that he was not meant to be here. That I was not meant to meet him. That something far larger than both of us had orchestrated this collision beneath the moonlight and wisteria petals.
I wanted to look away. I could not. I wanted to flee. I could not. I wanted… something I did not dare name.
The wind carried the scent of smoke, of ozone, of distant fire. And I understood, faintly, impossibly, that the man before me—this stranger, this intruder—was not simply a man.
And yet… he was fascinated by me. By my body, my mark, my existence.
The pond reflected our figures, the moonlight dancing across water and petals. My reflection shimmered, ghostlike, and in the corner of my vision, I caught the faint glint of his hand retreating, lingering in thought, almost painfully reluctant to leave.
He straightened at last, eyes dark pools of storm and something else—something ancient, dangerous. "I should go," he said, voice low, almost a growl.
But he did not move. Not entirely. And I could feel, with every nerve in my body, that our fates had just entwined, irreversibly, in that moonlit grove.
The wisteria swayed. The pond whispered secrets. And I knew, in the marrow of my bones, that my life—my very existence—had just been drawn into something far older, far darker, and far more irresistible than I had ever imagined.