Lucy stood alone on the rooftop of an abandoned silk warehouse, the city sprawling below her like a glittering, restless beast. Dawn was still hours away but the sky already blushed pale pink at the edges, as if the night itself was embarrassed by what she had done. Her torn cassock clung to her skin, stiff with dried blood, and the wind carried the sharp tang of iron and coal smoke. Thorn nestled against her neck, tiny body warm, petals along her horns glowing soft silver-blue like tiny night-lights. The little devil was quiet for once, tail curled loosely around Lucy's earlobe, as though even she understood the weight of the moment.
The hunger was calm now, a low, satisfied hum deep in her belly, like a cat that had finally caught the mouse it had been chasing for days. Lucy could still taste Isolde on her lips—sweet sorrow and fragile hope mixed together, a flavor that made her chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with pain. She had fed without killing. She had given instead of taken. And the world had not ended. The sky had not cracked open. The Order had not appeared with flaming swords to drag her to judgment. Just a quiet rooftop, a sleeping city, and a tiny devil purring against her skin.
She lifted her hand and stared at her palm. Faint silver-blue light traced the lines there, delicate as frost on glass, pulsing gently in time with her heartbeat. When she focused, the light brightened, spreading up her wrist like spilled moonlight. It didn't hurt. It felt… right. Like a missing piece clicking into place. The rose-gold hunger still burned underneath, hot and eager, but the silver-blue light held it steady, kept it from spilling over and drowning her. She flexed her fingers. The glow followed the movement, beautiful and strange.
Thorn fluttered to her wrist, landing lightly, wings brushing Lucy's skin. The little devil tilted her head, eyes wide and curious, then pressed her tiny palm against Lucy's. For a heartbeat nothing happened. Then the silver-blue light flared brighter, wrapping around both of them like a ribbon of living starlight. Thorn squeaked in delight, tail whipping back and forth, petals blooming wide along her horns until she looked like a tiny rose made of moonlight.
Lucy laughed—soft, surprised, the sound startling her own ears. She hadn't laughed in days. Maybe longer. The sound felt foreign but good, like stretching muscles that had been locked in one position too long. Thorn giggled in response, high and musical, then nuzzled Lucy's wrist like a kitten claiming its favorite spot.
That was when the words came.
They didn't appear in the air. They didn't float like some cheap carnival trick. They bloomed inside her mind, clear and calm, carved into her thoughts the way roots carve through soil.
Veil System: Equilibrium Established
Host: Lucy Anselem
Core: Holy-Demonic Fusion
Level: 1
Bonds Formed: 1 (Isolde Veyne)
Current State: Hunger Contained – 42%
Directive: Feed to grow. Restrain to balance. Bind to strengthen. The garden remembers.
Lucy's breath caught. The words stayed there, steady and quiet, not demanding, not judging—just stating facts. She could feel them the way she felt her own heartbeat: present, alive, part of her. Thorn looked up at her, eyes gleaming, as if she had heard it too. The little devil's petals shifted from silver-blue to rose-gold and back again, like she was trying on colors to see which one fit the moment best.
Lucy lowered her hand. The glow faded, but she could still sense it inside her—a cool silver thread weaving through the hot rose-gold hunger, holding the two forces together like a seamstress stitching silk to leather. It wasn't a cage. It wasn't a chain. It was balance. Fragile, beautiful, dangerous balance.
She walked to the roof's edge and looked out over Calder's Row. Gas lamps flickered below like scattered coins. Steam rose from factory chimneys in slow white ghosts. Somewhere under all of it, the Bloom waited—roots thick as tree trunks, flowers made of bone and black glass, drinking in every lonely sigh, every secret desire, every drop of spilled life. And now it knew her. It had tasted her first real feed. It had felt the silver-blue light that kept her from becoming just another monster.
Thorn crawled up to her shoulder again, nuzzling her cheek. The little devil's wings fluttered once, twice, then settled. She felt warm, solid, real. Lucy reached up and stroked the tiny horns with her fingertip. Thorn purred, a sound so soft it was almost a sigh.
The hunger stirred again—not angry, not demanding, just… curious. It wanted more. Not destruction. Not chaos. Just more connection. More life. More feeling.
Lucy smiled—small, tired, but real.
She had killed a man who loved her.
She had fed on a woman who trusted her.
She had broken every oath she ever swore.
And somehow, impossibly, she was still here. Still breathing. Still choosing.
The city stretched out below her, beautiful and broken and waiting.
Lucy took a deep breath of cold night air.
The garden inside her—Thorn, the hunger, the silver-blue light—was awake now.
And it was ready to grow.