Lucian stood in the middle of his bridal chamber, in his Italian silks, looking at the most beautiful woman, his woman, walking towards him.
Smelling jasmine, the favorite smell of the woman he swore to protect.
His eyes brightened with joy watching the bride walk towards him, closing the distance between them with each step.
Unbeknownst to him, a shadow lurked around, watching him, his movements, waiting for the right moment to strike, to make him regret this moment for all eternity.
As the bride moves close, his eyes sparkle. He holds a ring, a golden band, a token of their marriage, perfectly fitted for her fingers.
Smiling, the bride gives her hand to him. He held the ring, looking at her fingers as he slid the band through them, but it felt hollow, and soon the room was covered in grey dust.
The bridal chamber he prepared months in advance for the wedding covered itself in the grey dust, turning into a tomb, a tomb for the bride he just married.
His crisp Italian silks were now like a shroud for his lover, covered with the ashes of his bride, with whom he shared the vows to be together.
Seconds ago, the ashes were the warm fingers of the woman he'd planned to live with; now, they slipped through his hands like sand in an hourglass as he tried to hold them near.
The heavy gold ring didn't stay in her hands.
It couldn't.
With no flesh to grasp, the band fell through, hitting the white marble floor with a sharp, lonely clink— that echoed in the silent hall before vanishing in its owner's ashes.
Lucian didn't move. He couldn't.
He watched as the last of his bride drifted towards the floor, covering the white marble with the perfect grey.
As Lucian crumbled, his eyes hazy and wet, the Witch emerged from the shadows. She did not look like a monster, she was.
She looked like a queen, a wounded queen.
Who was deprived of the throne.
Her throne.
Which she wanted to claim desperately.
She leans against the wall, amused.
Watching him crumble, pure satisfaction fills her heart, and soon her lips curl up in a vile smile, and she tastes the blood that had just turned to dust on her lips.
The bride's blood.
"You refused me, Prince." Her words rang across the marble, a venomous remark.
Reminding him of the choice he made.
"So, I give you exactly what you asked for." She declares, stepping closer.
"Every crown in the world."
"Each century."
"And all the power of a God, with the soul of a ghost." She leaned closer, just inches away from him. The violet light in her eyes reflected Lucian's coldness.
"From this moment forward, you are the Devil of the Ash."
"To touch is to kill. To love is to destroy."
"You will be the most powerful man in the world, Lucian, but also the loneliest."
"Stay hungry, Prince. Stay starving... until the world itself turns to dust."
Lucian didn't scream. He didn't cry.
He reached for the stone pillar beside him, his knuckles white with uncontrollable rage.
The solid rock didn't just crumble— it melted, and the orchids in the crystal vases turned into black husks before falling to the floor.
Soon, the guards rushed in, hearing the sound, blades drawn, ready to protect a king, their king.
They didn't even reach him.
With just a step into his shadow, their oxygen vanished, leaving behind the empty armor and the smell of death.
The king whom they tried to protect has now become their greatest danger.
Lucian wasn't just a king anymore.
He was a weapon.
And the world was about to learn that a starving man shows no mercy.
Present day
Lucian
The clink of the gold ring hitting the marble five thousand years ago still echoed in my ears, reminding me of the day my world fell apart.
I blink, and everything vanished, replaced with the floor-to-ceiling glass of my Sicily penthouse.
The smell of Jasmine was gone, replaced with the heavy aroma of the espresso filling the whole room.
I sat behind my mahogany desk, hands covered with black silk gloves, protecting the life around, as even a faint caress threatened it.
And on the polished surface sat the same gold ring, the dead metal that didn't turn to dust. The only witness of my misery and the only thing in five millennia that didn't melt and become the evidence of the being I had become.
A soft chime on the intercom broke the silence, bringing me back to the present, where I ruled the world as the most powerful man alive, possessing everything a man could desire, but alone.
Just the way the witch cursed.
I have everything but no one to share the world with.
No one to quench my thirst.
No one to be by my side.
"Don Vane," my consigliere's voice crackled. "The Valerius transport has arrived. They brought the girl."
I didn't look up. I didn't have to.
This was the only way I could feel alive. The women who were brought made sure the shadows were well fed.
At the mention of the woman, I sense the shadows in the corner of my office crawl toward the door, restless and hungry, wanting to devour her.
The families that are greedy for power, to rise, offer their women as meals for my shadows, and this time it's Valerius's.
They had my consigliere contact for the deal, and once the terms were laid, Senior Valerius didn't think twice before agreeing to hand over the granddaughter.
"Bring her in," I said, my voice like grinding stone.
I leaned back in my chair, the leather of my chair creaking in, the only voice breaking the silence in my office.
My eyes locked on the computer screen, monitoring and tracking her as she stepped into my house, walking towards the corridor, closer to her death with every step she took.
Most people felt my presence way before they even saw me, describing it as if their chest felt heavy, making it hard for them to breathe properly, and wanting to run for their lives.
But she, she looks calm.
Too calm.
As if nothing around here was bothering her.
I watch as she moves, following the butler with no fear in her eyes, as if she were not aware of the fate she is meeting, or maybe she didn't care at all.
The butler stopped holding his hand, showing her the way into my room. She stood there for a second, trying to understand.
He moves close, pushes the doorknob, and opens the door for her to get in.
While he waited for her to step inside, she stared at the flower vase near the door, full of life.
I tilted my head, watching them as he spoke to her in a low whisper before leaving her alone to explore the hall where her ashes would be spread after her demise.
She stared at the back of the butler as he walked away from her.
All the employees were trained well, and they knew how to act and when to act, which made my life easy all these years.
And even now, left all alone, there was no fear in her eyes; as a matter of fact, there was nothing in her eyes.
She was calm, showing no trace of panic.
I watch her as she walks in with her little body a little sloped and her eyes deprived of any emotion. I searched for fear, with each step, trying to figure her out.
To feel the fear that should have been visible the moment she knew she was to be sent here.
Instead, there was nothing.
She felt hollow.
As if it was not her here but someone else. As if she were not aware of the fate she was to face.
As if she was not to perish once she entered the room.
Or maybe she didn't care at all.
I've had endless women come into my room, sent by their families for power and money.
The women who didn't know about the fate were excited to be with the man who was feared by all, while the other who knew were terrified for their lives.
But no amount of knowledge helped them run away from the fate their families chose for them, and my shadows enjoyed feasting on them and their fears.
But she, she stares back at the camera as if she were looking back at me, challenging me.
She calmly strolled into the room, taking in the details of the room as if she were here to stay, and making herself at home.
Well, technically, after she turned into dust.
It will be her home, her tomb.