She caught my blade between her fingers, her strength beyond imagining. Unlike me, who had forced the transformation to abate, she had fully succumbed to the moon’s light, claiming not just its magic but a body surpassing mortal limits.

  She laughed, a cruel, mocking sound, but beneath it, I heard my beloved wife. A fact that only drove my rage. My vision burned red as raw strength surged through my limbs. With a roar, I wrenched my blade free, slicing clean through the fingers that held it before driving the weapon deep into her neck.

  She choked, a gurgle escaping her lips as her other hand shot up, gripping the blade. Then, with terrifying speed, she lifted one of her hooved feet and drove it into my stomach, the force launching me backward through several feet of stone. Pain exploded through me as I hit the ground hard, the air torn from my lungs.

  Even as I struggled to rise, I saw her reach for my blade, still embedded in her throat. With a grimace, she yanked it free, dark blood spilling over her fingers. And then, she smiled.

  "My love… don’t fight me." Her voice was soft, dripping with a sweetness that sent shivers down my spine. "I don't want to hurt you. I never did. I still love you. We can still be together."

  She stepped closer, slow and deliberate, swaying with unnatural grace, as if every movement was meant to entice. Her crimson eyes gleamed, her abominable body on full display, a twisted mockery of human beauty designed to tempt and seduce.

  The thought sickened me. The idea of sharing a bed with this thing, of accepting what she had become, turned my stomach. I would rather die.

  And yet… I couldn't shake the longing in my heart. Not for this foul monster’s obscene body, but for the woman she once was. The woman I once held. The woman I once loved.

  Every word dripped with temptation, her voice a melody of honeyed promises. "My love…" she purred, stepping closer, her crimson eyes locking onto mine. "Why do you fight me? Why resist what we could have, what we were always meant to be?"

  She tilted her head, her silken hair cascading over her shoulders, her obscene body framed perfectly in the dim glow of the corrupted moonlight. Her enormous breasts rose and fell with each slow breath, her every motion designed to seduce.

  "I am better now, stronger, more beautiful than ever before," she whispered, her fingers trailing lightly over her stomach, down to the curve of her hips. "I no longer need to wait for you to return to me, helpless, frail, fragile. I can stand at your side, fight with you. We could destroy the demons together."

  She stepped closer, so close I could feel the unnatural warmth radiating from her body, smell the intoxicating blend of her scent, both familiar and foreign, tainted by whatever dark force had reshaped her.

  "Think of what we could be. No longer bound by mortal chains, no longer at the mercy of fate. You and I, side by side, carving our own path through this world. Our strength… combined? We would be unstoppable." Her fingers brushed against my chest, light, almost reverent.

  "You don’t have to be afraid. You don’t have to lose me. I'm still here, still yours. Let me show you what we can have had. Let me make you see."

  Her words coiled around my mind, her presence overwhelming. The sheer pull of her was suffocating, intoxicating. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to reach for her, to take what she offered.

  But deep down, I knew the truth.

  This was not my wife.

  I raised my hand, forming the ancient signs with ease. The word of power left my lips, heavy with finality. She screamed as spectral chains erupted from the ground, piercing her flesh, dragging her to her knees. Her body convulsed, the weight of the dark arts binding her like shackles of molten iron.

  The magic came too easily to me now. This was what I had sought. What I had sacrificed for.

  "You..." her voice, once sweet, now cracked with fury and despair. "You dare do this to me? After everything?"

  Her crimson eyes burned with pain, with betrayal, with love. She struggled against the chains, her monstrous form writhing, the grotesque curves of her corrupted body trembling with rage. "You say I am lost? That I am fallen? And yet you wield the same power! The same filth you condemn me for!"

  She laughed, bitter and broken. "You hypocrite! You're more a demon than I could ever be! It was your path that led me here! Your choices! Your failure! I didn't choose this! It was you!"

  Her voice cracked, the rage bleeding into sorrow. "You looked at me once with love, with devotion. You swore to be mine, no matter what came. Were those just empty words? Did I mean so little to you?"

  I retrieved my sword. With a whispered command, unholy fire crackled to life along the blade, casting flickering shadows across her tear-streaked face. I lifted it to her neck, the heat of the cursed flame licking at her skin.

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  She turned away, exposing her throat willingly, trembling yet unresisting. "Go on. Finish it."

  I raised my sword and…

  Severed her chains.

  What a fool I was. To be taken in by a demon’s lies.

  She stood, smirking, stepping closer with a slow, deliberate grace. Her tongue flicked over her lips, savoring the moment. The wounds left by the chains had already healed, the dark magic within her sealing them shut. She dragged a finger through the leftover blood, bringing it to her lips, tasting it with a satisfied hum.

  Then, she pressed herself against me, her warmth suffocating. Her breath ghosted against my ear as she whispered, her voice dripping with promise. "You won’t regret it. There’s no going back now. The pleasures I’ll show you are beyond anything a mere human could dream."

  Love. Killed by love.

  How weak my convictions were, to let it end like this.

  We embrace, my wife and I consummating our marriage once more.

  Not as humans.

  But as demons.

  “Clear thy mind of sin, young Seven. For Lumina’s light shines upon thee.”

  I awaken in a dark chamber, the dim glow of lanterns flickering against stone walls. The air is thick with the scent of burning incense, a mixture of herbs and wax. As I try to sit up, pain flares in my abdomen, forcing a groan from my lips.

  "Thou stireth at last." A slender man steps out of the shadows, Father Alric. His gaunt face is unreadable, his pale eyes cold as he regards me.

  I breath out slowly, resting my back against the stone wall, my body aching with each movement. My head pounds, a dull throbbing that clouds my thoughts. "What happened? How did I get here?" My voice comes out hoarse, I cough, trying to clear it.

  "Thou were brought here, cast unto the mercy of the goddess. Waste not her generosity and keep thy body still, thy wounds need time yet to heal." Father Alric folds his hands together as he speaks, I notice rings on his fingers, golden, lavish. Impressive, given the size of his chapel, I would not think a lone priest could afford such ornamentation.

  I rub my eyes, trying to think back. "Who brought me here?" I ask.

  Alric replies, his tone measured, "Young Luna Vynn and her companion from the East. Thy wounds were grievous and required much tending and prayer. But the worst is behind thee."

  Memories flash through my mind... Vael, the wolf, Luna, and her companion. A sharp pain flares in my wound, and I clutch at it, my other hand pressing against my aching head. My breath comes in ragged pants, sweat beading on my skin as the nightmare returns in full force.

  "Vael-"

  Panic grips me. I struggle out of bed, frantically searching for my weapon, my club, my knife, anything. Alric does not move to stop me, watching as I erratically search for my belongings.

  "Steady thyself," he advises at last, with a sigh. "Thy body is yet frail, and reckless haste shall do thee no favors."

  I turn to him, wincing as pain flares in my gut. Memories of Vael's giant claw tearing into me resurface, yet strangely... the wound feels less severe than I recall. Given how close I was to being skewered completely.

  Lifting the worn tunic draped over me, I examine the bandaged wound. To my surprise, only a faint trace of blood seeps through. "What happened? How long have I been here?" I ask, my voice steadying.

  "It has been two weeks since thou werst delivered," Alric replies.

  Two weeks. I’ve been unconscious for two weeks.

  Hesitantly, I peel back the bandage. The sight is foul, dark purple veins spiderweb out from the wound, mingling with the yellowish ointment slathered over it. Yet, despite its sickly appearance, the wound is much smaller than I remember. Even for two weeks of healing, the rate at which it has closed is unnerving.

  I clear my throat and ask, "How is it healing so quickly?"

  Alric picks a piece of lint of his robe, before looking back to me. "Prayers to the goddess served thee well in purifying the wound, and the apothecary, Zaenith, provided potions that greatly aided in its closing. But do not test the goddess's mercy, rest is still required."

  I pause at the mention of Zaenith. She came to heal me. I probably shouldn't be surprised; she wouldn’t want me dead. Still, the thought lingers in my mind, along with another curiosity, Alric’s healing. I recall the last time he treated me, how his prayers seemed to soothe my injuries in a way that felt beyond... natural.

  I fix him with a curious gaze and ask, "You spoke of purifying my wound. What exactly did you mean by that? Your prayers… they seem to do a little more than offer comfort."

  Alric’s expression doesn't change, his cold eyes closing as he opens his mouth. "Faith can work miracles. The goddess bestows her favor upon those whose belief is unwavering."

  That doesn’t explain anything… what he’s talking about sounds like magic.

  I press further, "But how? I felt it last time... the pain dulling, the wound mending. That can't be just faith, can it?"

  His eyes open, locking on mine. "It is 'just faith'. Nothing more. But one does not call upon divine grace lightly. The goddess’s will is not ours to command. I beseech her aid only when the need is dire or when a sacred duty must be fulfilled. Her light does not shine upon those who ask without purpose."

  I consider his words. Could it truly be possible? Can faith alone perform miracles? I've heard endless tales of the goddess Lumina's power, of the unwavering strength of her devoted followers. The wandering clerics spoke of it incessantly, never failing to remind others of her divine will. But I never imagined any of it was real....

  Then again, after all I’ve seen recently, magic, and things far darker.... I should probably take comfort in the thought. That there might be a divine force opposing such horrors… assuming it is, indeed, opposed.

  I sit back down on the bed, exhaustion settling over me. I turning to Alric, who still stands watching, "Where are my belongings?" He nods toward the foot of the bed, where they rest neatly on the floor.

  I shuffle forward and see my club and knife, both cleaned of blood. My purse is there too, thankfully, along with the clothes I was wearing during the battle, now washed and folded.

  Is that everything? It should be, I don't think I brought anything else....

  Then it comes to me. Vael’s iron ring, the one he handed to me as a reward for the... delivery. My eyes scan the pile again, but it's not there.

  I frown and ask about it. "There was a ring, an iron one, I should have had it on me. Do you know where it is?"

  Alric shakes his head, his expression impassive. "I know not of any such ring. If it was in thy possession, mayhap young miss Luna would know its whereabouts."

  My brows knit together. "Where is she now?"

  "She left with her companion shortly after delivering thee here. Spoke of urgent business that could not wait."

  Before I can respond, a voice cuts through the air. "I’m right here."

  I turn slightly to see Luna standing at the doorway, her golden eyes resting on mine.

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