The chirping of birds in the morning air. A soft ray of sunlight warming his face. The distant scent of spring from a far-off field.
This wasn't his cabin.
Victor's eyes blinked open, greeted by daylight as the warmth of the sun hit his face. The first thing he noticed, though, was a ceiling he didn't recognize. His heart skipped a beat.
Where was he?
A sharp burn pierced his chest, and he winced. It stung. He tried to touch it, but a heavy duvet pressed against his body, keeping him from moving too much.
"Alive?" A voice—too familiar, too painfully so—came from beside him.
Victor's head turned slowly, his eyes still bleary as they landed on the girl sitting beside him on a footstool by the bed. She had shiny silver hair that shimmered in the dim light, and the black blindfold wrapped around her eyes gave her a mysterious, almost ethereal air.
His stomach dropped.
His eyes widened in horror. "You—!" His voice cracked as he scrambled to sit up, his movements frantic. He instinctively pressed himself against the wall, as if it could shield him. "What are you doing here?!"
The girl didn't flinch, a soft smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "I live here," she said casually, as if the answer were obvious.
Victor's heart raced, his thoughts scattered. "Then... what am I doing here?" he demanded, panic evident in his tone.
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she rose from her seat, taking slow, deliberate steps towards him, her smirk widening ever so slightly.
Victor's breath hitched as he stumbled backward, his feet scrambling to keep his distance. "W-Why are you coming closer?" His voice shook, the fear crawling up his spine.
"What? Are you scared?" she teased, her smile never wavering.
He froze, his mind flashing back to the events of the other night. "You almost killed me..." he murmured, almost to himself, as his thoughts spiraled. "And then you—"
The girl cocked her head, her smirk growing more pronounced. "I did what?" she asked, her voice dangerously sweet.
Victor's mind couldn't catch up, and all he could do was stammer. "I... I—" His throat felt dry, and his heart thundered in his chest. "I don't—"
She stepped closer, far too close for comfort now. His heartbeat raced even faster, and his breathing quickened. She ran a hand through his hair, the touch far too intimate for his liking, before tilting his chin up with her other hand.
Victor's thoughts went numb as her face neared his, her breath warm against his skin.
"W-What are you doing?" His voice barely rose above a whisper, every ounce of his mind screaming for him to resist, but he couldn't. His mind was spinning, lost in the proximity.
Just then, the door flung open, slamming against the wall with a loud crash.
"Lady Mira!" A new voice—loud and clear—broke through the tension. A maid in black and white attire appeared at the door. "It's Mr. Ethan Clark. He's here!"
Mira's reaction was immediate. At the mention of the name, her face twisted into a look of disgust.
"Not again. This is the third time this month," she muttered under her breath, rubbing her forehead as though she'd just been given the most annoying piece of news.
Without even sparing Victor another glance, she turned away from him, her presence no longer as imposing as it had been. "Stay here," she commanded, her voice carrying a hint of finality. "I'll be back."
She walked briskly out of the room, her footsteps echoing in the silence that followed.
---
As Mira walked down the endless hallway, she couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Ethan Clark's visit. How much more persistent could this guy be? Was he really that desperate, or was he just too blinded to see the obvious?
She sighed as she reached the throne room, her mind wandering to thoughts of her existence. She'd been taught to smile, to show the world she was more than what she seemed, but was it all an act? After all, even her very birth felt like a mistake—something done for the benefit of others. She was a tool, nothing more. A product of power.
Her mother—Hecate, the goddess of magic—had made it clear to her from the beginning that she was born to fulfill a purpose. Nothing more, nothing less.
Born with beauty and power, but cursed with the sixth eye—a magical spell so potent it could kill any mortal who dared to look into her eyes. She could never allow herself to be loved or even looked at by anyone, because death would follow.
Mira's thoughts were interrupted as she entered the throne room, her eyes immediately locking onto the figure seated arrogantly in the throne.
Ethan Clark. His legs crossed casually, a smug grin plastered across his face. Not surprising. It was only a matter of time before he started pushing her patience.
His self-assuredness was one of his most annoying traits. He believed he had every right to sit there, in her throne room, on her throne.
Ethan had a lot of convictions. Like how he thought he was somehow engaged to her, or that he was the rightful heir to the Monarch of Darkness.
But all of his beliefs were futile. Foolish. When they were young, Mira had trusted him enough to reveal her true powers—the ones that were meant for the true heir. She had explained to him that she couldn't use them, that they didn't belong to her, but to someone else, someone else destined to be the monarch.
Naturally, Ethan had jumped at the idea of being the heir. And for a time, Mira had let herself believe it, too. She had trusted him. Loved him, even. But things weren't that simple.
Growing up, she had seen the truth. She had received dreams, prophecies. The darkness had spoken to her, told her the truth she didn't want to accept.
The Monarch of Darkness would never be Ethan Clark. It would be Victor Dreadmoore, some stranger she barely knew.
Victor... A name she had only just heard, yet something about it rang true. The darkness had shown her, and she had no reason to doubt it. But Ethan? Ethan had become nothing more than a pawn, someone who thought he was entitled to everything.
As Mira stopped a few feet from Ethan, she stared him down with a calm expression. "That seat belongs to its true owner, Ethan," she said coldly, her words cutting through the tension in the air.
Ethan, however, merely smiled and stretched out his legs. "Well, that's exactly why I'm sitting in it," he replied smoothly, his tone dripping with arrogance. "Unless you think otherwise, of course."
Mira didn't flinch. Ethan might've looked like a son of Hermes, but up close, he seemed like nothing more than a boy who hadn't known real care. His smooth caramel eyes sparkled with charm, but there was nothing genuine about it.
"Why are you here?" Mira asked, her voice hardening slightly.
Ethan stood up from the throne, stepping closer to her. "To see you, of course, my darling." His voice was smooth, almost too smooth. "I even brought gifts."
He took a step forward, his face dangerously close to hers, but Mira easily dodged him, stepping back.
"Thank you for the unannounced visit," she replied, her voice clipped. "I'll see you off now."
But before she could walk away, Ethan grabbed her wrist, his grip tight and unyielding.
"I am the true heir, am I not?" His words were low and demanding, his eyes searching hers for any sign of doubt.
Mira remained silent, her face impassive. Ethan's frustration grew as he gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on her wrist until she winced.
"Am I not, Mira?"
She finally turned to him, her lips curling into a soft, almost reassuring smile. With a delicate touch, she brushed a lock of his hair from his forehead before leaning in to peck his cheek.
"Of course you are, love," she whispered. "Who else could possibly be the heir if not you?"
Definitely not some random, weak demigod she'd met just a few nights ago.
Definitely not. . .