Two years had passed since the miracle that changed everything.
Grace had turned seventeen—older, steadier, her once-fragile voice now calm with quiet strength. She still carried the same gentle eyes, though the world around her hadn't softened much.
After she healed Lily, the orphanage began to look at her differently.
Some said her curse had been lifted; others whispered that the devil had only grown quieter. But Sister Agnes, ever cautious, decided to let Grace return to the general dormitory. "Let her sleep among the others," she'd said. "If she is truly cleansed, the Lord will keep her still."
For a time, things seemed almost normal.
Grace helped in the kitchen, prayed in the chapel, and spent her evenings reading scripture by the candlelight Elias sometimes left for her. The children no longer mocked her openly, though their eyes still carried that shadow of distrust—like one wrong breath might make her shatter the fragile peace she'd earned.
Until that night.
The night she dreamed again.
Darkness pressed around her like a living thing.
There was no floor beneath her feet, only mist that shifted with every breath. A single candle burned in the distance, its light too weak to reach her.
Then came the whisper.
At first it sounded like her own voice, looping back through the emptiness.
Grace…
The sound grew louder, layered with echoes, until it seemed to circle her head.
Grace, you called me.
She tried to answer, but her lips wouldn't move.
Something brushed the back of her neck—cool, deliberate, human. A shiver ran through her spine. She spun, searching the void, and a shadow coalesced out of the dark.
A figure stood behind her: tall, wings broken and dripping light instead of blood. The glow pulsed like a heartbeat. Where a face should have been, there was only a blur of flame and smoke.
She stumbled backward, choking on air.
"I didn't call you," she managed to whisper.
The shadow tilted its head, voice low and calm.
You prayed to the heavens, yet I heard you first.
The words slid through her mind like silk and static. The mist around them began to swirl faster, tightening. She felt her pulse mirror its rhythm, half-terror, half-wonder.
When she tried to run, invisible hands closed around her wrists. The contact burned and froze at once; she felt her knees weaken. The figure leaned close enough that she could almost see eyes forming out of the smoke.
Soon ,You'll remember who you belong to.
The candle in the distance went out.
Grace woke with a scream caught halfway in her throat.
The sound tore through the still air of the dormitory like a blade, and for a moment she didn't know where she was. Her chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, her nightdress clinging to her skin with cold sweat. The dream still clung to her—its heat, its voices, the heavy scent of burning oil.
Her bed sheets were tangled around her legs, her hands trembling as if they still held something—or someone.
Then came the whispers.
"The cursed girl's at it again…"
"She's summoning devils in her sleep!"
"I told you—she talks to shadows!"
The voices came from the other cots, girls huddled beneath thin blankets, eyes wide with fear and fascination. One of them darted toward the door, bare feet slapping the stone floor.
"Call Sister Agnes!" she cried. "She's doing it again!"
Grace's breathing hitched. "No, I—I was just dreaming," she stammered, voice barely audible over the growing commotion. "Please, I didn't—"
But no one listened.
Candles flickered as footsteps echoed down the hall, fast and heavy. The dorm door swung open with a sharp creak, and Sister Agnes appeared, a lantern in one hand, a rosary clutched in the other. Her face was carved with disapproval, deep shadows forming beneath her eyes.
"What wickedness is this?" she demanded.
Grace froze. "It was just a dream, Sister. I swear it."
"Blasphemy," another nun whispered behind her. "She calls it a dream now."
Sister Agnes stepped closer, her robes sweeping across the cold floor. The air seemed to grow heavier with each step. "You were warned, Grace. You were warned not to bring darkness into this place again."
The other girls shrank away, wide-eyed. Someone murmured, "She healed Lily… now she brings curses instead."
Grace's throat tightened. She wanted to speak, to explain, but her voice felt lost beneath the weight of their stares.
Sister Agnes raised her hand and struck her—once, sharp, across the cheek. The sound cracked through the room.
Grace didn't cry out. Her eyes burned, but she stayed still.
"Get up," Sister Agnes said coldly. "If you cannot find peace in your sleep, you will find it on your knees. Go to the chapel. Pray until God Himself forgives whatever lives inside you."
Grace hesitated. Her lip quivered.
The nun's tone hardened. "Now."
With trembling legs, Grace climbed out of bed, her bare feet meeting the cold stone floor. The other girls watched in silence—some with pity, most with fear. As she passed, one whispered under her breath, "Maybe this time He'll take her soul and leave the rest of us be."
Grace didn't respond. She simply walked—head bowed, cheek stinging, her heart heavy.
The dormitory door closed behind her with a hollow thud.
And in that silence that followed, the candle flames shivered… as if something unseen had just passed through the room.
The corridor was colder than she remembered.
Grace pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, the candle trembling in her hand. The flame bent and swayed, just like her breath — uneven, shallow. Every creak of the wooden floor echoed too loudly, as though the orphanage itself were holding its breath, listening to her move.
She pressed her palm to the small cross around her neck, whispering beneath her breath,
"Not tonight. Please… not again."
But her words were swallowed by silence.
Something brushed past her — light as air, soft as fingertips — along the back of her neck. She spun around.
Nothing.
Her eyes darted to the corner — a shadow moved. Her chest tightened; she raised her candle.
A rat scurried across the floorboards.
Grace exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her heart. "Just my imagination," she muttered.
Still, her steps quickened.
When she reached the chapel doors, the metal handle felt icy beneath her fingers. She pushed them open, and the familiar scent of candle wax and dust filled the air. The chapel was dim, lit only by a few flickering candles that lined the altar. Their flames shivered like frightened souls.
Grace dropped to her knees before the cross. For a moment she tried to pray — the same soft, pleading words she had repeated for years. But tonight, something inside her snapped.
Her voice rose — trembling, angry.
"Why?" she hissed, her eyes stinging. "Why do you keep letting them call me cursed? I healed them, didn't I? I gave them what they wanted — the pain stopped, the fevers broke! You said miracles were a sign of Your love, didn't You?"
Her voice cracked.
"Then why does it feel like You've left me?"
The candles flickered violently, their light stuttering as if something unseen had moved through them.
Her fingers clenched tighter around her cross. "Say something," she whispered. "If You're still there, just—"
A voice cut through the silence.
"Your prayers reach higher than you think," he murmured. "But not all who hear them are angels."
Grace froze.
Her blood turned cold. She spun around.
Empty pews.
Empty shadows.
No one there.
Her breathing came in quick gasps. "Who's there?"
Then she felt it.
A hand — gentle, uninvited — brushed through her hair, slow enough to make her stomach twist. Her body stiffened.
Before she could turn, that same hand slid down, cupping her jaw, forcing her head to face forward. Fingers pressed against her skin, firm but unhurried.
"Don't turn around," the voice murmured near her ear, the warmth of it ghosting against her skin. "Unless you want to become a pillar of salt."
Her breath caught. She could feel his other hand now, resting lightly at the base of her throat — not choking, just… claiming space.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "Who are you?"
For a moment, only silence.
Then — a chuckle. Low, amused, and wrong.
"Who… who are you?"
The voice at her ear curved into a smile. "Someone who was cast down… for wanting too much."
His breath brushed against her neck, slowly . Every nerve in her body screamed at her to move—yet she couldn't.
"Faith keeps you on your knees," he whispered. "But fate… fate makes you mine."
Grace's breath hitches as she catches a glimpse of the stranger's reflection in the chapel window. The towering figure stands silhouetted against the moonlight, their broad shoulders and muscular build unmistakable even in shadow. She swallows hard, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.
As if sensing her gaze, the stranger turns Grace to face him, pressing her against his solid chest. She closes her eyes instinctively, taking a shuddering breath before slowly lifting her eyelids .Her lashes fluttered open, and the first thing she saw was the outline of a broad chest, her breath hitches in her throat . Instinctively, she squeezed her eyes shut, but a sudden tug on her hair forced her chin upward. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as her eyes flew open—and met his. His intense gaze burned through the dim light, his Rubyred eyes glow like embers , piercing through Grace's defenses and stirring something within her
"You still have those eyes,"
The candles flickered and his presence was gone.
"Grace!"
Elias's voice sliced through the stillness, soft but urgent. She turned sharply, eyes wide, as his familiar figure appeared in the doorway, bathed in the faint glow of the dawn light filtering through the chapel's stained glass.
He hurried toward her, his brow furrowed with concern. "I heard a noise… are you all right?"
Grace struggled to find her voice. "I—" she hesitated, glancing around the empty room. "There was someone here."
Elias's expression darkened almost imperceptibly, though his smile didn't falter. "Someone? This time of morning?" He chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension. "Grace, you probably scared yourself again. You know how shadows play tricks in this old place."
She wanted to believe him. She needed to. But her hands were still shaking.
"I saw him," she whispered. "He—he knew me."
For a heartbeat, something flickered behind Elias's eyes—something sharp, something knowing. But it vanished as quickly as it came.
He reached out, gently taking her hands in his. "Grace," he said quietly, "you're safe now. No one can harm you here."
The warmth of his touch steadied her, and for a moment, the world seemed still again. The tension in her chest eased, though confusion lingered like a storm on the horizon.
Elias smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You've been through too much. Rest now, all right? I'll stay until the sun rises."
And yet, as he turned to glance at the shadows pooling at the far end of the chapel, his expression hardened—an emotion Grace couldn't name flickering across his features.
> "So… he's found you," Elias murmured under his breath, too low for her to hear.