The moon shone through a shattered hole in the ceiling, casting a ghostly beam onto the
blood-soaked altar. Henry lay across it, his head resting in Amelia's lap, his breath
shallow—his shirt soaked in crimson.
"No... no, no, no, no—open your eyes, Henry! You can't just leave me like this... not yet!"
Amelia screamed, clutching him tightly.
Henry's lips curled into a pained smile. "This is... what she wanted, I guess."
"What? What are you talking about—what woman?" Her voice cracked.
Suddenly—
Tak... tak... tak...
Heavy boots echoed across the stone floor. A figure emerged from the shadows, tall,
cloaked, eyes glinting like a beast in moonlight.
"Who are you? Why did you do this?!" Amelia shouted, rage and grief flooding her voice.
The figure chuckled—a cold, bone-deep laugh. "This is exactly what I wanted."
Amelia froze. This wasn't the woman Henry spoke of... Then who was this? And who was
she?
Her mind spiraled with questions—but there was no time.
Henry's blood dripped from the altar's edge, pooling beside the glowing seventh gem. The
sword lodged in his stomach pulsed with a dark, terrible magic.
Amelia looked down at him, tears streaking her face. "Don't you dare die on me, Henry
Astor."
But his eyes were already fading to stillness.