Death knocked on my door once.
And I opened it with a smile.
A sacrificial lamb, carrying my father's sins.
That's what I am.
They say the Shadow King kills his brides before the first full moon.
Good thing I don't plan to die.
Wyncrest Manor is drowning in silence tonight.
The kind that breathes. Heavy. Watching.
The halls smell of dust, pride, and ghosts.
Candles flicker weakly, light stretching over cracked floors and crooked portraits.
Every painted ancestor seems to lean forward, their eyes whispering blame from centuries past.
The wind moans against the windows, like laughter that forgot how to be kind.
I press my hand to the cold glass, watching the night spill across the gardens.
The roses have long withered, thorns black against the moonlight.
Once, they were my mother's pride.
Now, they're just another thing the curse touched.
Tomorrow, I'll be sent across the border, wrapped in silk and fear, to marry the King of Shadows.
A man cursed to end every life that touches his own.
And apparently, I'm next.
I tighten the laces of my nightgown and stare into the cracked mirror.
The girl staring back isn't afraid.
She's sharp. Angry. Alive.
The candlelight kisses the silver locket at my throat, the only thing my mother left me.
It's always warm, even when my skin isn't.
Proof that maybe fate hasn't abandoned me completely.
"Lucky me," I whisper,
my voice breaking the stillness like a confession.
The door creaks open.
Mira slips inside, barefoot, hair tangled, eyes fierce.
Her shadow stretches long across the floorboards, soft and trembling.
"You're still awake," she says.
"So are you."
"You leave at dawn, Elara."
"I know." I smile faintly. "It's not something one forgets."
She crosses her arms, the hem of her nightdress brushing the floor.
"You could still run."
"Where? Into the forest? The Lightlands?" I scoff softly.
"They'd hunt me before sunrise."
Her voice cracks. "Anywhere but there."
I look at her, my sister in all but blood, the only person in this house who still sees me.
"If I run, they'll burn this manor to the ground.
My father will hang.
You'll lose your home.
That's not freedom, Mira.
That's cowardice."
She swallows. "You always think you carry the world alone."
"No," I whisper.
"Just the cursed part of it."
Downstairs, laughter drifts up the corridor.
My stepmother's bright and false, my father's soft and tired.
Are they celebrating my sacrifice, or pretending it's mercy?
I no longer care.
Once, my father would sit by my bed and tell me stories of the Lightlands,
how the sun never set there,
how the rivers shimmered with gold.
Now he can barely meet my eyes.
Guilt has a way of aging a man faster than time.
"Do you think he's really a monster?" Mira asks quietly.
"The Shadow King?" I lean back against the bedpost.
"If he's cursed, yes.
If he's not, he's worse.
A man who enjoys pretending he is."
"You talk like you've met him."
My lips twitch. "Maybe I have."
Her eyes widen. "Don't say that."
"Why not?" I glance at the window, where clouds coil over the moon.
"He's been in my dreams for weeks now.
Silver eyes.
A voice that speaks my name like it belongs to him."
Mira shivers. "Elara…"
I smile without humor. "You wanted honesty."
The truth is,
I don't know what frightens me more.
That he might kill me.
Or that I might not want him to.
A knock cuts through the air.
Sharp. Deliberate.
Lady Irena enters, flawless as ever, wrapped in silk and disdain.
Her perfume fills the room before she speaks, rosewater and poison.
Lyra follows, pale, polite, pretending not to breathe.
"Still awake?" Irena asks, eyes sweeping the room.
"You'll need rest for tomorrow."
"For my execution?" I ask sweetly.
"I'll manage."
Her sigh is theatrical. "Must you always make things difficult?"
"It's my most consistent talent."
Her voice hardens. "You do this for your father. For the house. The court will remember."
"Call it what it is," I say.
"A transaction. Pretend it's noble if it comforts you, but I won't."
Her lips tighten. "Then at least look dignified. That's all you have left."
"No," I reply softly. "What remains is me. And I don't belong to you."
Lyra flinches, eyes darting between us.
Irena's gaze sharpens like a blade. "Be careful with insolence. The King prefers obedience."
"I doubt he'll be disappointed," I whisper.
A vein throbs in her temple, but she smooths her expression.
"Sleep well, my dear. Tomorrow, you'll make history, one way or another."
When she's gone, Lyra lingers in the doorway, her hand trembling on the frame.
"Elara," she murmurs, "I… I hope he's kind."
"Then you hope for the impossible," I say, not unkindly.
She nods once and follows her mother out.
The silence after them is alive.
Breathing. Heavy.
Mira exhales, half laughing, half terrified. "You're insane."
"Probably." I grin faintly. "Better insane than afraid."
"You always say that."
"Because it's true."
I rise, crossing to the window again.
The moon cuts a thin blade through the clouds.
Beyond the mountains lies the Shadow Realm.
Sunless. Silent. Waiting.
The stories say the air there smells of ash and sorrow,
that even the stars refuse to look upon it.
And somewhere in that darkness,
he waits for me.
The man who will either end me,
or meet his match.
Mira touches my arm.
"If it were me, I'd pray."
"I stopped praying the day prayers stopped answering."
"Elara…"
"I'm not afraid of dying," I cut in softly.
"I'm afraid of being forgotten."
She's quiet for a long moment.
Then she whispers, "You won't be."
Her words settle like a promise.
But promises are fragile things in this house.
When she finally leaves, I sit on the edge of the bed and open my mother's locket.
Inside, a tiny shard of moonstone glows faintly, pulsing with warmth.
I run my thumb over it, remembering the lullaby she used to hum,
a song about stars and shadows.
I was too young to understand it then.
Now I wonder if she knew this would be my fate.
A gust of wind snuffs out the candle.
The room drowns in silver darkness.
And somewhere, far beyond the mountains,
I swear I feel it.
A heartbeat that isn't mine.
Slow. Ancient.
A whisper through the threads of fate.
"Elara."
The voice slides through my mind, dark velvet and smoke.
I freeze.
My breath catches.
The locket burns against my skin.
The shadows along the wall ripple like water,
bending toward me, reaching.
Something unseen grazes my wrist.
Cold. Possessive.
And then I hear it again, closer this time,
right behind me.
"Elara."
I turn.
The mirror is no longer empty.
Silver eyes stare back at me from inside the glass.
And they are smiling.